These days it’s rare to go on a ride without having a conversation about broken derailleurs, snapped chains, or for someone to wax nostalgic about the indefatigable drivetrains of yesteryear.
It sometimes seems like there’s an arms race to cram more and more cogs into cassettes, to winnow chains down to harakeke strands, and engorge the derailleur into some grotesque appendage. And why are we making the thing that has to get out of the way of bumps heavier? It’s like some sort of Spy vs Spy self-sabotage spiral.
On the flipside, remembering you have that 50-tooth gear while spelunking through the pain cave feels pretty good…right up until the point you’re weeping
