Foiled on the Fourth

Bedecked in red, white, and blue, I headed for our club's traditional holiday pancake breakfast. Surveying the parking lot, you might expect that two dozen cyclists had turned out for this Fourth of July fest.

You would be wrong. Inside the courtyard, bicycles were stacked three and four deep. A small crowd sporting stars-and-stripes jerseys posed for a photo. Everyone pitched in to stack the tables and chairs before pedaling off the pancake poundage.

On the way to the first real climb of the day, there is one spot where I know to carry some speed to launch myself up the following short-but-steep bit. Halfway up, I start shifting. Rear dérailleur, down down down down. Front dérailleur, down. [Hmm, this still feels too hard.] Front dérailleur, down. [Shimano gave me gears and I will use them.] Why ... is ... it ... so ... hard ... to ... turn ... the ... pedals? [I am perilously close to stalling out and toppling over.] Almost there ... [Whew, just made it.]

Rear dérailleur, shift up. [Nothing happens.] Shift down. [Nothing happens.]

I muscled myself to the top of that hill with my gearing set at 30x12. My 52x21 would have been easier. [Not that I would try that. Ever.] My rear dérailleur cable had snapped; with no tension to hold it in place, the chain settled naturally on the smallest cog.

Game over. No more hills for me today. A mere 30 miles, 590 feet of climbing.