Hooray Bikes!: That's what the sign says on the street outside one of the local bike shops, Great Lakes Cycling. You see, I bought a bike. It is my intent to get more outside exercise this summer. I looked at a review in Outside magazine and they identified the Schwinn Le Tour as a top notch entry level road bike -- by that they mean inexpensive but with quality components. A web search quickly revealed to me that the best price was to be had by ordering online from Nashbar via Amazon. Cool so far.
The bike arrived boxed and unassembled, as expected. On the outside of the box there was a list of the tools that would be required to assemble it. A set of metric box wrenches, various screwdrivers, and a few sizes of hex wrenches. No problem, I had all that stuff. So one afternoon I set out to put the thing together. Problem: there were no assembly instructions. Each component (crankset, handlebars, seats, brakes, etc.) came with a detailed manual about how to use it but not how to attach it to the frame. The bike itself came with an owner's manual that suggested I always ride with a helmet, and other anti-liability information, but no "insert part a into slot b and tighten" directions. It took me about 15 seconds to realize there was no way I would be able to just figure it out. Apparently assembling a bike is something you can only do if you already know how to assemble a bike. Thus, the call was placed to Great Lakes Cycling and arrangements were made for assembly and a "fitting".
One week later, I stood by as a very bike-ish dude attached my now fully assembled bike to a trainer (kind of like a treadmill for bikes) and told me to get on and start pedaling and he would commence with the fitting. I had expected that he would take some quick measurements and make some adjustments and send me on my way. Forty-five minutes later, with me nice and sweaty and out of breath, we finally decided that the bike fit. Let's just say it was a very thorough fitting. But I was proud of myself for not letting the bike-ish dude get the best of me -- I pedaled right on through without a complaint.
I have since purchased a trunk rack so I can safely transport the thing wherever. Now I need to invest in a lock, a set of clipless pedals, and, most annoyingly, a helmet.
My problems with helmets are twofold. First, there is no human being on Earth, however self-possessed, that does not look like he is on the way home from special ed. when wearing a bike helmet. I am absolutely dumbfounded that, in a world where fashion and coolness are prized above all else, bike helmets even exist. I would gladly invest in any company that comes up with a way to make a non-dorky-looking bike helmet. That would be found money.
Second, and more importantly, as a child I rode around many, many miles in the most rambunctious, irresponsible way imaginable, all without a helmet and all without injury. Suddenly I have a moral obligation to wear a helmet? My life is in jeopardy if I don't? I'm a mortal lock for brain damage? When did the world turn into a nervous old lady? I may be 47, but I'm still a boy, you know.
I am resigned to buying a helmet because a dear friend of mine, who will likely be a riding partner, has told me she will not permit me to ride without one and that, in fact, there are some places where you can get a ticket (presumably from a cop on a bike) for doing what you did every day when you were nine years old.
The older I get the more clearly I see that this is not my world anymore. It's moved past me, or at least, gone off in a different direction. Oh well; at least I get to bitch about it.
So, yeah, I have a new bike.
