The Detour Through the Pass

Ruben had been counting down to this cycling trip for months. Three days of mountain passes with his father, just the two of them and two loaded bikes. By the second afternoon, though, his rear derailleur had started grinding, and now it wouldn't shift at all.

"It's jammed on the smallest gear," Nikolai said, crouched beside the bike, turning the pedal slowly to listen. "That's not something I can fix with what's in my kit."

Ruben looked up the pass ahead of them, still six kilometers of steep climbing before the next town. "So what, we push the bikes the whole way?"

"If we pushed them, we'd be walking until well past dark," Nikolai said. "There's a lower route that skips the pass completely — longer, but flat. We'd reach the town by evening instead of tomorrow morning."

"We planned this whole trip around riding the pass, though," Ruben said, unable to hide his disappointment. "That was the point."

Nikolai straightened up and looked at his son for a moment before answering. "I know. But the point was also finishing the trip together, not proving something on one stretch of road."

Ruben was quiet, turning the pedal himself and hearing the same grinding sound his father had described. Reported like that, the choice sounded obvious, though it hadn't felt obvious a minute earlier.

"Fine. The lower route," he said. "But we're doing the pass next summer. No excuses."

"Deal," Nikolai said, already checking the map for the turn.

The lower road wound through farmland instead of switchbacks, flatter and, Ruben had to admit, quietly beautiful in a way the pass wouldn't have been. His single working gear meant standing on the pedals more than he would have liked, but the distance passed easily enough.

They reached the town just as the last light left the sky, tired but not defeated. Ruben leaned his bike against the hostel wall and looked back the way they'd come.

"Next summer," he said again, like a promise he intended to keep.