Yes, I dove right in and spent more on a new bike than I spent on my new leather sofa set a while back.  Perhaps I’m hoping karma will kick in and I’ll magically justify it by sitting on the bike more than my sofa.  Perhaps not, but it’s a nice thought and that justification somehow got me to plunk down my well worn credit card with wild anticipation of the magic, gorgeous, sexy racing creature that I’m surely meant to be.  Yes!  I will ride like the wind, gracefully turning into each curve and somehow mastering an aggressive lean into that turn that makes me feel like a busty masthead of a ship, cutting through the wind to sail across that black pavement that looks so pretty from up on my high seat and so scary when I realize I’ve just hit it because I forgot to clip out of my stupid pedals.  Ouch.  And to add insult to injury, I’m pretty sure I was just balancing in place in this daydream and still fell on the ground.  Damn clips.

So none of this has happened yet, but I’m pretty sure you’ll read about it when I do dive in to the pedal system.  Right now, I’m just trying to navigate the simple obstacles on my local park trail.  You know, the massive hole (I mean, it’s the size of a quarter at least) in the pavement, the darling bunny that is daring enough to run in front of my wheel (is she laughing at me?  I know I’m not that fast.), and the wildly sharp bends (to most, I’m sure these are actually pretty straight lines) in the trail that I still have to slow down for.  (Note: this is where I summon the busty masthead, but she must be below deck pillaging the galley or flirting with the sailors.)  Add in pedestrians, other cyclists, and kids on – what the hell is that thing, a gas-powered scooter? – and I’ve got several weeks of riding to do before I feel even remotely comfortable on this spendy contraption I’ve committed to.

Nevertheless, I shall become one with this bike.  I can feel it.  Or rather, I can feel all of my bones praying that I soon become one with this bike before they all flip me the bird and go on strike.  My neck seems to think I’ve been in several car accidents in a row, my lower back is convinced I’ve lifted the back of several cars for fun, my abs are waking up like a bear that’s been hibernating since the last time I saw my elementary school playground, and my ass feels like someone took a meat tenderizer to it while they were drunk and being egged on by a rowdy rugby team.  But yes, I will become one with this bike.  I will become one with this piece of aluminum if it’s the last thing I do.