After some extensive research (OK, one google and then RTFM) I juggled with the front derailleur last night. It won't go into the small ring. Dabbled with cable tension, dabbled with the Hi and Lo screws and generally fiddled with the evil scourge of satan thingy. And the manual said to test it while riding. So I did.
In the spirit of general Can't Be Arsedness I didn't bother with the Thule wonder bike rack, just took the wheels out, put some vague pieces of cardboard between the brake discs in case of accidental pushes on the brake levers, took down the mini seats and bunged it in. No drama, no class or finesse. Off we went to Rivington because frankly where I live there are no hills. Well, not unless you keep going up and down the bit of road which bridges the canal. Which is not exactly satisfactory.
Rivington and feeling playful I took the map and some attitude with me. Started on my normal trundle down to the folly on the side of the reservoir, which looks like the ruins of a small castle, but I suspect was built that way. Doing this in an evening is interesting. It is class hang out area for Yoof, but was quiet and still and litter free as I pootled on by. The first small climb of my natural route goes up alongside a school yard. It is muddy, always, whatever the weather, and there are tree roots and the funniest thing is being made to jump out of your skin abruptly by the pig noises from the school's mini farm set up which you ride alongside. This is the first point at which I have to get into little ring; and it doesn't go. Which is fine because I am prepared with a) some knowledge and b) a screwdriver and an Allen key. So I dabble with the Hi and the Lo and something seems to make sense but still no small ring. So I reach down and plonk it in with my gloves. Somehow the rest I've had at the bottom of this hill to mess with things I know nothing about has had an effect because I think for the first time ever I make it to the top of the hill still pedalling. The slightly (and trust me, it is only slightly) technical nature of the small incline has always had me off before, but today I am distracted by my gears and just keep moving).
At the start of the long hard slog up the hill on the uneven cobbled type paving I have another go. Somehow what I do now means that not only do I not have the small ring, I no longer have the large ring. Which is OK because I only checked it was working experimentally; can't actually remember the last time I used the damn useless making up the weight object. And we muddle through. Then the phone rings, and I think blimey, I have phone reception so stop and chat, and again the rest is good because once the call is done I trundle on and on and on up the up. In fact, it's going so well, and the mist is so alluring that when it comes to my normal straight on and descend I don't. I take the sharp right and keep going up. The next choice I take the left and keep on going up. I'm going up and up and up and up with the mist around me. It actually gets to the point where the old track is approaching the road section and I realise the visibility is so poor that actually, even with the lights on there's a sense of danger from other folks in cars. And the Common Sense Bear kicks in and I part descend my knobbly track. Smiling. Naturally. Not a route I'm familiar with at the next junction but I go what the hell, take a new path and I do, and I want to cry. Picture a bouldered river bed without water, and this is what it feels like I'm descending. Big rocky loose stuff, tricky to find a line, surfaces that move as you go over them. And then there's a weird central platform of tarmac, probably 18 foot in length and I aim at it. Brake at the end as I realise the drop off, although manageable, would take me onto a bizarre landing point. So I get off and edge my way down the rest, sighing with relief as I make a familiar landing stage. I've climbed so far it's now all about the descending, and I choose routes at random in the hope I'll make it back to the car park, and now I'm smiling. There are drainage ledges across the pathway and to my surprise I find I'm pumping and taking air as I go over these. And I'm smiling.
Still no small ring and now no large ring. Mechanics are calling.
Singing "And we tumble to the ground, and then you say, I think we're alone now."
Except I had no tumbles and there was no we.
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