Silca Pista Pump Check Valve Replacement

If the handle of your Pista pump rises on its own after a downstroke, you most likely have a leaking check valve.  Silca will happily sell you a replacement, but with no instructions.

You may find that, after you remove the plug that houses the check valve stem using a 14-mm socket (pink arrow above), that the old valve stem won't come out.  That was the case on my ~1990 pump.  At left below is the plug with the original valve stem, and at right is the replacement from Silca.  I asked Silca whether it should come out easily, and I was told I probably had dirt and grime in there (which was also the cause of the leaky check valve).

Well, it turns out that the end of the original check valve stem has a "bell" on the end, and the sleeve that it goes into in the plug is crimped so as to capture that bell and prevent the stem from just falling out.

What you have to do is to carefully use pliers on the long axis of the crimp to make the sleeve more or less round again, and then you can yank out the old valve stem.  The new stem, not having a bell, just drops right in, and there's no need to re-crimp the sleeve.  Now my pump doesn't backflow.  Huzzah!

[NOTE: It may be possible to purchase a check valve with the end plug elsewhere, in which case these instructions are moot, but Silca doesn't sell you a replacement plug.]

I offer this because I found no mention of it online, despite numerous instructional resources for other aspects of servicing Silca pumps.  Let's see if Google effectively catalogs this page and helps someone else trying to keep his beloved track pump alive.  Ciao!

For Posterity

Following my original DVT diagnosis in 2012, I naturally searched for information online and found a blog with an interesting post on DVT in athletes, particularly cyclists: http://freybird.blogspot.com/2009/01/deep-vein-thrombosis-for-cyclist.html

Below is a followup comment I just made to that blog, and I am re-posting it here for... well, look at the title of this post.
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Back again... I see the traffic is decreasing, but still there, so I'll add more data.  As you can see above, I had a DVT in my left calf in 1/2012, rode extensively while on Warfarin, and got a clean ultrasound (and discontinued Warfarin) exactly six months on the drug.

About a year after the DVT, I noticed increased symptoms of post-thrombotic syndrome anytime I wasn't exercising and began searing Sigvaris compression sleeves when not on the bike.  Those have worked wonderfully, and I highly recommend them once your doctor says you can wear compression socks (I was told flat-out that compression stockings are NOT indicated for acute DVT).

Fast-forward to October 2013.  By now, I have gotten back into bicycle racing after an 11-year hiatus, joined a team, and am having a blast.  I did a cyclocross on a whim with no 'cross-specific training, and afterwards - uh oh - my right calf was sore as hell.  I rested and elevated the leg, but the soreness remained.  The ominous part was when I developed discomfort breathing, as though I had a softball under my lower right rib cage.

Off to the ER I went, and after ultrasound confirmed a "small" clot behind my right knee, a CT scan with contrast dye found multiple clots in my lungs, including some big ones.  Yep, the fact that I'm typing this means that I'm a Pulmonary Embolism survivor.  3 days in the hospital on Heparin, and the inflammation of my chest lining due to the infarction was the worst pain I've ever felt.  I was maxed out on Oxycodone and still needed oxygen because I could barely inhale.

So, once more with the Lovenox, then the Warfarin... and I will be on Warfarin for life now.  I saw a hematologist, and based on my history he agrees my clots were provoked, but the specific provocation (pulling a muscle while exercising) was not at all normal.  For me, the risk of recurrence was much greater than the risk of being on Warfarin.

Now, as before, I found that riding made me feel better, and I believe it helped my lung function rebound faster.  I coughed up blood for about 2 months, but my lungs now feel normal (except that I get a slight "heavy" sensation where the initial pain was if I get really dehydrated).  I've been riding more than I have in 10 years, almost 1400 miles this year so far, and did quite well in a criterium with 100 riders (in Boulder, no less).

In essence, I'm living my life as if nothing ever happened, except that I take Warfarin every day and I don't binge on broccoli and spinach (although I DO eat salads regularly).  Is it risky?  Sure, but risks can be understood and managed.  Before, I only ever rode by myself.  Now, I ride with a team and with other racers who know me and my history.  If I should wreck, they know (or can read my RoadID bracelet and figure out) that I may need help, and fast.  However, I continue to believe that exercise - even the strenuous variety - is only beneficial and improves my long-term outlook.

I'm Back, Baby! (Part n+1... Wait, what?)

Life was good.  I was doing things I hadn't really done on the bike before, like discovering roads that everybody rode in the Foothills but were fresh and new to me, like Grapevine.

Look, Ma!  No shingles!

So, what's the next challenge?  Cyclocross!  Yeah, sounds like fun!  I've done it before, and everybody else is doing it, so... What can go wrong?  (cue ominous foreshadowing music)  Seriously, though, THE DAY BEFORE THE RACE (Zombie 'Cross) I'm fiddling with my 'cross bike and taking it for an offroad spin for the first time in, what?  11 years?

I'm not sure if I'm reading this trail map correctly...

 Mind you, I was a lowly Category 5 (Rank Beginner) in 'cross, so expectations were limited to surviving and having fun.  I spent the entire race swapping places with Patrick (one of my PHP buddies) and a really fast dude on a fat bike (I wanted to beat him so badly... I mean, c'mon, fat bike!)

 Cyclocross is an interesting hybrid event contested on essentially road bikes with knobby tires, but some parts of the course are quite technical and may require (at least for a noob like me) dismounting and carrying the bike.  For example, straight up a dirt wall.

I had fun, only crashing once at low speed in the sand pit and eventually finishing 13th out of 25 and, more importantly to me, not getting lapped.  However, there was a problem.  The "twang" you may have heard while viewing the previous photo was my tweaking my calf muscle.  Didn't that end terribly for me before?

Yes, it did.  This time, after 9 days of progressively worse leg pain, I felt like I had a softball under the right side of my ribcage.  With a growing sense of dread I called my doctor on November 6 and we agreed that, given my prior history of DVT, I should go to the ER, where they gave me a stylin' mask to wear while they ruled out the flu.

Lo and behold, I had another clot... A small one behind my right knee.  However, a CT scan revealed far worse stuff... I had multiple clots in both lungs, some of them alarmingly large.  Diagnosis: Acute pulmonary embolism, which was life-threatening if left untreated.  I was admitted to the hospital and put on Heparin immediately.

 

The next three days in the hospital were intense.  The sensation in my chest turned into the worst pain I had ever experienced when I inhaled.  I was given a spirometer to measure the volume I took in when inhaling, and while I should be capable of 3500 milliliters, I could barely manage 500.  I was maxed out on Percocet and put on oxygen to reduce the breaths I had to take.

 Thankfully, I had my family to pull me through.  Laura very wisely brought the kids to visit simply so they could see that Daddy was sitting up and taking nourishment, even if he couldn't come home just yet.  Hannah even brought Get Well cards her classmates had made for me.  How sweet!

After almost 3 days in the hospital, I was good and ready to go home.  When I did, there were still a few more hellish days with Percocet, feeling sick, coughing up blood, and injecting myself with blood thinners to kick-start the Warfarin tablets I'll have to take the rest of my life.  However, my spirometer volume increased every day.

The discharge instructions from the hospital said "Exercise: As tolerated."  I knew that getting on the bike would improve my outlook considerably.  That first ride was barely a mile, and I could hardly breathe, but it was a start.  The next ride was an 8-mile loop that took me along the Cherry Creek Dam, where I shot this photo: "Refuse to Lose."  I didn't feel great in that photo, but I knew I was making progress each and every day.

By the end of November, I felt transformed.  Previously, I was a "fair-weather rider."  I wouldn't ride in the colder months in Denver unless the sun was out and it was at least 50°.  Now, all I wanted to do was push myself.  I used my RMRC teammates as motivation.  If they rode, I wanted to ride.  I even went out on crappy days when others waited for it to warm up.  The photo above was used as a "nyah, nyah" when I showed up at our shop sponsor, Turin Bicycles, for a team ride and found out everyone else had decided to wait a few hours.  "I'm harder than you!"

I've ridden more in the snow this winter than I have my entire life before now.  While I may never race 'cross again (my wife has asked that, since it got me in trouble this time), my 'cross bike can still be a fun and useful tool.

So, I'll end Part n+1 by saying I not only survived, but I'm thriving.  I very much look forward to 2014 as a year of continued discovery and growth.

I'm Back, Baby! (Parts 3 - n, where n is the last one)

Fast-forward through my triumphant return to racing...

Photo by Reid Neuereiter

I raced with the Senior 4's in the Bannock Street Criterium in my 13-year-old Gulf Coast Cycling Association skinsuit, kept the shiny side up, and finished just behind the remains of the field (a wreck immediately in front of me on the last lap dampened my enthusiasm for contesting the sprint).

Photo by Reid Neuereiter

OMG, that's me!  Yellow helmet, under the "k" in Mike, I'm racing again!  In COLORADO!  I was 27th of 46, which may not have counted the Masters 45+ 4's we raced with.

Littleton Crit.  Photo: Dejan Smaic, sportifimages.com

Next was the Littleton Criterium, another downtown figure-8 affair, once more with the Senior 4's (Masters 35+ went first thing in the morning, which interfered with family activities).  The field was larger, the weather was hotter, the course was tighter, and the racing even faster.  In my Rice U. Cycling Team kit this time, I decided to play it safe and hang out in the field, but all that meant was that I had plenty of gas at the end but no gumption to move up in the field.  I finished 32nd of 51.  Oh well, that's okay... My return to racing was still in the "proof of concept" phase.  I resolved to be more aggressive next time, but "next time" would be next year, as the road season ended in August.  Which struck me as odd, since in Houston this was about when the weather started getting nicer again and the fall road-racing season could start!

One byproduct of riding with the Cycleton and PHP groups was that I was making contacts in the racing community.  As I wasn't wearing a local team's kit, I got some inquiries from, well, local teams.  The one that resonated with me, though, was Rocky Mountain Road Club (RMRC).  They're a long-standing club (oldest racing team in Colorado, I'm told) with members who are fine people.  I took the plunge and joined them in September.

RMRC has a mighty fine kit, too.

A bunch of RMRC folks were cyclocross enthusiasts, and I had a 'cross bike gathering dust... Hmmm...

I'm Back, Baby! (Part 2)

Yesterday, I left you perched on the edge of your chair as I rolled off on the Cycleton Saturday morning group ride on the venerated FDR (Frustrated Dads' Ride) loop.  Or perhaps those two things are one and the same; I'm still sorting that out.  But I digress; the drama unfolded as... Well, really, there wasn't any drama to speak of.  Early on, I was mainly terrified of hitting a pothole or debris in the road that I couldn't see by virtue of being on another's wheel, but the group was good about pointing or calling out the serious hazards.

All images are screen captures from Reid Neureiter's video

Once past Tower Road, 56th Avenue pitched up, as did the pace, and the group started to string out.  At that point, I did what seemed natural; I moved forward and got into the rotating paceline at the front.  The front of the group, while potentially more exposed to the wind, is a better place to respond to changes and stay out of trouble.  Riders take turns at the front of the paceline, and with enough riders a constant rotation forms.  This takes a certain degree of finesse; when the rider ahead of you reaches the front and pulls off to the side to join the "retreating" portion of the paceline, good form is to maintain the same speed and not accelerate.  Then, once past the rider you were just following, the trick is to shift over in front of him and soft-pedal just enough that you match that rider's speed and the next rider starts to pass you.  I'll make no claim I was perfect, but with every pull I could feel old neurons firing and truly felt like I was back on the old Kirkwood ride from Houston to Fulshear.  I'm back, Baby!

The FDR loop is gently rolling, with the climbs just enough to invite attacks, and when they came I focused on smoothly joining the chase.  On the east leg of the loop, Imboden Road, there's a vaguely stair-stepping climb that made me dig deeper; some riders passed me, others flat-out dropped me as they attacked, but I held it together and didn't panic.  Over the top and then a short descent, and I was still with what I'd call the main group.

You can just make out the Gothic "R" on the back of my Rice jersey.  ARRRRRRRR!

Heading back east toward Denver, the group passed through Watkins, with some riders winding it up for the inevitable city-limit sign sprint.  Past Watkins, though, came the tough part of the ride for me: Miles of rough chip-seal pavement leading to a long false flat that got steeper and steeper as we progressed.  The hill is visible for a  couple of miles, so I gritted my teeth, kept the pedals spinning, and made it over the top in the group!

...while staring at the wheel in front of me.

From there, it's mainly downhill (and fairly fast) back to Stapleton.  I'm sure there was a group that went up the road, but that didn't matter to me.  I survived, and better yet, I had a blast!  My universe was expanded, not least of all by Strava, which showed me what other Strava users I had just ridden with.

What's more, during the ride I learned about the Park Hill Peloton (PHP), a group of riders that woke up early on Tuesdays and Fridays to ride down to Cherry Creek State Park, and quickly.  Suddenly, I had three days a week where I could ride with a fast group, I was meeting new people, riding became much more interesting, and I was pushing my fitness more than I had in a good while.  Life was good.  I could do 30 miles with PHP and get home by 7:30 a.m., and on Saturdays I did the Cycleton ride from the house for a total distance of 57 miles and still got home before 9:30.

Wow, I spent a lot more time on that than I expected.  Fear not, Good Reader, for the tale continues, but I shall end today's chapter until Part 3, when the weird and wonderful ride continues.

I'm Back, Baby! (Part 1)

It's been over a year since I felt compelled to write a blog entry.  That entry, as I recall, celebrated the "end" of my dealing with a DVT in my left calf.  In reality, though, there won't be an end; the damage to the veins is done and, if I'm sitting/standing but not moving, the leg feels heavy and uncomfortable.  The solution, of course, is to keep moving, and from Day One exercise really has alleviated the symptoms.  For stationary times, I've found Sigvaris Performance Compression Sleeves are extremely effective, comfortable, and (utterly un-)fashionable. 

I rock the black ones, and I get twice as much mileage from a pair (since I only need the one... Even more stylin').

Since that last entry, life has ground on as it has before, which is to say no two days are the same.  We've put a deposit down on a partial house-gutting and expansion Laura has been planning for years, the kids continue to grow like weeds (and change every day, it seems), and I finally got a second Mechanical Engineer to help me at work (he promptly filled his plate with work, which somehow left me as busy as I was before).  During ski season, we did our usual Four Pack at Winter Park, and we had fun on the slopes as always.  However, the end of the season left me wanting something... more.

Laura had switched to snowboarding for the season and was enjoying it, so for our last day on the slopes I said, "screw it" and committed to spend the day taking a "First Timer" boarding lesson.  It turned out that only two of us signed up, so it was a semi-private lesson at a great rate.

Turns out that boardin' is bitchin'.

Wow, what a revelation.  We took baby steps that day, but with just two students our instructor, Rosini, gave us lots of reps and even taught us some tricks.  I learned some basic stuff I had no clue about, like your upper body stays neutral (you turn with your edges, not by yawing the board), and lifties give boarders more respect.  It was all fun until I found myself on a flat and suddenly needed to sit down.

Friends had cautioned me that one spends much of his first snowboarding days on his ass or knees.  I was doing a decent job staying vertical, but after stopping on the flat I sat down rather quickly... And my butt landed between my heels.  POP! went my right knee, and I immediately flashed back to Laura's ACL tear in Karate.  What have I just done?  Stunned, I poked and prodded myself, and the knee seemed stable; it just hurt.  The pain persisted, but it wasn't bad enough for me to bail out of the lesson.  I finished the day stoked about boarding and already planning to buy a board at Sniagrab (Google knows what it is), but I worried about my knee.  Really, the sensation was one of the tendon on the "outboard" rear portion of the knee having snapped past the top of my fibula, so I hoped it was just a slight strain rather than an outright tear.

A week later, the pain wasn't improving so I made an appointment with Dr. Gonzales, the surgeon who repaired Laura's ACL.  The day before the appointment, I awoke to find the pain was utterly gone; it appeared taking it easy for a few days was just what I needed.  I kept the appointment, reasoning I should have that knee looked at anyway, plus I wanted to get a baseline assessment of my left knee, which took a heavy blow almost exactly 20 years earlier when I was hit by a Buick on a Rice U. Cycling Team training ride.  It didn't take Dr. Gonzales long to tell me my right knee was fine; it was probably my hamstring that went pop, and they do that.  As for my left knee, X-rays indicated a narrowing of the gap between the femur and tibia on the inboard side (funny; that's where it tends to hurt).  In other words, "Congratulations, you're starting to have arthritis in that knee."  Yay.

As we wrapped up, I mentioned to Dr. Gonzales that I felt kind of silly coming in, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't messing up my knees by upping my mileage on the bike.  "Oh yeah, you used to race, didn't you?  You should check out the Saturday morning ride at the Cycleton bike shop in Stapleton.  The B's group goes pretty fast, and the A's are a bunch of racers."  A light bulb went off in my head.  For years I had been riding solo, marveling at the difference in cycling culture between Houston (many of the few riders there were racers, and there were always massive group rides) and Denver (everybody rode, and everybody pretty much did his own thing).  I once more found myself wanting... more, except this time on two wheels, not on the slopes.

Here's where the marvel of the social Internet came into play.  I've been storing data from my GPS bike computer on Strava, a website that not only maps out where you've ridden but where, and how quickly, others have as well.  Searching for "Cycleton Ride" quickly revealed an oblong, almost UFO-shaped loop aligned east-west between DIA and I-70, extending eastward to the edge of Front Range Airport.  I rode part of the route solo and found the open, relatively flat roads (alpine by Houston standards) were an interesting change.  I stopped by Cycleton, introduced myself to Andrew, and expressed my interest in the ride.  "Hey, I'm a Cat. 3 on hiatus and was looking to start riding with a group again."  "Cool," he said, "the A's average about 22 mph, and we roll out promptly at 7."  All-righty then!  Let's see if I still have what it takes to hang with a fast group.

May 18, 2013: Not knowing how I would fare in the 42-mile ride, I toss my bike in the car (an activity I normally find abhorrent) and drive north to Cycleton.  I find the group hanging out in front of the shop and start practicing the introduction I'll give to anyone who will talk to me: "Hi, I'm Garrick, I raced Cat 3 in Texas before I moved to Denver in '02, I've had 3 kids since then, and now I'm tired of riding by myself and want to find a fast group."  NOOOOOOOOOOOB.  Dear Lord, what am I doing here?  Oh well, someone in a Cycleton jersey says it's time to go.  There's a fellow (Reid Neureiter) on a motorcycle with an SLR camera, so maybe I'll get a decent action shot of myself... Turns out he's shooting video, and he captured my first clip-in on my first group ride in, what?  Ten years?

With his brand-new shiny Sidis and yellow bits... Phred!!!

...TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2 OF "I'M BACK, BABY!"

Cold Turkey

Got the official word from the doc: No more freaking blood clot in my leg. Woo Hoo! I do have a Baker's Cyst in my knee and still need to wear a compression sock on occasion, but I'll manage because of the following:

Things I Can Do Now That I'm Off Blood Thinners:

1. Breathe easy since I'm at less risk of massive bleeding if I "Fall Down Go Boom."
2. Take Advil.
3. Eat broccoli and spinach with impunity.
4. Drink alcohol and cranberry juice with similar impunity.
5. Ride my bike with... oh never mind, I've been doing that all along. :)
6. Take multivitamins again (including the stuff the eye doctor told me years ago I NEED to take)
7. Scratch out the "On Warfarin" line on my Road ID (or burn it and get a new one, it's kinda stinky)

I'll let you know when I come up with 8 through 10.