TomS and I have been scouring the racks of the Trek store trying to find a 520. Having finally deciphered the bizarre store dress code by figuring if you're standing behind the register you probably work there I ask, "Where are your 520's? We want to check them out."
She cocks her head, giggles and says, "Do they even make those anymore?"
There's going to be trouble.
"Um... yeah they do," I reply.
bubbleheadBarbie is unconvinced and decides to check on the store computer. By this point in time her credibility is shot with me and I'm glancing around the store trying to figure out who else works in the joint and might help. The casual store attire isn't helping with this. There are two dudes over to my left muttering over some bike that with a glance I can tell is out of our price range but they look like buddies and so there's not much help there.
She strolls back over saying, "We don't have any in the store but there are some in the other store, would you like for me to have one shipped over?"
Maybe. "Can you help size him?"
She eyes TomS's freakish body, challenged by his too short legs and extended torso. She has him straddle the bike, stand on his tippy-toes so he can get in the saddle, putting his hands on the hoods and asking if he can see the hub of the front tire over the handlebars before pronouncing him a 54.
We collectively stare at the racks of bikes like idiots, lost in our own thoughts.
TomS asks about her take on the 2.1 and she asks what he plans to do with it, long rides, short rides, what? TomS wants to work his way up to long rides and she says the 2.1 is a fine choice for that and then begins babbling, "You might want to consider SRAMs as opposed to 105s or maybe Ultegras. I was on this girl's wheel in some race and they all had Ultegras or SRAMS and I could hear them shifting up much faster than I could. So now I'm struggling to hold the wheel ya know? So I begin hammering trying to hold on but I couldn't so I look behind me going are you bitches going to work with me so that we can catch back up? Line up! Anyway it's a much smoother shifter."
Mmhmm word.
I'm staring at her hard now catching a hint on what lies beneath that baggy tee and noticing her arm tone. I'm starting to feel like Paul Newman did in The Color of Money when he was 'played' by Forest Whitaker. This girl knows road bikes.
"You race?"
"Well I haven't in about a year but I use to race for Ohio State... their club team," she says giving me the impression we should all feel like 'club team' is some sort of demerit.
I'm sorta falling in love with her. She's actually been in a peloton! She's competed! She's dangerous. She's dangerous in the sense a lot of these serious athletes are, they don't brag, they're too experienced for that, they're quiet, exuding this Bob Dylan aura You think I'm over the hill, You think I'm past my prime, Let me see what you got, We can have a whopping good time, if you're experienced enough to pick up on it. I rename her pelotonBarbie.
Armed with information TomS and I head out.
The next morning he sexts me that he's ready to buy.
That evening we're back in the store. pelotonBarbie is nowhere to be seen much to TomS's relief. He want's to be sized by a dude and not for some sexist reason, well maybe, you make the call, he needs to ask about his unmentionables and cover various aspects of the saddle and said 'privates' and how to keep parts of his anatomy from falling asleep. This sort of talk would dangerously arouse pelotonBarbie and honestly he has a point - there are certain differences between the sexes that are best covered by someone of the same sex.
We catch the eye of Bama who I've misnamed because he's from Georgia but so what? Most of the folk at this Trek store seem to be into mountain biking but that doesn't cut down on their knowledge of bikes. Bama eyes TomS's freakish body, challenged by his too short legs and extended torso and immediately pronounces him a 56. He then backs that up by strapping some pedals on the bike and going out riding with him. Whatever happened out there shall forever remain between those two. TomS refuses to discuss it.
Left with my son, who wanted to tag along to observe the middle aged males in the thrall of full midlife crises, I began eying the bikes with something akin to lust. I want a car, badly. What I mean by that is my 520 is a truck, it's very good at what it's designed for but it handles like a truck. I want a fast, twitchy car for long bike rides... sigh.
Some dude strolls by on his way out asking if I have any questions. I'm showing him the 4.1 I'm looking at (I have to get a bike slightly better than TomS's and the 2.3 isn't a big enough hop which puts me in the Madone class and a 4.1 - for the ladies out there, it's a guy thing, don't try and figure it out) and receive a twenty minute lecture on shifters and various ways I can keep near my price range but FOR THE LOVE OF GOD you want SRAM shifters! Followed by an in depth discussion on the various types of SRAMs happily yakking about Red, Rival and Force as if I had a clue what language he was speaking. I nod knowingly, completely lost at this point but figuring its safer to humor him.
One thing I'll say about this Trek store is the staff are serious bike geeks, keep in mind this guy did this on his own dime, off the clock. They love bikes here.
By the time he was done I simply had to have a Trek 4.7! Plus the paint job IS TO DIE FOR! Everyone behind the counter wants one if they can't pony up enough for a project one bike and like Bama said, "Who cares if it's TCT Carbon instead of OCLV?"
Do I care? I'm pretty sure I don't want to know, I'm already about $500 over what I had set as my upper limit and there's no turning back. It's a 4.7 for Bill gosh darn it, but when? I must run the gauntlet of central purchasing, that can be tricky but doable if I whine enough, plead my case sincerely. Ah, there's the rub, I must first convince myself that I will do long, pointless bike rides like other dudes who disappear for four hours to play golf on the weekends. An added challenge will be doing that on my boat anchor 520. Still, it must be done. One doesn't drop this sort of coin on a lark which is why I haven't bought that Fender. I don't rate it.
Still... I could pay it forward. You know get the bike, which will by its very presence make me ride it, if just to save my marriage. I could just ride down to the local United Dairy Farmers if I'm not in the mood that day, hang out eating ice cream and reading magazines until they kick me out... she'll check the odometer or even worse trust me. The guilt will eat me alive... nope, I have to ride it. A lot! I'm up for that. If I get it now, even though I've never actually seen one, much less ridden one I can get some serious miles in on it before winter...
THANK GOD!!! TomS enters through the back of the store walking the 2.1 in. I can immediately tell he's dropped close to eight pounds and his face is molding into that chiseled biker face of the serious road warrior. He can barely bring himself to make eye contact with me and my stodgy 520 ways. In a few months he probably wont let people know that he actually knows someone who has a kickstand on his bike.
Is he smirking at me?!
He converses with Bama and decides to buy the bike. It's real pretty, wanna see?
Next came the mountain of crap he needs in addition to the bike. Helmet, pedals, shoes, gloves and bike computer. A whole bunch of stuff! When it was all said and done TomS had a bit of sticker shock but he got what he needed in my opinion to make sure he has fun, safe rides.Except the bike of course. They had to order that. He should get it either this Saturday or the upcoming Monday or Tuesday. I can't wait to hear about his first ride! Maybe he'll let me ride with him so that he can practice dropping me...
goFast sent me this - it's where I'm headed I'm certain.
Remember, Exercise in Futility is a CAUTIONARY tale.
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