City living! Within two blocks of my house, I can find four restaurants, a whiskey bar, a shoe store, book store, coffee roaster, computer repair shop, two art galleries, a barbershop, theater, essential-oil emporium, and a bicycle shop named Gladys.
Given the many options, I took my bicycle to the bicycle shop named Gladys. “Just spiff it,” I said. “Do whatever it needs. I haven’t had it out of the basement in a few years.” I went home.
A couple hours later, Spiffer Miranda wrote me an email. Wanted permission to sell me a new wheel. “Also, your chain and freewheel have become very worn. I have a replacement that is compatible but it is a 6 speed instead of 7, and has a wider range of gears. Let me know how to proceed,” she wrote.
I wasn’t entirely sure what I might be getting with the new gear cassette. I started to type a message back with my questions and then thought: I could hit Miranda with a tennis ball from here if the buildings weren’t in the way. I’ll just walk over there.
A minute later I’m in the shop, which, even in this age, is a pretty zippy email response. “So,” I said, “this new gear thingy. Are you saying you want to sell me a granny gear?”
Words were not minced. “Yup,” she said.
A granny gear is a very low gear in which you can spin your pedals very fast whilst creeping up the hill like a big sissy. I’ve never had one. I’m not even sure they were available when I bought my first good bike in 1968. By the time a bike mechanic offered me a granny gear, I had too much pride for it. I preferred to muscle my way across the landscape in the highest gear I could. “That’s bad for your knees,” he told me. “Ideally, you should be spinning at 80 rpm.”
Poo on that. My knees are fine. What I had going for me–in the absence of lung power, quick reflexes, good balance, stamina, and athletic ability–was a massive set of quadriceps. At one time, the only wrinkle I had was just above my kneecap, below the bulge of glory that was my thigh muscle. I had to floss it regularly for road dust so seedlings wouldn’t take root. I was very proud of my thighs. It looked like porpoises were hanging out of my shorts.
Besides it just felt all wrong to me. I’d power my way up the hill like a big girl and pass some guy pedaling his fanny off, and sure, he could converse with his buddy the whole time, and probably eat a sandwich, but empires would rise and fall before he tootled to the top.
And more than once in heavy bicycle traffic I’ve been stuck behind someone on a hill centipeding along at a rate I had no gear for, and had to bail out of my pedals to keep from falling over. Screw the granny gear.
Miranda again. “Most bikes just come with this now,” she said, evenly.
“Bikes come with motors now,” I said back, and then suddenly realized that any kind of gear cluster would be manlier than a bike with a motor.
Miranda waited patiently for my decision. She was far too nice to point out the obvious. Or even glance down at my 68-year-old quadriceps, which have long since slumped past porpoise and into flounder territory. I looked at her open, friendly, competent face.
“Granny me, baby,” I said.
After all, I don’t have to use it.
I’m probably totally going to use it.
A birthday present to you! ( clearly, youβre not going to ever join some of us slightly older farts that call it a day at 11pm). Enjoy your bike and keep on the uphill grade. Cheers!
11pm is exactly when I call it a day, actually!
And after when I call it a day.
Holy crap! I call it a day at 9pm. Of course, I am an early riser, so I guess that's expected.
Elephant's Child's entire day is a different day than our day.
Happy Birthday one day late! You have always been one of my favorite heroes π
Thanks!
Happy Belated Birthday. And hooray for granny gears. The last time I rode a bike it had no gears – and a back pedal brake.
Ooo, we used to call them "coaster brakes."
About once a year – when we vacation on Chincoteague Island – I ride a bike that The Husband found in a dumpster. I'm pretty sure it doesn't have a granny gear. In fact, I can't seem to get it to shift gears at all. I muscle up the few hills there are, and/or against a stiff breeze, and arrive home with much stronger quads than I left home with two weeks before. I think I need a Miranda to totally rebuild my poor old dumpster bike.
I'm just glad to hear that good ol' Chincoteague is still above water.
Happy Birthday to you and the refurbished bicycle! Because of a childish mispronunciation that word is 'bisnackle' in our household. So, I'm wishing you a big bisnackle basket holding a cake and some beers. An old blanket that you can spread out on a grassy hill, sit down with Dave. Watch the ants and birds. Eat your cake, drink the beers, canoodle a bit before cycling home. Just like when we were 17. π
BISNACKLE!!
It's not a granny gear. Joan and I call it the bulldog gear.
That's putting a shine on it.
From the comments, it seems to be your birthday, so Happy Birthday, Murr! I say do whatever you need to do to keep from injuring more than just pride π
I hesitate to say I'm indestructible but I've taken some pretty good spills without cracking anything important (just skin).
I know absolutely nothing about bikes (having not been on one since I was 15) but this was still a curious, impressive read. Murr, is that you in the above photo of the young woman standing in front of a… plane? Hubba hubba! Those are nice legs alright :^)
Why, thankee, sir. That was a little plane I'd just taken to go see the newly blown-up Mt. St. Helens from the air.
A granny gear sounds like a splendid thing to have on a bike!
I did use it on our nearest big hill, and passed an old woman walking her fat-tired bike, and got passed by two old people with motor assist.
I have an e-bike and I just can't get used to it. I say that I fell off of it twice but really, both times have involved my stopping at an intersection. When I put my left foot down to stay still, the combination of gravity and the weight of the bike (e-bikes are HEAVY) tips the bike over on me and I end up lying on the pavement with one leg pinned under the bike. I have yet to find the fun in riding it.
Yeah, not fun. You're supposed to be on top of it.
I've had good quads too for most of my life, but my bike is staying in the shed until I can afford new tyres and after they are fitted, I'll probably sell it. I don't see myself riding again. There is too much vehicular traffic and it flows too fast. I wouldn't feel safe.
Depends where you are. We've got entire streets devoted to bikes (mostly) and lots and lots of striped bike lanes. I feel safe where I am.
P.S. Happy Birthday.
Be careful the first few times you use that granny gear! The laws of gravity suddenly scoot out from under you. (I suppose it's more likely that you need slightly different motor patterns to keep your balance when the distance travelled with each downstroke is so much shorter. But what it feels like is the bike just wanting to flop on its side.)
And I do know what THAT feels like.
I want to ride a bike. I want to paddle a kayak. I want to hang out with vaccinated people. And I want some cake.
I think you have to pick just three.
New moniker for Murr! "Thunderthighs!"
Now, but a distant rumble.