Stuck inside my ownership blues

My first gas grill, my second pair of skis, a Jeep Wrangler, a mountain bike and 8 years later, a road bike. These are the luxury items that have truly made a difference in my life. That is to say, the ownership and use of these things made me happy and never led me to question the judgement used in their purchase.

I am not cheap but there is not much that I feel like I need or, more importantly, truly want. That’s one of the reasons I love running so much, it’s a low cost, low fuss activity. A pair of shorts, shoes and a road and you can pretty much get it done anywhere at any time of day. I’ve run just below the Arctic Circle when it was minus 19 degrees and blowing hard and I’ve run high up into the hills of Zambia when I had no way in Google of knowing how I would get home. Running shoes have brought me through Moscow’s Red Square and high up into the Alps for a magnifique “up close” view of Mont Blanc. For a little bit of cardio effort, I’ve been rewarded with visual, cultural and spiritual thrills that have been easy to come by and hard to forget.

But every once in a while, I get transfixed by an item. This is what happened to me on Friday. Hustling home for the weekend, I dropped into a local bike shop to pick up some lube for my chain. As I stood at the counter, a beautiful black road bike caught my attention. Hanging from the wall, it gleamed at me like a homewrecker at last call, all slick paint and tidy components. Hanging from the handle bars was the coup de grace, a sign in big, red, bold letters “50% Off.”

Before I turned 50, I bought myself my first road bike. Despite having covered the Tour de France for a decade and enjoyed watching cycling for years before that, I’d never felt compelled to hit the roads. If my schedule permitted me time for anything besides running, I was happy to crash around on my mountain bike. Getting older though, I noticed that those crashes were getting more serious, the “way too close” calls more frequent. Not to mention, I was beating the Christ out of my bike, it always seemed to have a problem. So, I dropped the minimum for a stable, comfortable road bike and was quite happy for a couple years going on rides up to 100 miles long and rarely having a complaint.

But, last summer while doing the Tour de France stage previews, former pro Christian Vande Velde let me take his bike for a spin. It was a lusty difference compared to what I was used to. The electric gears actually shifted when you changed them, the bike leapt up inclines and, most of all, it made me feel dangerous. I could kick some ass on this machine.

All of this, persuaded me to want to make an impulsive Friday purchase. Then, the wife said, “You should get it, you deserve it.” SOLD.

Well, not really.

I’ve got one kid in college and another one soon to be. The soon to be is turning 16 and she wants and frankly needs a car. We owe some on taxes and there’s a puppy joining the family later this spring. It pains me to write this but the bike can wait.

Beside the expense, which is not insignificant, there’s the shadow of buying performance. I have no intention of racing this bike, I just like to ride as cross training for my running. Do I need to go faster, feel dangerous, pass more of Fairfield County’s aging peloton on my Sunday morning rides? Nope. And if I did, I’d have to ask: is it me or just the bike?

Recently, there’s been a lot of discussion about the validity of times run with Nike’s Vaporfly 4%’s. The energy return system built into the shoe is so significant that some believe the records being set with its aid are equivalent to the body suit swim records produced in the early aughts. In other words, enjoy them now, they’ll soon be asterisked.

I don’t judge anyone that’s looking to go as fast as they can. If there’s an advantage to be had with an equipment upgrade, by all means, take it. But it’s not for me. I’ve got a half marathon coming up and though I’ve thought about it, I won’t be running it in VaporFly’s. As seductive as it would be to give them a try, like a cheating lover, I’d feel compelled to taint an interlude of bliss with shamefaced qualifier “yeah but I was wearing these shoes…” A scenario like that runs counter to what I love about the sport: its simplicity.

As for the bike, maybe I’ll get it when there aren’t tuition and tax bills or a new fence to put in at the house. When the day comes and I’m truly ready to buy it, I want to make sure it’s going to be not just a material upgrade but a lifechanging one as well.

And she says, “Your debutante just knows what you need,

But I know what you want.”

Oh Mama, could this really be the end?

To be stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues again.

–Bob Dylan