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A Tale of Two Bicycles
Jun. 3rd, 2011 08:43 amWhat did I do with my Memorial Day weekend? I bought some bikes. No typo, bikes, plural. I would blame my temporary insanity on having too much free time during the holiday, but of course there was no holiday for me, I worked my normal day-night-day-night-night schedule.
Let me begin at the beginning. I've always looked down on Tery and her owning a mountain bike AND a road bike. I've always felt I had the best of both worlds with Rojo a-Go-Go and her interchangeable tires. I've always felt disdain for the racerheads covered in brand-name sponsored clothing and shelling out thousands of dollars for top-of-the-line components weighing next to nothing for their ride.
But something flipped a switch suddenly in my brain. Suddenly I was feeling some serious bike envy for the sleek, speedy machines that flew past me up hills and on most straightaways. I fantasized about having some variety in hand placement on my bars (the mountain bike really only offers one position). I dreamed of crouching low to the ground like a cheetah, eating up the miles with effortless efficiency.
Which isn't to say I went completely to the Dark Side and ran out and bought a wardrobe of tight biking clothes that only really look good on Lance Armstrong-shaped bodies.
No, I started my search on Craigslist, where I always do, and over Tery's loud protestations. ( ::And so the saga began...:: )
Let me begin at the beginning. I've always looked down on Tery and her owning a mountain bike AND a road bike. I've always felt I had the best of both worlds with Rojo a-Go-Go and her interchangeable tires. I've always felt disdain for the racerheads covered in brand-name sponsored clothing and shelling out thousands of dollars for top-of-the-line components weighing next to nothing for their ride.
But something flipped a switch suddenly in my brain. Suddenly I was feeling some serious bike envy for the sleek, speedy machines that flew past me up hills and on most straightaways. I fantasized about having some variety in hand placement on my bars (the mountain bike really only offers one position). I dreamed of crouching low to the ground like a cheetah, eating up the miles with effortless efficiency.
Which isn't to say I went completely to the Dark Side and ran out and bought a wardrobe of tight biking clothes that only really look good on Lance Armstrong-shaped bodies.
No, I started my search on Craigslist, where I always do, and over Tery's loud protestations. ( ::And so the saga began...:: )
