We all ride bikes. And we all have our reasons. We’ve been to bike shops where we examine the merchandise. We inspect, we question, we judge. We want a fast bike. We want the perfect bike for us. But is ours the only story? Is there another untold tale?
Yo!! You bet there is! Hey, I’m glad I finally get to tell the real story.
My friends call me Trekky. You see, me and all my friends are bikes. Yeah, I’m a bike…a fast bike…a really fast bike. But I’m jumpin’ ahead.
It all started one day at the bike shop – a pretty cool bike shop actually– nothin’ but serious bikes for serious riders. Me and Felty and Canon and Cervo and all the other bikes on the floor – you gotta know we spend all our time lookin’ you guys over when you come in. What? You don’t think we do to you what you do to us? And you should hear what we say about you!! You see, we’re lookin’ for the perfect rider … you know, young, fit and strong. Someone who can make us do what we were made to do.
So one day this older guy – you know, lotsa snow on the roof – starts snoopin’ around. We’re like “Whoa grandpa, you lost? Can’t find Canadian Tire?” Then to my horror, he picks me out! And our sales guy’s starts tellin’ him all my features, like how light and aero I am, great on hills and in the wind, all the usual stuff. “Ok, I’ll take it” he says… and I’m like “S**t, my life is over and it ain’t even started”. And my so-called friends are all ”Yo, Trekky, you’ll look great with a basket” “Watch out Trekky, he’ll crash you and turn you into a walker”. “At least you’ll be the fastest walker at the home!” Yeah, real funny guys.
Next day my rider takes me out for a spin, to get used to my feel and my peddles he says. I’m like “Please don’t tip me over. Don’t crash me. Please, please, please”. Then to my surprise, he starts to ride me like he almost knows what he’s doin’… shifts my gears kinda smooth, doesn’t grind me, clips out at stops, handles me okay.
Soon we’re out with other bikes. Real good looking bikes too…with young and fit and strong riders. They all look fast. And I’m all “Why me?” “We’re gonna get dropped like last period French”. And again, to my surprise, we keep up. I mean we seriously keep up. This so doesn’t suck! And I’m now starting to think “Man was I made for this!!”
The season goes on and we go out on lots of rides, sometimes with other bikes, sometimes it’s just us. And the more we’re together, the more I realize I got my first impression all wrong. My guy just loves to ride! It must be the release – you know, the feelin’ of gettin’ away from it all for awhile. I heard him say one time I “take him to freedom and beyond!”
Maybe it’s just the country air, and sense of motion. Or the honesty and the purity of it all. You know we can’t go anywhere where he doesn’t make it happen… with real, actual effort, not just pressin’ his big toe on a gas pedal.
And how he loves all the speed I can give him. And the danger! The more the one, the more the thrill of the other. If you ask me, I think he’s addicted!
One day we’re doin’ hill repeats. I’m takin’ him up just like I’m supposed to, and he’s resting goin’ down, just like he’s supposed to. Then I hear him say to the guys “I’m going to open it up on the descent. See how fast we can get it going”. I’m like “you sure?” cause I know how fast we can get me goin’. And it’s not called Snake Road for nothin’! We approach the first turn and I’m “Ah s**t, we’re goin’ into the guard rail. But he leans a little more and he keeps me just on the edge of the road. I’m sweating the oil off my chain!! Then he heads to the centre line for the next turn, takes me to high gear, and then really leans. If he so much as looks at my brakes, we’re down and I’m scrap. But he keeps peddling. Every turn, we’re Right…On…The…Edge! I’m thinkin’ either he knows what he’s doin’, or he’s freakin’ crazy. We make it to the bottom and he starts screaming “yes, yes, yes”. I know how fast we’re doin’ and decide yeah, he’s a little bit freakin’ crazy.
So he decides to enter a race. It’s one of those things where he swims a bit, then we ride for a bit, and then he takes off by himself and runs for a bit. (I know, don’t ask!!!). Anyway, we’re into the bike part and I know he’s goin’ to give it all he’s got. But we’ve never been in a race, so I don’t know what he’s really got. I shouldn’t have worried. As soon as I feel him get loose, he puts the hammer down. I can’t tell you how much fun it is passing other bikes. We even pull up to Canon from the bike shop, and then blow right by. All I got time to shout is “Who needs a basket now?”
Well, it’s been a whole season and I’ve been thinkin’ about how we started and what we’ve done together. And what I’ve learned. You know, you just can’t tell by lookin’ how much heart someone’s got. Or what kind of an engine they’ve got. Or how much kid is still left inside.
What I’m sayin’ is I’m real glad my guy picked me in the shop. I used to say “I was meant for this”. But now it’s “we were meant for this!!!”