Welcome to my new blog, The Mediocre Triathlete. This is my first “offical/non-intro type” TMT post, so to make this easy on myself (easy>hard), I am going to write about something that I love more than almost anything in the whole wide world.
My bike. Here she is:
Ain’t she a beaut? Oh, Bikey….
I love her. Bikey is a 2009 Cervelo P3. I bought her in 2010 from a LBS who was cleaning out the basement. Actually, I just bought the frame. Nearly all of the components came from this little darlin’:
I bought this bike used from a WPVI red-haired meteorologist/retired professional triathlete. (I’ll never tell who it is. I am protecting her privacy.) Anyway, it was a full component transplant from the Elite to the Cervelo. Nearly all of those components are still on Bikey and working just fine. Twelve year-old Dura Ace, thank you very much.
Actually, come to think of it, Bikey no longer has that front Reynolds wheel. I accidentally left it at Valley Forge Park after a long, rainy, cold training ride on the Schuylkill Trail. When I went back to retrieve it an hour later, it was gone. Stolen. Lost forever. So now, Bikey has a Zipp 101 front prosthetic wheel. Also, the gray fork is gone. It was carbon and it said “3T” on it. I never knew what that meant, but it sounded technical and important. Anyway, with Bikey on the roof of my car I drove into the parking garage at the mall. (I am still hearing grief from her about this. What a nag.) Bikey went flying off of my car and landed on the parking lot. The fork broke, along with my heart. So now I have a black Mizuno fork. At present she looks like this:
She was thinking about a dip in the hot tub. I said no.
I love her. I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE her. She is fast. She is comfy. She is soooo good-looking. We are BFFs forever and ever. (I know that’s redundant, but it just felt right.) Here she is in the hotel in bed before my first ultra-distance race:
I slept on the pull-out sofa.
This past weekend, I rode her from Wayne, PA to Stone Harbor, NJ, which is just about 100 miles. We had so much fun. We talked, we laughed, we even stopped at the Custard Ranch in Woodbine and had a small twist cone with jimmies. She loves jimmies. We have so much fun together.
Sometimes I push her on the swing:
She is very scratched and usually very dirty. Her wheels don’t match. She has a water bottle cage behind the saddle that acts as a water bottle/missile launcher every time I hit a bump, so I usually secure my hydration with a lot of ugly duct tape. The fellas at my LBS laugh at the size of the brake levers. “Dude, these are HUGE. So old school.” But you know what? I don’t care. I love her. She has carried me through two Ultras, a half dozen 70.3’s, and countless sprints. She has taken me from home to the shore twice and once the other direction. We have ridden over more Chester County hills and Cape May County bridges than I can count. And she forgave me when I tried to kill her in the mall parking lot. That means she has a really big heart.
I hope you are madly in love with your bike like I am. You should be! She doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive for you to love her. A bike that is free of dings and dirt probably isn’t ridden very often. If you’re not smitten with your bike, figure out why. Does she not fit right? Then go get a proper fitting at your LBS. Does her chain squeak? Well, LUBE IT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!! THAT HURTS HER!! (Sorry.) Forget the trainer and the intervals and the computer for a day. Call some friends, get on your bike, and go find some adventure.
And just so you know, all bikes are girls. Because girls rule, of course.