Bike Lust
Lust is sustaining, because it is fundamentally hopeful. Even in the cold, dark, isolating winter, the mind and body need enticement, excitement, and arousal. During pleasant weather, cyclists can gain and sustain an upbeat attitude with rewarding rides and beautiful mornings on the road -- but bike lust is all winter's isolation and chill leave. The prospect of acquiring a new bike, whether realized or not, can help the avid cyclist survive the season when snow, ice, cold, and winds combine to deprive him or her of the basic pleasures of cycling.
Bike lust comes in different flavors, from the wholesome to the lurid.
Wholesome and publicly acknowledgeable bike lust is the tempered and balanced admiration of a nice bike of less than $1,000 that has a modest componentry and is made, usually, of aluminum. Wanting one of these is like seeking a hug and a kiss on the cheek -- socially acceptable, no signal about further intentions, and low-risk.
A less temperate mode of bike lust includes sexy black carbon weave in erotic arcs and bends, draped with an unseemly amount of componentry. Or even the sleek and frosty titanium, which titillates with gorgeous welds and a soft, matte finish that glows with youth and vitality. Gazing upon these beauties, salivary glands begin to fire, pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, and blood is shunted to your hands as they grasp for your wallet.
Catalog companies know how to exploit bike lust, sending their thick, glossy editions as winter's nadir is reached, making the lonely, trapped cyclist yearn for contact with these enticing fresh and nubile cycles. It is not a mistake that both cycling catalog promoters and "Sports Illustrated" exploit February. We're simply more vulnerable to being plied by gorgeous, curvy, and seductive shapes. And girls in swimsuits are nice to look at, as well.
Infatuation is the next step after lust, and this is a dangerous transition. The object of your lust is now clear, and singular. You think about a particular bike constantly, you may have touched it in the store, and you remember how you approached it -- how it felt, how it responded as you lifted it, how its clean drivetrain beckoned -- and you contemplate the electricity of that first, furtive contact. It becomes an obsession, and you must have it.
If you hold out, however, you may find that, as the weather improves and the roads become available yet again, your current bike feels great, and the familiar joy of riding returns. Its little idiosyncrasies charm you yet again, the shared stories you have and the quirks emerging from years of repairs, maintenance, and miles. One warm day with some tailwinds, and your infatuation dissolves, your lust is vanquished, and your love for your current ride returns in full force.
Or perhaps you indulged, and are riding your new bike. It is then that the charade is revealed, as bike lust returns soon enough. Did you buy carbon? That titanium rig that just blasted past, with its icy skin and smooth ride, looks pretty good. Aluminum? A nice carbon downtube flashes some weave, and your head is turned. The lesson of lust is reinforced: as the famous TV line goes, "Sometimes the wanting is better than the having."
Bike lust comes in different flavors, from the wholesome to the lurid.
Wholesome and publicly acknowledgeable bike lust is the tempered and balanced admiration of a nice bike of less than $1,000 that has a modest componentry and is made, usually, of aluminum. Wanting one of these is like seeking a hug and a kiss on the cheek -- socially acceptable, no signal about further intentions, and low-risk.
A less temperate mode of bike lust includes sexy black carbon weave in erotic arcs and bends, draped with an unseemly amount of componentry. Or even the sleek and frosty titanium, which titillates with gorgeous welds and a soft, matte finish that glows with youth and vitality. Gazing upon these beauties, salivary glands begin to fire, pupils dilate, the pulse quickens, and blood is shunted to your hands as they grasp for your wallet.
Catalog companies know how to exploit bike lust, sending their thick, glossy editions as winter's nadir is reached, making the lonely, trapped cyclist yearn for contact with these enticing fresh and nubile cycles. It is not a mistake that both cycling catalog promoters and "Sports Illustrated" exploit February. We're simply more vulnerable to being plied by gorgeous, curvy, and seductive shapes. And girls in swimsuits are nice to look at, as well.
Infatuation is the next step after lust, and this is a dangerous transition. The object of your lust is now clear, and singular. You think about a particular bike constantly, you may have touched it in the store, and you remember how you approached it -- how it felt, how it responded as you lifted it, how its clean drivetrain beckoned -- and you contemplate the electricity of that first, furtive contact. It becomes an obsession, and you must have it.
If you hold out, however, you may find that, as the weather improves and the roads become available yet again, your current bike feels great, and the familiar joy of riding returns. Its little idiosyncrasies charm you yet again, the shared stories you have and the quirks emerging from years of repairs, maintenance, and miles. One warm day with some tailwinds, and your infatuation dissolves, your lust is vanquished, and your love for your current ride returns in full force.
Or perhaps you indulged, and are riding your new bike. It is then that the charade is revealed, as bike lust returns soon enough. Did you buy carbon? That titanium rig that just blasted past, with its icy skin and smooth ride, looks pretty good. Aluminum? A nice carbon downtube flashes some weave, and your head is turned. The lesson of lust is reinforced: as the famous TV line goes, "Sometimes the wanting is better than the having."
posted by Recycled Cyclist | 12:34 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home