After these last two events, I have decided I need a new bike. I want one that has gears… that actually shift; wheels that actually turn, propelling one forward, as you pedal uphill; a seat that actually supports an ass, rather than violates it; and… well, I just want a REAL bike.

Sure, this lovely specimen won’t help me set any records in the Wasa tri- all those hardcore trifreaks will continue to look down their Cervelo P2 Carbons at me as I roll into the transition area on my big, fat, nubby tires- but I don’t care, I’m hoping to narrow down my annual event circuit to our local Extreme 3 anyways. And for that, I would need the bike, this bike, I found today.

Ahhh… she’s a beaut… oh yes. A fine bicycle.

And I would have thoroughly lost myself in it’s previously owned magnificence… had I not been distracted by the young man trying to sell it to me. Understand, I’m one hip momma. I’m all over the whole tatoo and piercing thing. In fact, I even have a few… tatoos, not piercings. OK, so I have a couple of piercings: my ears, in the usual location, and my belly button. But we all know these hardly count.

I digress. His arms were covered in tatoos. And hey, like I said, I’m one hip momma, I barely noticed. I’m kind of into that anyhow. However, I was having a hard time not staring at the dumbbell through his eyebrow- Hate them. Hate them. Hate them. I found myself silently questioning, as I do whenever I am confronted with young, innocent, eyebrows impaled, WTF and Why The Hell…?

But honestly, when I found I could actually see the row of bikes through the holes in his earlobes, that was it. Over. I couldn’t hear a word the nice, young feller was saying. I mean, I could see everything… a guy getting his bike fixed at the back of the open shop… the Dairy Queen across the street… my Honda Odyssey…. Depending on where he decided to position himself as he rattled off specs and features of said bike, I was provided a whole new view of my hometown through the symmetrical pair of holes in his ears. Sure, it was a little disjointed. I mean, each scene was oddly cleaved by his head, before resuming once again through the other sagging, open lobe.

I was transfixed. Totally. Entertained. I found myself bobbing around wildly trying to get good sight of my car to see what my kid was doing within. Is that my neighbor in the drive-thru? Hey, hair salon… I need to remember to get my highlights done this month… Jesus, that guy needs to slow down….

Oh my God. Too weird.

Whatever. Each to his own, I guess. I still want the bike…. And between now and October, when it goes on sale, I’ll enjoy visiting it and gazing upon its loveliness through my nice salesboy’s ears.

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