If you've ever handed in your notice or asked someone out by email or post, you'll know how I feel. There's something slightly terrifying about pressing send or pushing the envelope into the letterbox - your decision becomes final, there's no backing out.
After months of comparing and contrasting, ransacking forums for rider reviews, quizzing bike shop owners and poring over manuals, I finally made my new bike choice. And as soon as I'd placed the order and paid a deposit, I began to worry. Was this really the right bike for me? Would there be a better deal next week? Too late. I took the plunge and am now the proud owner of a Trek 2.3. A Trek without pedals! How is it possible to sell a £1K plus bike without pedals? I've bought cars for less and they all had pedals, and correct me if I'm wrong, but pedals seem a fairly important part of the forward propulsion equation on a bike unless everyone at Trek only ever cycles downhill.
The trouble is, having forked out a grand for the
bike, my wallet is in no position to acquire both the pedals that
this bike so deserves and the compatible shoes. So instead, I've
had to fit the very cheapest Shimano 520 SPD egg whisks designed
for a mountain bike because they work with my off-roading shoes.
It's like a bride going to a health farm for 6 months to look great
in her wedding dress and then deciding to wear wellies underneath
it.
In the peculiar way I justify such expense, I'll use the petrol money saved by commuting by bike to buy the new shoe / pedal combo, but with my eyes set on a pair of Sidi shoes it could be year end before the current £3 per day savings add up. My only hope is for the Chancellor to raise duty on fuel to £2 per litre, in which case I'll save £6 per day and have the new shoes by June (although that seems a rather selfish wish).
But as Lance didn't say, it's all about the bike. Itching to ride the new racing machine, fates conspire against me, and our first outing together is a 200km audax. It's further than I've ever cycled in a day, but the bike comes through brilliantly. It's comfortable throughout, and although I finish the day with tight shoulders, my lower back (my Achilles heel if you'll let me mix my metaphors) felt fine and my legs showed no post-race reaction beyond predictable fatigue.
After all the fuss with the pedals though, it was ironic that the cleats in my trusted mountain bike shoes failed. One of the bolts worked loose so the cleat span, preventing me from removing my foot from the pedal. Fortunately I sussed what had happened before a T-junction, and didn't simply tumble horizontally into oncoming traffic, but it looked fairly comical to leave my bike with a shoe attached at the checkpoints. And it's no fun walking sock-footed into a men's toilets at the end of an afternoon. Boys, we have to learn to aim.
As for the audax (in Cambridgeshire, Suffolk and Essex). Well it was brilliant. Not a race so much as a shared challenge and experience. Gorgeous countryside and a cracking route helped, and some of the bikes doing it were jaw-droppingly desirable (my off-the-peg Trek looked very nouveau riche compared to the careful customisation of the other frames). 125 miles is still a hell of a way, though, and while I was fit for the first 100 miles, the final 25 were a drag I'd happily have foregone. Fuelled by flapjack, I finished with two friends in a cycling time of just under 8 hours. With the etape ahead, now all I need to do is repeat the distance with the Pyrenees between me and the finish line. Hmmm.
Posted on Monday, 3 May 2010
