Black Hoods

We had a heat wave today so of course I had to beg my wife to get home as early as possible so I could get out and ride. It was a great ride too. 52 degrees and an 11 mph wind out of the south. It sure didn't feel like the middle of January even though it had snowed a tiny bit yesterday and rained some too. The wind was perfect today also. At least as perfect as wind can be. It was blowing hard enough to make you work extra hard when facing it and it was blowing hard enough to make you feel like a real cyclist when it was pushing you down the road going the other way. And you know how sometimes when you go for a ride and something works ten times better than it normally does or at least seems to? Well today was one of those days when I had one of those rides.

I was trying to figure out what was making the difference on this ride - what was causing that ten-fold improvement. I have changed some things on the new(er) bike since last year after all and I knew those changes were not making the difference. I am on my third set of bar tape since I rode in the Tri-States Gran Fondo in early November. I had fallen over on that ride and taken a little rice size chunk out of the tape where it tucks into the end of the handlebar. That really bugged me at the time. Not only was the little missing chunk an annoying reminder of my lack of awesomeness approaching checkpoint number one but it was also the last package of the Ambrosio Grade yellow-fade-to-white bar tape I had been able to source from the 1980s.

I love thin hard retro bar tape but I can't find any more in that color so I switched to some plain yellow vinyl bar tape that looked retro but is not. The cool thing about the switch was that the retro looking new yellow color matched my yellow hoods perfectly just like the yellow in the Ambrosio Grade tape before it faded to white. And it came with yellow bar end plugs. Sweet. It was cheap and seemed plentiful so when I got tired of how my windproof full fingered gloves seemed to not be gripping it effectively I decided to change it to some old school Hunt Wilde orange translucent vinyl tape like you might have found on a 10 speed Schwinn back in the mid seventies. After a couple of rides I decided I didn't like the way that looked so I decided to change it out too.

I had a box of PRO (Shimano) handlebar tape that I had bought a while back intending to use it one day (perhaps) on the old bike. The trouble with that tape is that it was very cushy and the yellow was off. It didn't match well on the old bike and it totally did not match the yellow hoods on my new(er) bike. I've got a box in blue as well because one day I'm sure or was sure that I am going to have a bike that blue bar tape will look good on. I think. Both boxes have been sitting on my desk for a couple of months now begging to see use so I figured what the heck and grabbed the yellow yesterday and made the switch.

Once I got it on the bars it was obvious that the yellow tape and the yellow hoods were a bad match and all that cushy padding will absolutely take some getting used to for me. In my minds eye my bars look twice as fat as they used to and it will take some getting used to. My wrists will appreciate the more generous amount of cushy than they have been accustomed to because even though my left wrist feels completely healed from the hard landing suffered on the back side of Suncrest last spring my right wrist still sings with the twinges of pain from landing hard back in November. I'm sure the more padding will do nothing but benefit my body arms wrists and stamina as I ratchet up the miles going into next spring. If the tape makes it that long.

Back to the bad match on the hoods. Something had to be done so I dug my black hoods out of my desk drawer and dusted them off and paired them back up with the levers they came with. That's going to take some getting used to too. I like the yellow hoods but they are going to have to sit in the desk drawer for a while as I try the something new that is black hoods and super soft cushy bar tape from the modern era. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to suffer through ordinary but I'm going to give it my best effort. I promise.

But the black hoods were not what was causing the ten-fold improvement today. Neither was all that cushy yellow comfy padding even though I must admit that it sure felt good and did smooth the ride some. There is one other change I have made on the new(er) bike since last year too but there is no possible way that this change could lead to any ten-fold improvement in anything like I was immersed in today. No way. I have added 14 pounds to my bike. That's right. I have blimped up to 184 pounds. And for everyone who reads this in some country other than my country that is basically 84 kilos. That is not light for a cyclist. What the heck?

What went wrong? I bought the magazine that said "NEW YEAR NEW YOU. GET LEAN NOW. A SIMPLE PLAN." There was an article with information on how stay warm on the bike in the winter but I already stay pretty warm on the bike in the winter. There was information on 101 reasons to love cycling but I already know 1001 reasons to love cycling. There were the golden rules of bike maintenance but I already have riding buddies that make fun of how clean and maintained my bikes are. There was information on how to tackle America's nastiest climbs. Pedal up them right? And something about the art of the head badge. Who cares?

There was propaganda on the best new $2000 road bikes. OK. My new(er) bike was less than two thirds that cost and is probably better than any best new $5000 road bikes. So what did I do wrong this winter? I've been riding some. I've been on the trainer some. I've even been walking a bit too to try and stave off the blubber. I decided I better read that article so I did and I learned that I have been eating too much. Actually I already knew that and felt powerless to stop as I saw myself doing it over and over again over the last couple of months. I could blame the holidays or my wife's fantastic cooking and baking of treats. I could blame the triple chocolate gingerbread cake or my Mom's Mom's brownies or the Amish friendship bread or or or.

Bottom line: I am to blame. I got fat. I ate too much. Somehow as I read that magazine last year right before the holidays I skipped right over page 26. I didn't learn how to pick power carbs by incorporating beans in my diet. I didn't learn to order surf not turf and get two essential waist whittlers from eating salmon. I guess hot dogs and wienie wraps and corn dogs aren't going to do the trick. On page 28 I somehow missed the lesson on using a smaller plate to downsize my dishes. Who would have thought? I didn't learn to watch for invisible calories while I helped my four kids clean their plates or swap bubbly beverages or leave my kit in full view all the time. Somehow I missed all that and have gotten fat. Bummer.

On page 28 I learned and I quote: "Extra weight leads to physiological changes that can affect your cycling long term." No kidding? Genius right? Or as I like to say it's hard to pedal faster when you're fatter. My ride today was 23 miles with 500 feet of elevation gain and roughly two and a half miles of flat with an 11 mph headwind one way and an 11 mph tailwind the other. I could barely average 17 mph and unfortunately my mental edge kind of evaporated right away as I wondered the whole ride how fast I could go if I just weighed 160 pounds. It dawned on me that it was just like I was riding around while I was carrying an extra bike around too. How sad is that?

So it wasn't the extra weight that created the ten-fold improvement. It wasn't the black hoods or the soft yellow extra super-duper cushy bar tape either. And it sure wasn't the certainly not stellar average speed on an almost spring like day in the middle of winter. The part of my ride that was ten times better than normal was my sense of smell. Wow. I could smell the cows and the horses and the farms and the hay better than I can remember ever smelling them before. I could smell the fireplace smells and the fumes from the cars and the black diesel smoke when I got crop-dusted and the farmers burning trash better too.

I don't know if it was the light snow and rain from the day before or if it was because it seemed so warm that my nose wasn't dripping snot the whole ride or what but I can't remember ever having had this potent a sense of smell on the bike as I had today. My senses were on fire. Today was one of those days when I had one of those rides. Ten times better sense of smell today as I was toting around my 14 extra pounds of blubbery fat barely averaging 17 mph and thinking about maybe trying to eat less as I wondered what it would be like to ride up a hill weighing 160 pounds. I gripped my yellow super cushy comfy bar tape and thought about picking power surfing essential waist whittling carbs on a smaller invisible plate while I wear my kit all winter long and not just when I'm on my new(er) bike sagging forward on my black hoods.

War Is Hell

You don't see taunting in professional cycling. At least I never have. I guess the closest thing to that would have been "The Look" that Lance gave Jan Ulrich on the climb up Alpe D'Huez during the Tour de France in 2001.

They have penalties in most sports for taunting because society thinks taunting is bad sportsmanship. And even so you see a lot of taunting anyway. And trash talking. I'm sure there's some trash talking in professional cycling too but I just haven't seen much taunting.

In most sporting endeavors there is a mental side to the preparation and performance of whatever you are engaged in. I guess trash talking and taunting are a way to try to gain an advantage over your opponent by chinking away at their mentality. A mentality that is probably melting away slowly from the pressure and strain of whatever contest you're engaged in and the more something hurts the less mental edge you are going to have anyway. Concentration is key and if you can cause your opponents to lose their concentration it will definitely affect their performance and give you a better chance at victory. Right Lance?

Cycling is a very physical sport. One of if not the toughest in the world. It requires a lot of concentration.  So I wonder why we don't see more taunting. It probably is because of the sportsmanship involved. Cycling is different from other sports. Even in competition there is civility and respect. There is respect for the effort. Respect for the preparation and respect for the pain. There is a lot of pain in cycling and therefore a lot of respect between cyclists too.

Cycling is not hell. War is hell. There is no respect or civility in war. You can disagree with the war - or not - but if you're there and involved in it you are there because you are a combatant. A combatant is paid to kill the enemy. A combatant has a duty to kill the enemy. A combatant's training and preparation have seared the conscious and dulled the senses to the point that ending another human life becomes second nature. Instant and automatic. In combat you don't respect the enemy. You don't hold them in high esteem and wish them well. You kill them. As many as you can. Hopefully before they kill you.

Breath. Relax. Aim. Stop. Squeeze. Where is the civility in that? There isn't any. Nor should there be. Every angle and every point of leverage can and should be utilized to gain the advantage in combat. The entire point of enemy engagement is to bring maximum fire power to bear on the enemy and destroy them in an overwhelming way. Does that sound like a place for civility and courtesy? Does that sound like a place for rules? For respect for the enemy's beliefs? For sportsmanship? Hell no it doesn't. And it shouldn't.

Should we worry about making the enemy mad at us? What are they going to do? Kill us? Well yes that's what they're trying to do now isn't it? Are they going to kill us better or kill us more or kill us faster or slower or with more cruelty? Ridiculous thoughts right? Kill means dead. Are they going to kill us deader? Who cares how the enemy feels or what they think. What about our freedom of expression? They are the enemy. We are trying to kill the enemy. The enemy is trying to kill us. It sucks but war is hell.

So unless you have been in combat. Unless you've had the duty to end an enemy's life. Unless you've heard the sound of bullets whizzing by your head as the enemy is trying to kill you. Unless you are a combatant - shut up about combatants. You have no place to say anything. You have no place to judge anything. General William Thornson of the US Army said: "There are only two kinds of people that understand Marines: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else has a second-hand opinion."

General Thornson got that exactly right. Perfectly correct. Not politically correct. If you're not one or the other - shut up. You have no place to say anything. War is hell. If you don't want to kill or be killed stay away from war. It is messy. It is hard. There is pain. Just like cycling but the results are a little more terminal. And there is taunting. There has been taunting since the first ever combatant killed the first ever enemy. War is not a place for civility and sportsmanship. War is a place for warfare and killing and part of that warfare is mental warfare. War is a place for victory. If you don't like taunting stay away from war. War is hell. If you're not a combatant - shut up. If you are a combatant you pick a side. I have picked my side and I just want to say: "Scoreboard. Job well done, Marines. Semper Fi."

My Long Shadow

PAIN. Someone had taken the time to spray paint the word PAIN in all caps in red and with an arrow pointing up on the shoulder of the road. I wasn't sure quite what to think of that right then. PAIN. I was heading up the "Draper Wall" section of Wasatch Boulevard on the way to Hidden Valley Park and I was actually feeling pretty good riding with my long shadow. It was painted there about one quarter of the way up and I don't know if it was a leftover from the Tour of Utah back in August or if someone had put it there more recently. It looked more recent but I had no idea and I wished it had said COFFEE instead.

It was cold today. Right at freezing and I was quickly plodding my way up this steep hill wishing I had a cup. Quickly for me anyway and it was the last hill of the day. I had decided to ride some hills today. Hills as in two hills. I had already made my way up to and back down from the South Mountain Golf Course and was heading up to Hidden Valley park to turn around and head back home. Almost 1800 feet of elevation gain on a 36 mile ride and when I saw the word PAIN there it was illuminated by that perfect light of the day where the sun is almost ready to set but still has a bit to go.

My ambition always seems so high right before I go up a hill. I'm always optimistic. I think I might hammer up this hill in the big ring and use the 17 tooth rear cog. It's only about a mile and a half so I'm going to stand and mash all the way up and I'm going to make it look smooth and easy. Yeah OK. Then reality sets in as I plod away seated crawling in the small ring using every gear I have on my hubcap size cassette. If I stopped pedaling I would fall over.

The wheezing muscles on the sides of my quads and back of my hamstrings feel like they're herniating through slits in my bibs and I swear I can hear them screaming. My right knee is popping out a little tiny bit at the top of my pedal stroke as I fight to maintain good form. My aching lungs are pumping like a bellows as I fight to hold 80 then 70 then - please - 68 for a cadence. I would tell my legs to shut up too but I don't ever have enough breath.

PAIN is right. There is pain in hills and every cyclist knows that but someone had decided to paint it right there on the shoulder of the road anyway. No problem. I was feeling pretty good riding with my long shadow. I love to ride my bikes when I have a long shadow and I'm not talking about in the morning in summer. I'm talking about riding in the winter when it's freezing cold. Riding when the sun never quite feels warm and never gets to arc that high in the afternoon sky. When I see my long shadow riding with me I feel like I have been given something extra. I feel like I have been granted something special. Something I should be grateful and appreciative to have.

That long shadow means I have an opportunity to turn out the weakness and listen for hope where instead I might have been expecting snow covered roads or icy wind. It means I have been gifted a day outside instead of inside. It means I can enjoy the fresh air instead of a fan. I have been given the special privilege to pedal fast enough to go 6.5 mph or 45 mph and that pedaling is going to mean something. That long shadow means I'm going to be cold and sweaty with snot dripping and eyes watering. It is a gift and a treasure and - like an old friend - something you can always count on. Just like PAIN. And when I can ride with my long shadow it's an almost perfect extra special and welcomed kind of PAIN.

Mt. Fuji

I went for a ride yesterday and I tried to make it as flat as I could. I only had about an hour before some family obligations and planned to ride about 19 miles. Half against an 8 mph frigid headwind straight out of the north and about half of it letting that cold wind push me back home. The ride itself was great even though pushing the wind was very cold. The 17 mph average was a comfortable pace and the new(er) bike performed flawlessly as it always does. My one year old was awake when I left which he's usually not so I found myself thinking about him as I headed north against the wind.

The day before yesterday he got his first haircut. We went to Todd's Barbershop having learned my lesson not to try and do it myself about three years ago on his older brother. He did pretty good as he sat there on the booster under the cape with me holding his hands and arms down by his side. When he was done he looked like a whole new kid. I hardly recognized him as it was quite a change. Then he whistled and I knew it was him.

He has been whistling for almost six months now. I think that's pretty rare for a kid his age and as I rode north I thought back to when I whistled for the first time. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting on the back of my Dad's bike on the metal rack that was mounted over the rear fender. I don't remember what kind of bike it was but I remember my Dad riding it a lot back and forth to work. It was green. It had a metal spring loaded cargo holder on that rack and that rack was at least twice as wide as my four year old butt.

I was going to work with my Dad sitting on the back of his bike on that metal rack while he pedaled however far it was to the shop where he worked and I remember hitting every bump as I held onto his canvas uniform belt. I don't remember how or why but on that ride to my Dad's work that day I whistled for the first time. I also remember him pedaling past the "Yankee Go Home!" demonstrators that I could see outside the chain link fence that separated our insulated existence on Yakota Air Force Base from the real and seemingly angry Japan.

As I turned east and then back south on my ride yesterday I was remembering my first bicycle ride without training wheels in the grassy field somewhere near the BX there at Yakota AFB. I remember the exhilaration I felt and the freedom and what seemed at the time like speed. It took my breath away. It was exciting. That ride ended up with me and the bike laying on the ground in the grass as it seemed at the time like the best way to stop. It didn't take long and I would ride everywhere I could ride and I would even ride some places I wasn't suppose to ride.

Heading south on my ride yesterday I was going almost twice as fast as I was heading north amazed that a little bit of frigid north wind could help so much and I remembered Kindergarten and making pictures of Mt. Fuji. I remember scribbling crayons all over a page and covering it up with as much color as I could and then brushing some matte black paint over the color and then scratching the paint off with the end of a Popsicle stick to reveal the color underneath in the shape of that great mountain.

I remember learning about the rabbit churning butter in the full moon. I remember the big hill next to where we lived where I would wait for the bus to take me to Kindergarten and first grade. I remember the snow in the winter and the earthquakes any time of year that would rattle me right out of my bunk bed and send me and my sister running into the living room to seek shelter under the arch from the hallway. I remember tormenting my sister with the robot that had the grabbing claw that I got one Christmas in Japan.

Heading back west yesterday I was pushing my way up that little 2 to 3% rise that always means I'm almost home and I remember my Mom being hospitalized for a while there in Japan. There was something wrong with her blood. Something about sugar and blood and blacking out and not being able to eat bacon and corn. It's all kind of fuzzy but even as a little kid I knew something was wrong and I realized that nobody could seem to make it right. That was 44 years ago and now today I have the same problem but with the technology and the insulin analogs to effectively deal with it.

I went back to Japan and to Yakota AFB 25 years ago on deployment with the Marine Corps. I looked at the grassy field where I learned to ride without training wheels. They had built high rise family housing there. I looked at the big hill where I used to wait for the school bus. The hill was gone. It had been replaced by a slight incline and I realized that it looked totally different to a four year old little boy looking at it from a much lower to the ground perspective. The big hill was still there after all. It just wasn't so big any more.

25 years ago I blew up some pine trees in the nature preserve near Mt. Fuji with some white phosphorus 81mm mortar rounds and almost sparked an international incident with my inaccurate call for fire. I ran almost everyday at Camp Fuji and lifted weights and ate a lot of yakisoba at the White Tiger in Gotenba. I went to a movie theater and saw Sylvester Stallone in Cobra with English subtitles and I climbed to the top of Mt. Fuji which is probably the hardest and most painful thing I have ever done in my life. It is also one of the most meaningful things I have ever accomplished.

And when I got home from my bit over an hour bike ride yesterday and brought my bike inside and leaned it against the couch as I removed my winter layers I saw my little one year old come whistling down the hallway all excited to grab my front wheel. He looked great sporting his new and first haircut and he seemed happy to have me and my bike back home. He whistled down the stairs into the basement hallway as I maneuvered my bike on it's rear wheel around him to put it on the stand in my office. He whistles in and grabs the crank and starts turning it until I tell him no and he runs out of my office whistling down the hallway to go back upstairs.

I wonder what he's going to remember. What is he going to remember about his Dad? What is he going to remember about his Mom? Will he remember earthquakes or riding without training wheels or big hills on small inclines? Will he grow up to see the rabbit in a full moon churning butter? Will he scrape paint off a page full of color or ride his bike where he's not suppose to? What is he going to remember? Will he remember learning how to whistle and turning the pedals on my bike as it sits in the stand in my office? I wonder what is going to happen in his life that is going to make him who he will become. I wonder if he will have a Mt. Fuji.

On The Trainer

Well crap. It's back to the trainer for a while. I don't know how long the snow is going to stick around but it came back today after having been a veritable no-show for most of this winter so far. I can't say that I missed the snow because I didn't. I didn't miss it at all. And hopefully it won't take too long to melt and dry up because I'm going to miss riding out on the road if it sticks around for too long. I guess this means that for now I'm going to have to do the thing I like the least about cycling and that is to change my rear skewer out and set my old bike up on the trainer.

It's called the "pain cave." I'm not sure if the majority of the pain comes from the effort of the training or the mind numbing pain of the boredom I suffer through when pedaling indoors. I don't get very far. In fact my bike doesn't move at all. Hopefully I can find some good low-key hillclimb videos on YouTube to watch because I really like those. It's almost fun to mimic the effort that whoever recorded those went through but frankly it's not nearly the same.

If I had had some time today between work and the circus waffle brunch my wife prepared I might have just taken out the new(er) bike today to ride in the snowfall just for a show of defiance. If only. If I had a cyclocross bike I would get it out there right now instead of sitting here typing this. If only. If I had spiked tires I would get out and ride in the ice and snow that I'm sure will hang around the roads a lot of the remaining winter here. If only.

Instead I'm going to hit YouTube and move some things around in my office. I'm going on a low-key hillclimb later. I know I'm not going to puncture or be stranded with a mechanical. I won't need to call for my wife if I run into trouble. Instead I will just go upstairs. I won't be cold and it won't be windy. Instead I will be hot and sweaty. I will be staving off the fat and lazy later today. I will see you in the "pain cave." It won't be fun instead I'll do the thing I like the least about cycling and that is to change my rear skewer out and set my old bike up on the trainer.

2 Hours

I have 2 hours later today and that's just about the perfect amount of time. That's thanks to my wife for adding a little more inconvenience to her day so I could add a little more convenience to mine. I plan to spend that perfect amount of time out cycling. My first ride of 2012. That's right I didn't go out on New Year's Day. I decided to do something new this New Year and I spent a lot of real good quality time with the wife and I played a little bit with my kids. It was a great New Year's Day.

Now it's been five days since that day and I feel like there is something inside of me that has been clawing and scratching trying to get out for at least four days now. I feel panicky that the soft and weak is taking over for the hard and strong. I can feel the fitness seeping and leaking out of my body as this week has conspired with work and other obligations to keep my body from joining my mind out on the road with my bikes.

Looking at my bikes and thinking about riding them just doesn't seem to bring about the honing of my fitness to that sharp razor's edge that I want to move toward. Even during the winter I feel an urgency to feel alive but it's usually too cold or too windy or much much too snowy or too smoggy or too dark or too something so instead I eat goodies and get fatter and lose fitness. It's a slippery slope that is much too easy for me to slide down.

As each day passes without a ride a little bit of will leaks from my mind just like the fitness is leaking from my body. As my legs and lungs get weaker my mind gets weaker too. My will slowly evaporates in the cold winter air. Tomorrow turns into tomorrow's tomorrow which turns into tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrow and on and on all winter long until that magic day near Spring when you suddenly notice the little buds on the naked winter bleached tree branches and realize it's going to be warm enough that day to ride in just a jersey and bibs.

That day is the day when you are out on the bike and realize that too many days of fat and lazy have eclipsed too few of aiming to make yourself harder. That day is the day you find your mind has grown as marshmallowy soft as your stomach and legs. That day is the day when you try to think back and remember when it was that your lack of will took over for your force of will and your body caved to the peer pressure of the mind to just put it off till the weather was a little bit nicer or the wind a little bit softer or the air a little less smoggy or something was a little more or less something.

I know that day is coming. It seems forever off in the distance now but I know it will be here sooner than I realize. It is a day of heartache and disappointment. It is a day of suffering and pain as your mind tries to spring back from the guilt of slackness and attempts to pull your body back with it to a level of performance it is no longer capable of. It is the perfect day to ride alone because while the day is perfect for a ride it is an embarrassing ride on that perfect day.

I know that day is coming. That is why I love my wife so much. She knows that day is coming too. That is why she is going to go out of her way to make sure that I have that perfect amount of time today. That is why she is going to make her life harder so I can make it easier on my body and mind to stay hard and strong. I am going to plug the leaks. A little. I am going to harden my resolve. A little. I am going to claw my way back up the slippery slope. A little.

I know that day is coming and that is why today is the day I'm going to get out there on the old bike and push myself to the limit of my capabilities. I am afraid. I fear the weakness and the softness and the disappointment and the lost fitness. I fear the fat and lazy. I fear my lack of will will overpower my best intentions. I fear that day of the little buds on the naked winter bleached tree branches. But I have today. I have today and thanks to my wife I have that perfect amount of time today. I have today and today I have 2 hours.

Why Can't I Stop?

Why can't I stop? My wife thinks I have some kind of disease. A true sickness and it makes her mad. Every time I see a nice set of vintage rims or a part or component or frameset - it really doesn't matter what it is if it has to do with road bikes - I want it. If I like it I want it. Want not need. I don't NEED anything else as far as bikes go. What I have works fine. I have two very nice bikes and both can function well beyond my ability to perform on them. And I can only ride one at a time. So why can't I stop?

Do I need another frame? Or a different frame? NEED. No. Want yes. I have found a frame and have fallen in love. Again. Could it be that I see the road bike as a form of art? When I built my new(er) bike this spring I thought really long and hard about wants versus needs and really worked hard to keep costs down and value up. My new(er) bike has a frame that weighs 1070 grams. That is amazing for an aluminum frame manufactured in 2005 with a rider weight limit of over 100 kg.

My frame looks good with a cool red fading to black through orange and yellow flames paint scheme (or colorway as the industry is so fond of saying in 2011-2012). It has specially formed tubes to reduce deadness and harshness and is SUPER smooth for an aluminum frame and very stiff through the bottom bracket and rear stays. My frame on my new(er) bike is awesome and I love it. So why can't I stop?

Do I NEED to "upgrade" my frame to one that weighs 1814 grams? That thing is a PIG. I might not even be able to pedal that thing up a hill. It doesn't even come with a fork! But it's a Serotta Fierte. It's orange and blue. It's titanium and carbon. It's cool and has panache. It would ride like a dream. It could be the last bike I will ever need. Trouble is I don't need it. Can't afford it. I just want it and unfortunately I can't think of a single rational or logical reason why. I don't understand this. I feel like I'm the mouse in the book "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie." Why can't I stop?