The old freewheel on my commute bike is knackered. The metronomic clunk that started a couple of months ago has morphed into an excruciating noise, something like a washing machine, on a slow spin, with a drum full of gravel. The freewheel was solidly stuck onto the hub, so last week I took the wheel into my LBS for it to be replaced. The mechanic duly took it off only to find the right replacement wasn’t in stock, so the old one went back on, but loosened and with fresh anti-seize. Yesterday I picked up a replacement and this time the old one didn’t require too much elbow grease to remove, so on the new one went.
This morning the bike felt like a new machine; it was back on form with a drive that is smooth and assured. The difference feels worth more than the £9 spent (OK £18 if you count the drink powder I brought from my LBS as they also trued the wheel for free).
I can once again ride and hear the skylarks singing and the hum made by my knobbly tyres as they roll over the warming tarmac, and sounding so much like Grafham Water’s swarming midges. And when I stop pedalling, and start freehweelin’ on my new freewheel, it purrs along like an indolent cricket basking in this summer’s heat. Happy riding.