I rode to my mom's today. It's 2.3 miles, .8 mile of which just goes up. (I need a phone with Strava, damn it!) I rode 2.2 miles. I had to walk the bike two blocks and I felt bad about it but I also didn't. I wasn't on the Trek. I didn't have the tire pressure where I wanted it when I needed to leave so I took a 24" Schwinn Ranger. (And I forgot my bottle of water.) By the time I got .6 mile into the climb I had the front derailleur in 1 and the rear in 2 and I was laughing almost too hard to keep pedaling. I don't know if it was endorphins or just the absurdity of someone like me on my little pink and white bike trying to ride up a hill I've seen serious cyclists- you can tell by their determined expressions- with real bikes walking their steeds up.

In any case, two more blocks in and I was in 1 on the front and rear and no matter how I urged on me or the bike or both, it just wasn't going to happen. I said, "Come on! There's the stoplight and the big intersection! We're almost there" but there was no way. I walked the two blocks and across the intersection and got back on the bike and rode the last .3 mile to my mom's. Of course, I'm going to try the hill again. Not tomorrow but certainly next week. Because today's attempt made me wonder. I wonder if I could have made it on the Trek. I wonder if I could make it with the replacement derailleur I'm entitled to. I wonder what the neighbors thought when they saw a woman sitting on a bike in the middle of the street laughing her ass off.