What is it about roadies that makes them so utterly incapable of enjoying a ride unless their drivetrain is functioning with the precision of a Swiss watch, with every gear shift and pedal stroke executed in perfect harmony, and any deviation from this ideal met with the kind of outrage and disgust normally reserved for a rider showing up to a group ride in a neon pink jersey with flashing lights and a basket full of baguettes?
Is it really that critical to their very existence that every link in the chain, every tooth on the cassette, and every bearing in the derailleur is functioning in perfect sync, or is it just a case of OCD masquerading as a passion for cycling?
And what exactly is the worst that could happen if a rider shows up to a group ride with a slightly worn-out chain or a derailleur thats a hair out of adjustment - will the very fabric of space-time itself begin to unravel, or will the offending rider simply be forced to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, aka a few snarky comments from their fellow riders?
Is it really that critical to their very existence that every link in the chain, every tooth on the cassette, and every bearing in the derailleur is functioning in perfect sync, or is it just a case of OCD masquerading as a passion for cycling?
And what exactly is the worst that could happen if a rider shows up to a group ride with a slightly worn-out chain or a derailleur thats a hair out of adjustment - will the very fabric of space-time itself begin to unravel, or will the offending rider simply be forced to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, aka a few snarky comments from their fellow riders?