This post was written July 12, 2011, modified slightly to be appropriate to post on Oct 12. As you may be aware, I got the itch a few months ago to start checking out new bicycles. Why? Not because I need a new bike. A typical person waits until their bike breaks or gets stolen before getting a new one. Everyone (er, almost) everyone I know who owns an Orbea got it as a result of insurance money after their bike got stolen. This isn't saying anything one way or the other about bike theft or Orbeas, just a point of observation. I bet you have secretly hoped your bike would vanish for the opportunity to buy a new one. I left my Giant in Italy partially for that reason...and sometimes two humongous suitcases and a backpack are all one can humanly handle at the Rome airport.
Note carefully that I chose to take the carbon-fiber Giant (TCR-0 T-Mobile race bike) and not steel Serotta to Italy in the first place. I didn't go with the intention to race or even ride fast so the reason boils down to wanting the bike I cared for less in the foreign country. In this example, the expensive Giant had less value to me than the Serotta at one tenth the cost.
Some bikes actually feel like they have a soul. Others do not. They all have their place, depending on circumstances. But be forewarned, buying a bike with a soul is a commitment and putting it up on Craig's List could be emotionally impossible.
Back to my steel steed. This bike has a soul. It asks me to ride it and is proud to go. But it's growing long in the tooth and when it sees a hill, it is reluctant. Its paint is chipped and has old components (though I discovered with a good tune-up, it could pass as being much newer than it is). It's more "mine" with its candy-cane handlebars and I do take some pride in it.
But yet, I remember the joy of my first bike, the yellow and black one. It, too, was steel, but it fit me pretty closely (it wasn't custom, but was built for me when I ordered it)--it felt like it knew it was mine alone. The day I went to pick it up from the bike shop was so exciting, though I don't know why because before I rode it, I didn't care all that much for riding. Maybe it was because of the investment & my hope--it was an expensive bike and I had a lot of friends who were die-hard riders and their words of encouragement helped get me excited.
Credit must be given to the sales guy who helped me in 2003, who explained it plain as day, I remember him saying something to this effect: "If you want to like riding, you need a bike that will give you a great ride. Otherwise, it will just sit there, you won't ride it and then it will be a waste. Get a good bike, you'll be addicted." Good advice. That's what convinced me the bike would be a reasonable investment and I committed to buy a bike then. (Turns out it was a good investment: it held its value so when I sold it to a woman who needed a bike to show her the thrill of riding as I had needed when I got it, it had only lost a few hundred dollars in value. So it was like buying a great bike for 4-5 years for ~$500.)
Before that bike, I didn't even care much for riding bikes. Most people have stories from when they were a kid, when they took their bike out and explored for hours in the woods or went to meet up with friends without their parents. My experience was a little different: I rode in circles on a short street and once in awhile got out on the bike path, but it wasn't something that ever became part of my lifestyle. The suburbs weren't friendly to kids on bikes, in general, especially someone who tried to always play it safe like me.
Once I got on that first road bike, it happened instantly: I was so happy to ride...it felt like flying. The freedom, fresh air, joy, everything. It was amazing. How'd I live for so long without it?
Only a few short weeks after I got the bike, it was my birthday. That night I went riding with the Wednesday night ladies group who always rode together. It poured the rain and we were somewhere miles from where we'd originated. But we rode through it and got back soaking wet, but happy. That evening when I was on the bike, I remember the feeling of true elation: there was no other place I'd rather be than on that bike. I was alive and it was good to know how that felt. That was 8 years ago now.
Now I feel it is time to have a truly cool bike, one that rides great and fits me. By this, I mean in style and in geometry and I don't care to see another bike like mine on the road. Ever. At this stage in my life, when I buy something, it needs to be right, or I will wait.
This is where the trouble comes in. I have waited to commit to getting this new dream bike thinking that one magical day, I would sit down and figure out what the perfect bike will look like. (I'm only talking about paint/decals, etc., not the actual design of it.) Unfortunately, I never have a whole day in which to sit and ponder. Being a deadline-driven sort of person, and with my current road bike that rolls just fine, there is no "deadline" staring me in the face. I skip hilly races, that is the one thing my current road bike limits me from doing. I know it's holding me back sprinting, but that isn't too critical, especially if I'm just trying to keep up with the guys.
Case in point: my kitchen island. I found the glass that's on the island (shown below) two years prior to this island coming into existence. A perfectly good card table was used in the interim. Yes, here's me drawing a comparison between a steel road bike and a card table. Forgive the analogy.
Back to the island: I knew the glass was perfect for the island (it had been the surface to a coffee table), but I didn't have a clue as to what the base would look like or even what material would be needed.
Long story short, it took two years for me to find myself in a welding shop where I learned how to weld and the design only then came to life. This was my first project after I'd decided to stop chasing the dream of being a pro bike racer and have a little time on the weekends for something other than training. In a way, it was swapping one form of fulfillment with another. Note the steel with copper braised into it on the right wasn't part of the design. It was a mistake turned into a neat feature.
That's the beauty of creativity--being okay with not knowing the exact end result, but modifying and adjusting as challenges are placed in the way and coming out with something far better in the end than what had been originally planned.
It's going in knowing perfection isn't the end goal: it's solving the problem and being able to deal with the speed bumps gracefully as they present themselves.
That's the beauty of creativity--being okay with not knowing the exact end result, but modifying and adjusting as challenges are placed in the way and coming out with something far better in the end than what had been originally planned.
It's going in knowing perfection isn't the end goal: it's solving the problem and being able to deal with the speed bumps gracefully as they present themselves.
I wrote this post back on July 12th--that was the day when I finally decided to say it out-loud and commit that I would be getting the bike. So what bike am I talking about, anyhow?
I did a week-long test ride of the Seven Axiom SL, full-titanium frame, custom built for someone not all that different from me in size. I couldn't believe the quality of the ride and the speed of the bike. It was even better road feel than steel (which is tough to do because steel has such good road feel) and was almost just as light and responsive as my race carbon-fiber bike. It didn't have the serious snap of carbon-fiber, but that snap for me means not wanting to ride day after day in the saddle. I remember hating my carbon-fiber bike after a long road ride. After a time trial, I'd have to work hard to convince myself to get back on again the next day. I rode the Axiom SL really hard in a five-day time trial race and every day my body felt just as good as it did the day before (where it comes to sitting in the saddle). Unreal! The bike helped me win a week-long time trial that involved all sorts of climbing and all solo riding. I took the bike through the paces and it felt incredible. It even let me hit potholes without quivering. That sort of handling translates to a safer ride, too. I didn't expect to see the differences like I did, but it was significant. It was pretty obvious to me that after the test ride, that this is the ideal bike for me.
Now it's mid-October and am making final decisions on the paint design. The bike is built: the guy who built it told me so today. Now it's a matter of days before this bike rolls out of the factory shining, asking never to be ridden in rain. I will want to promise it that it will never be ridden in bad weather or over a pothole. Alas, it will be. But we're going to have some pretty awesome times together exploring the world and getting dirty together.
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