The Horror of Bike Shops

You see, now that I've joined the burgeoning ranks of the unemployed, I have time to actually walk into bike shops and check out all the junk I can't buy. "Just kickin the tires," is what I tell the perky salespeople when they pop by and ask me if I want to test ride the new Specialized S-Works Epic. Hell yeah I wanna test ride it, but it would be nothing more than torture, so why bother. I guess I must look like I can afford a bike like that, although I find even this possibility doubtful.

While aimlessly standing around yesterday, I eavesdropped on a conversation between a customer and a couple of guys behind the counter. From this dialogue I learned three things: 1) when a person hits 40, they lose fitness at an incredible rate (according to this clown, if you train 4 weeks and take a week off, you lose all those hard-fought gains); 2)for some unknown reason, a significant percentage of so-called regular bike riders feel a powerful need to impress the peach-fuzzy, minimum wage bike shop employees with their astounding array of cycling and fitness knowledge; 3)all serious cyclists refer to their training and rides as work. As in, "I do all my work in zones 1 and 2." Gag.

I can believe #1 if a person had never thrown a leg over a bike before Lance Armstrong's fifth Tour De France victory, *worked* for three weeks, strained an achilles tendon, watched the Discovery Channel dope heads charge down the Champs Elysses demurely sipping fine champagne, and then resumed cycling only to find it's not as much fun when Lance isn't around.

I have fallen victim to scenario #2 as well, in the beginning. Now, all I really want is for you, dear bike mechanic, to properly cut my cables and housings, as I fucked them up with Vyse-grips in a frenzy to get back out there on the road and *work*.

As for number three, (if you haven't figured it out by now)when I start referring to bike riding and training as work that's when I'll know I need to get my priorities in check. Come on dude. You are 45-ish. You probably have a silver Audi station wagon, a purty little wifey and a trio of kids at home down in Mill Valley. I don't give a crap what crumby little local 1/2 pro you happen to be training with. Either you're born with it or you're not. Fanatically plan your regimented fitness program all you want, but I'll take a ride with my sweet woman over *work* with whatever straggled group of Colnago-riding dorks you happen to wrangle up on Sunday morning after your coffee enema. Just get over it.

Moreover, when was the last time you actually raced in "zone 1" or "zone 2," whatever those are? Fat-ass Chris Carmichael (have you seen his ads lately?) ain't gonna save you on race day when you get dropped.