So, let me say that last night I was looking on line at pictures. Whoa. Hold your horses. Not those kinds of pictures. Better. Pictures of the new bike I want. The Superfly 100 AL Pro. If I had a locker, I would tape a picture of this bike on the inside. Just like in middle school when I had a crush on Shaun Cassidy. I demo’d the bike last week through my awesome Trek store here in Boulder. They shuttled me (and two other guys) up to the connector and we all rode what we hoped were our dream bikes. The mechanics at the store told me that it would probably take four or five times before I really felt comfortable on a 29er. They were wrong.
That bike felt more right than most of my boyfriends in high school. It was an extension of me. It moved with me and for me and not against me. It held me and carried me over rocks and roots and ruts. It completed me. No second, third or fourth date needed. I’m sold. So I’ve been looking at specs and pictures of my new obsession. But before you go all glassy eyed at my ramblings let me tell you about my favorite bike store and my favorite mechanic.
A while back on 303 there was a chat about bike stores in town. We are psyched to have so many great choices here in Boulder. But I do have a yucky experience for comparison. Years back, back when I didn’t have a mountain bike (pause for a collective gasp), I went shopping at a store here in Boulder. And the sales guy was a chauvinist asshat. He patted the saddle and said (in the voice that parents use with their toddlers), “Now what do you call this?” When I replied, “Saddle” he said, “Good girl.” So, I have a litmus test. Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot and don’t market to me like I am stupid.
So, my favorite place is my Trek store. I know what I look like. And I know what I wish I looked like. I look like a mid 40’s woman on a pink bike who is… and how do I say this? I’m an average rider. Not sponsored. Not on a team. For god’s sakes, I wear baggies and I usually don’t match my clothing. I’d like to look like a total badass but I think those days are gone. Actually they were never here. I look like the cute (taking liberties here) sister of your friend that you didn’t want to date but you wanted to play air hockey with. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter what I look like. All that matters is that I mountain bike, I am passionate about mountain biking and I’d like to think I know a little something about the whole thing. That’s why when my fav mechanic tells me, “I don’t care if you come in here every day. I just want your bike to work the way it’s supposed to work.” That’s like whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
And that’s what us girls want I think. Respect. Care. Attention. And here’s food for thought; we spend lots of money and we tend to tell our friends where we like to spend that money.
That’s enough for now. I’ve got to find some tape to hang up the picture of my new bike.