Whatever that means
It was all so expectedly routine. Sleep like a (drink-induced party) log for a couple of days, go to bed the night before work and wake up at some stupid hour of the dark. Pleasantly cycle to work. Add another tender to the glut of tenders that must be done and head for home.
It was a little odd from the start. Felt like gears skipping a little, which it might have been. Chain slipped off once but that happens. Got to the station fine. Got out at Inverkeithing and had only gone about 20 yards. Krunk. Skrunk. Stop. A broken chain would be OK. Even though it’s fantastically gunky, there’s a chain tool in the bag. Take out the broken link, rejoin the ends and ride gingerly home. But no. The chain hasn’t just broken, it’s wrapped itself around the cassette but carried on turning, pulling itself into the gap between the cassette and the wheel and ripping the rear derailleur off. Could have been worse – could have broken spokes and bent the derailleur hanger (which isn’t of the replaceable sort). So I took the derailleur off, unravelled the chain, binned them and walked home with only two miserable little inclines to roll down.
Luckily there’s another bike where that came from so I’ll be riding that until the poor old neglected trucker is fixed.