I was rolling along the other day, listening to a slight grinding noise coming from my rear cassette. And I’m not going to lie. It was pissing me off.
I mean, I spent a lot of clams on that thing to not make noise. Like the kids in a 1920s classroom, I want it to be completely silent, except when I’m freewheeling, of course. In other words 100% pure stealth. Yet with every pedal stroke all I could hear was grind, grind, grind. It was driving me crazier than a Cipollini skin-suit.
Then I had something of an epiphany. For right there, on the nondescript potholed roads of Meadowbank, it occurred to me that if an ever-so-slightly squeaky cluster can upset me so much, well, I really needed to scull down a big coffee mug of perspective. Urgently.
This realisation got me wondering. What other problems affect first-world cyclists?
A loose thread on a new pair of gloves or knicks? Too much Gatorade powder in your bidon. Or perhaps not enough? A miniscule paint chip on your frame? A faulty heart-rate monitor? An out-of-date energy gel? A flat tyre in the middle of a spectacular national park?
These things happen. Often. But life goes on. Wheels keep turning.
Yeah, we’re pretty lucky, alright.