Tuesday, September 28, 2010
An Open Letter to My 11-Tooth Cog
First, let me say I hope you are well. It has been quite some time since I visited. It may be some time before I get a chance to visit you again, but please don't take this to mean I'm not thinking of you. I think of you--long to ka-chink over onto you with my obnoxiously loud SRAM shifting action and not gank my legs. But I'm presently taking it easy and trying to recover.
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and this is certainly the case with you, my least visited cog.
They also say size matters, but in the world of cycling, it's the reverse: no one says, "look at how huge and bulky that thing is." Thus, you're pretty hut stuff. Blood pumping, heart racing, mind racing--you do it all for me. You're my favorite, no doubt. When with you I feel alive.
But you wear me out, and in the end, I'm not a one-cog kind of guy, no matter how amazing the cog. There are other cogs out there, beautiful and easy cogs I can easily visit. No, don't complain. It's not a matter of choice--if I could live without my other cogs, and just stay in you, on you, wrapped around you, I would, but I'm weak. I need the other cogs. You're hard on a guy. When the going gets tough, you don't get any easier to live with. A hard cog, you are. That's why I sometimes remove you altogether and put on my 12-27. But I need you for the flat ground when I'm sprinting for the line and pouring it on on the downhill, when the ground races and the wind rushes, and danger is everywhere. And if it comes down to it, if I had to live with one cog, 17 would be the one.
It's not you, it's me. I'm not strong enough for you. I've heard of guys riding for hours in you, spinning in you, moving to a 55 tooth chainring up front. I can't do that, not in this world. And you're just going to have to live with that, my darling.
Always wishing to be with you,