I sold one of my road bikes today to make way for a new Bianchi over the new year.
I know it might sound cheesy, but when you ride as much as I do, every time you saddle up on your bike I imagine it feels similar to what a jet fighter pilot feels like as she or he gets into their favorite plane. Nice and smooth and familiar.
I took my road bike many places and had some interesting experiences. There was the first time I did well in a road race. Really well. I was shocked and confused by what was happening in the race, being in a breakaway wasn't a familiar experience at the time (and still escapes me most races, even now). I remember the time my bike and I, okay I, made the poor choice to "outrun" an approaching front and storm in Minnesota. The storm won the race and as the front crossed my path it literally picked my bike and I up off the ground and threw us into a ditch. That was crazy!
My bike carried me through my personal "slump" of 2004 and 2005 when life got in the way of my riding and put me down a path that eventually led to dear old Colorado. The bike became my refuge, my respite and now cycling has become more important than ever in my own definition of Tim.
The bike and all my other crap got packed up and we headed West, young man, to pursue that dream. As the statesman from New York, Al Smith Sr., wrote many years ago, "Walk into that Eternal sunshine."
That bike stayed put on the bike of our support vehicles for RAAM, two years in a row and was rarely called into service, but for a few miles in Kansas. Anyway, it was there and ready to go.
Life happens, people came and went and come and go, but that dear old friend, my red bike, stuck around for the ride.
Keep the rubber side down...
Tim
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