A Tale of Two Bicycles
What 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.
The problem with buying a bike is there are so many different styles that you have to think long and hard about exactly what you want it for. I don't want to necessarily start entering races, just thought it would be nice to go faster than I had been, but also wanted an old beat-up thing that I could bring to the grocery store and not stress about leaving in the parking lot.
Unfortunately road bikes seem to be enjoying quite a Renaissance suddenly (or perhaps they never went out of style. I've never shopped for one before). Whereas mountain bikes are a dime a dozen used in this town, road bikes, regardless of age or condition, seemed to be fetching quite a pretty penny -- nothing worth looking at for less than $100, and anything actually road ready more often $250 and up. Which put me on the razor's edge of paying $250+ for a decade-old "classic" or spending a little more for something brand new.
(Let me interject here for a mini Craiglist rant, because you know I can't resist. I actually came across more than one listing reading literally something like "men's road bike. Great condition" with a price and a phone number. No picture or anything. Really? You couldn't think of a single other piece of information that I might like to have when considering my purchase? How about a size? Number of speeds? A brand? A bleeding color? Nothing?)
Tery made no bones at all about her preference. She was afraid of me trying to save a little money and inheriting a lot of problems and headaches, not to mention ending up with something that most likely wouldn't be that much lighter than Rojo. It didn't help that Bicycle Village was advertising an enormous tent sale for the holiday weekend, 20-70% off all bikes.
But, as usual, I insisted on the cheaper route. After a few false starts ("Oh yeah, I sold that weeks ago, been meaning to take the ad down." Grrrrrrrrr) I finally zeroed in on one that certainly had the right price ($80) but the brand didn't exactly inspire confidence (Montgomery Ward. For those of you too young to remember, Montgomery Ward was Sears' biggest rival in the 1900s. Ancient history aside, department stores are not usually known for high quality bikes).
MyFriendDeb, who was coming over to watch The King's Speech anyway, agreed to come with me to look at it. I was thankful she did, as she pointed out a lot of sketchy little things about the build that I had no idea to look for; not that I needed her to tell me it was a bad idea to buy a bike with nonfunctioning rear brakes. It was clunky, heavy, difficult to maneuver, essentially a cheap mountain bike with drop handlebars. Made Rojo feel like a speedy cheetah by comparison.
I told the guy no thanks, and he offered to show me a women's bike that was a "Cadillac" in comparison. I'm absolutely not a fan of women's bikes but I was already there so I agreed.
He came out with this lavender thing. It wasn't actually a women's bike as Deb immediately noticed, but a mixte (more later). It certainly felt better than the men's. The rear brakes worked, though painfully stiff and required almost all my strength to engage. It had a set of thumb shifters without any markings like my Panasonic in college -- I had no idea how to use them in those days so stayed in one gear. But it did ride really smooth and seemed to fit me perfectly. $125 later and the deal was done.
I was perfectly excited and happy with my purchase (except for the frame -- more later), despite it being only marginally lighter than Rojo, until I got it home and Tery sneered, "Wow, does that look old." I did my best to ignore her. I propped it up on the kickstand, which I had noticed wasn't adjusted at the right angle, and halfway through the movie it suddenly flopped over with a building-shaking crash. Sorry, neighbors.
As I got ready for bed, I actually had overwhelming buyer's remorse that I haven't felt since buying my New Beetle just as impulsively, and I cried. Tery did try to console me, and took back her mean comments.
The next morning I took it outside for a very quick spin to reassure myself, and I was once again very pleased with how smooth and fun a ride it was (except for that awful rear brake). I rode her once around the park that afternoon (would have gone longer, but was nervous not having a tube in case of a flat) and felt like I was going really fast.
In between, I researched mixtes online. It turns out they are very European, called "mixte" from French for mixed, or unisex in this context. I'll admit, just that bit of info, that it wasn't actually a women's bike, made a huge difference in my attitude. Like fixies and other vintage styles, there was a mini cult of people actively seeking the mixte frames to restore and rebuild them. I enjoyed the thought of having such a unique style bike. For about an hour I toyed with the idea of going totally vintage, with classic '70s handlebar tape and brown leather saddle, but eventually decided that wasn't really my thing -- see above about having to think long and hard about what you want to do with your bike.
The mixte is instantly recognizable by the forked top tube that makes it more stable than a women's bike
Saturday morning I brought her to Bicycle Village for a quick inspection, and to see what could be done about that stiff brake. The guy spent about 10 minutes with it, declared that the brake problem was common among old bikes but otherwise she seemed to be in fairly good shape. I was thrilled. I bought nearly $100 in accessories for her, the fun part of bikes, the cosmetic fix-up.
My euphoria was punctured a little more though when I went to remove the rear tire and realized it was a solid bolt-on axle rather than a quick-release, i.e. if I had to change a flat on the road, I would need to carry a ratchet wrench with me. This was the latest in a series of discoveries of just how far bike technology has come in terms of convenience and ease of maintenance, advances that were all missing from the mixte. Tery and I joked that I would need to cart one of those big red 12-drawer mechanic chests behind me to handle all the tools I would need.
To change to a quick-release axle, I would need a whole new wheel. And Bicycle Village guy mentioned needing a new cassette soon. A quick search on eBay revealed that tracking down a replacement for such an ancient and obsolete component would be no easy task either.
Most of all, it made me really appreciate how lucky I got with Rojo, who needed no work done and had parts from this century.
The frame, women's or unisex, didn't leave a lot of options for packs or other gear. And I really kind of hated the color. This deal was getting worse all the time, and I was starting to think I shouldn't have to work this hard to love my bike.
Sunday we decided to go to the big tent sale, ostensibly to get some deals on parts for the mixte if possible -- this plan lasted only as long as it took Tery to dash to the row of new bikes and coyly beckon me over.
Again, I might have been able to resist if she didn't point out how suicide levers were apparently making a comeback. These are extensions of the brake levers positioned at the back of the handlebar, easier to reach than the far front ones, but with a pretty high failure rate (hence the nickname). I had a pair on my Panasonic and loved them. The mixte had them too, but they came dangerously loose after every single use no matter how hard I tightened them down, until I removed them completely. Tery told me they'd stopped putting them on bikes a long time ago, which was a complete surprise to me. This should give you an idea how long it's been since I bought a new bike.
The Fuji she was thrusting towards me had them, in a modern, integrated system that felt much more trustworthy. I needed a test drive.
You already know the end of this story. Instant love from the moment I stepped on the pedals. $600 later on Tery's Trek credit card and she was mine. I'm calling her Black Mamba because I've been dying to have a snake bike name since losing Rogue Leader.
Black Mamba
She's total entry level. She weighs 25 pounds, which is probably 12 pounds too heavy for the racerheads, but compared to Rojo I can carry her one-handed. She doesn't have top-of-the-line anything; in fact online reviews from bike snobs pile heaps of derision on her, but I don't care. Today I hit 30 mph on a downhill and I felt like I was flying on a bike-shaped slipstream. I go uphill at about 12 mph instead of 2 like on Rojo, but I'm feeling the difference in my calf muscles, which I've apparently been neglecting through improper foot placement all this time.
And I hate to say it, but weirdly I feel like a "real" cyclist at last. I've crossed the line to looking down my nose at mountain bike riders in the park, it turns out a very short line to cross indeed.
The two modifications I'm making is a Terry women's saddle (the stock one makes me feel like I'm carrying my entire weight on my lady bits. I honestly don't know how men can even ride a bike. Not to mention it caused excruciating back pain, which the guy at my professional fitting blamed on weak core muscles. However, the pain vanished when I eventually swapped over Rojo's saddle temporarily. Screw you, Mr. You Need to Work on Your Core). Also I'm moving up to pedals with toe clips, something I swore I'd never use again, but I want to maximize the efficiency of my stroke.
Oh yeah, the mixte. In my tradition of poor financial sense, I relisted it for $80 and let it go for $50 to a guy who admitted he just wanted the frame to rebuild. It was a bit of a relief, really -- my biggest fear was getting another cheapskate like me who knew nothing about bikes and would bring it back in a day complaining about all the little things I found wrong with it, or worse, hurting themselves on it and suing me. Better than giving or throwing it away I suppose, but I'm not in danger of becoming a millionaire anytime soon with my business model of "buy high, sell low."
This is what happens when you're addicted to bikes but have no garage
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.
The problem with buying a bike is there are so many different styles that you have to think long and hard about exactly what you want it for. I don't want to necessarily start entering races, just thought it would be nice to go faster than I had been, but also wanted an old beat-up thing that I could bring to the grocery store and not stress about leaving in the parking lot.
Unfortunately road bikes seem to be enjoying quite a Renaissance suddenly (or perhaps they never went out of style. I've never shopped for one before). Whereas mountain bikes are a dime a dozen used in this town, road bikes, regardless of age or condition, seemed to be fetching quite a pretty penny -- nothing worth looking at for less than $100, and anything actually road ready more often $250 and up. Which put me on the razor's edge of paying $250+ for a decade-old "classic" or spending a little more for something brand new.
(Let me interject here for a mini Craiglist rant, because you know I can't resist. I actually came across more than one listing reading literally something like "men's road bike. Great condition" with a price and a phone number. No picture or anything. Really? You couldn't think of a single other piece of information that I might like to have when considering my purchase? How about a size? Number of speeds? A brand? A bleeding color? Nothing?)
Tery made no bones at all about her preference. She was afraid of me trying to save a little money and inheriting a lot of problems and headaches, not to mention ending up with something that most likely wouldn't be that much lighter than Rojo. It didn't help that Bicycle Village was advertising an enormous tent sale for the holiday weekend, 20-70% off all bikes.
But, as usual, I insisted on the cheaper route. After a few false starts ("Oh yeah, I sold that weeks ago, been meaning to take the ad down." Grrrrrrrrr) I finally zeroed in on one that certainly had the right price ($80) but the brand didn't exactly inspire confidence (Montgomery Ward. For those of you too young to remember, Montgomery Ward was Sears' biggest rival in the 1900s. Ancient history aside, department stores are not usually known for high quality bikes).
MyFriendDeb, who was coming over to watch The King's Speech anyway, agreed to come with me to look at it. I was thankful she did, as she pointed out a lot of sketchy little things about the build that I had no idea to look for; not that I needed her to tell me it was a bad idea to buy a bike with nonfunctioning rear brakes. It was clunky, heavy, difficult to maneuver, essentially a cheap mountain bike with drop handlebars. Made Rojo feel like a speedy cheetah by comparison.
I told the guy no thanks, and he offered to show me a women's bike that was a "Cadillac" in comparison. I'm absolutely not a fan of women's bikes but I was already there so I agreed.
He came out with this lavender thing. It wasn't actually a women's bike as Deb immediately noticed, but a mixte (more later). It certainly felt better than the men's. The rear brakes worked, though painfully stiff and required almost all my strength to engage. It had a set of thumb shifters without any markings like my Panasonic in college -- I had no idea how to use them in those days so stayed in one gear. But it did ride really smooth and seemed to fit me perfectly. $125 later and the deal was done.
I was perfectly excited and happy with my purchase (except for the frame -- more later), despite it being only marginally lighter than Rojo, until I got it home and Tery sneered, "Wow, does that look old." I did my best to ignore her. I propped it up on the kickstand, which I had noticed wasn't adjusted at the right angle, and halfway through the movie it suddenly flopped over with a building-shaking crash. Sorry, neighbors.
As I got ready for bed, I actually had overwhelming buyer's remorse that I haven't felt since buying my New Beetle just as impulsively, and I cried. Tery did try to console me, and took back her mean comments.
The next morning I took it outside for a very quick spin to reassure myself, and I was once again very pleased with how smooth and fun a ride it was (except for that awful rear brake). I rode her once around the park that afternoon (would have gone longer, but was nervous not having a tube in case of a flat) and felt like I was going really fast.
In between, I researched mixtes online. It turns out they are very European, called "mixte" from French for mixed, or unisex in this context. I'll admit, just that bit of info, that it wasn't actually a women's bike, made a huge difference in my attitude. Like fixies and other vintage styles, there was a mini cult of people actively seeking the mixte frames to restore and rebuild them. I enjoyed the thought of having such a unique style bike. For about an hour I toyed with the idea of going totally vintage, with classic '70s handlebar tape and brown leather saddle, but eventually decided that wasn't really my thing -- see above about having to think long and hard about what you want to do with your bike.
The mixte is instantly recognizable by the forked top tube that makes it more stable than a women's bike
Saturday morning I brought her to Bicycle Village for a quick inspection, and to see what could be done about that stiff brake. The guy spent about 10 minutes with it, declared that the brake problem was common among old bikes but otherwise she seemed to be in fairly good shape. I was thrilled. I bought nearly $100 in accessories for her, the fun part of bikes, the cosmetic fix-up.
My euphoria was punctured a little more though when I went to remove the rear tire and realized it was a solid bolt-on axle rather than a quick-release, i.e. if I had to change a flat on the road, I would need to carry a ratchet wrench with me. This was the latest in a series of discoveries of just how far bike technology has come in terms of convenience and ease of maintenance, advances that were all missing from the mixte. Tery and I joked that I would need to cart one of those big red 12-drawer mechanic chests behind me to handle all the tools I would need.
To change to a quick-release axle, I would need a whole new wheel. And Bicycle Village guy mentioned needing a new cassette soon. A quick search on eBay revealed that tracking down a replacement for such an ancient and obsolete component would be no easy task either.
Most of all, it made me really appreciate how lucky I got with Rojo, who needed no work done and had parts from this century.
The frame, women's or unisex, didn't leave a lot of options for packs or other gear. And I really kind of hated the color. This deal was getting worse all the time, and I was starting to think I shouldn't have to work this hard to love my bike.
Sunday we decided to go to the big tent sale, ostensibly to get some deals on parts for the mixte if possible -- this plan lasted only as long as it took Tery to dash to the row of new bikes and coyly beckon me over.
Again, I might have been able to resist if she didn't point out how suicide levers were apparently making a comeback. These are extensions of the brake levers positioned at the back of the handlebar, easier to reach than the far front ones, but with a pretty high failure rate (hence the nickname). I had a pair on my Panasonic and loved them. The mixte had them too, but they came dangerously loose after every single use no matter how hard I tightened them down, until I removed them completely. Tery told me they'd stopped putting them on bikes a long time ago, which was a complete surprise to me. This should give you an idea how long it's been since I bought a new bike.
The Fuji she was thrusting towards me had them, in a modern, integrated system that felt much more trustworthy. I needed a test drive.
You already know the end of this story. Instant love from the moment I stepped on the pedals. $600 later on Tery's Trek credit card and she was mine. I'm calling her Black Mamba because I've been dying to have a snake bike name since losing Rogue Leader.
Black Mamba
She's total entry level. She weighs 25 pounds, which is probably 12 pounds too heavy for the racerheads, but compared to Rojo I can carry her one-handed. She doesn't have top-of-the-line anything; in fact online reviews from bike snobs pile heaps of derision on her, but I don't care. Today I hit 30 mph on a downhill and I felt like I was flying on a bike-shaped slipstream. I go uphill at about 12 mph instead of 2 like on Rojo, but I'm feeling the difference in my calf muscles, which I've apparently been neglecting through improper foot placement all this time.
And I hate to say it, but weirdly I feel like a "real" cyclist at last. I've crossed the line to looking down my nose at mountain bike riders in the park, it turns out a very short line to cross indeed.
The two modifications I'm making is a Terry women's saddle (the stock one makes me feel like I'm carrying my entire weight on my lady bits. I honestly don't know how men can even ride a bike. Not to mention it caused excruciating back pain, which the guy at my professional fitting blamed on weak core muscles. However, the pain vanished when I eventually swapped over Rojo's saddle temporarily. Screw you, Mr. You Need to Work on Your Core). Also I'm moving up to pedals with toe clips, something I swore I'd never use again, but I want to maximize the efficiency of my stroke.
Oh yeah, the mixte. In my tradition of poor financial sense, I relisted it for $80 and let it go for $50 to a guy who admitted he just wanted the frame to rebuild. It was a bit of a relief, really -- my biggest fear was getting another cheapskate like me who knew nothing about bikes and would bring it back in a day complaining about all the little things I found wrong with it, or worse, hurting themselves on it and suing me. Better than giving or throwing it away I suppose, but I'm not in danger of becoming a millionaire anytime soon with my business model of "buy high, sell low."
This is what happens when you're addicted to bikes but have no garage