Bike Tale

I first met my bike in 2009. I spotted her from my car one day as I was driving by Fanatik bike in Bellingham. Her silver paint sparkled in the sun and I pulled in to have a closer look. 


Now it's not that I didn't fully appreciate my blue mountain bike. We had been through a triathlon or two together and plenty of training rides and we had grown quite fond of one another. But she was a mountain bike despite the slick tires I had put on her. What she really wanted was dirt trails, roots sticking up and maybe some jumping. What I gave her paled in comparison; road riding and plenty of it. 


So when I spotted the commuter bike, her much lighter frame and thinner tires (but not those skinny minnie road tires), I couldn't help but feel a connection. I pulled her out from the other bikes, got on and took a little ride around the parking lot. It was such a good fit! She and I were really meant to be together. Much more so than the mountain bike. I knew instantly that I wanted to take her home with me and so I did! 


We spent a lot of time together that first year. We did the Padden, Samish and Clear Lake triathlons. We did the Padden duathlon. We did our longest distance the 100+ mile MS ride. We became very close. 


We spent almost as much time together the next year and things between us were really good. She continued to perform well, I managed to stay upright. Happiness.


Then, in 2011, things came to a screeching halt. I had to move her four times in less than a year. Each time to a different garage where she hung, unused and nearly unnoticed. Our relationship began to suffer and the communication broke down. 


This year we took a couple bike rides around town. We did the Padden triathlon and she got a new coffee cup bell to wear on her handle bars. I really thought we were patching things up. Then came the STP. It was a true test of our friendship. 


Things started off okay. We were moving along the route with little effort. Happily enjoying the scenery and the company of others. But as time went on and the miles began to add up, I could sense we were both growing more and more uncomfortable. This was a long ride. Longer that we had ever done. I was achy, she was creaky... It was tough. 


As we pulled into the Chehalis stop, the hundred mile mark, she perked up, as did I. We spent a lovely time resting and celebrating before heading to our destination for the night about 28 more miles away. 


The second  day of the STP is when my bikes' true feelings began to show. At one point she tossed me off and I landed hard on the gravel. Luckily I came away with just a few bruises and a small scrape. But I knew she was growing tired of the whole thing. Maybe if we had trained. Eased into it. But this throwing her right into the thick of it was obviously a bad idea. 


As we crossed the finish line Sunday evening, I think we both heaved a sigh of relief. 204 miles...wow.


Monday afternoon we loaded the bikes up on the back of the car. It was time to head back to Bellingham. I imagined my bike must be as excited as I was to be going home. Everyone was packed and ready and off we went down the freeway. 


We traveled quite a distance. We were nearly home. Final stretch. Between the Cook road and the Bow exit when Sandy (driving the car) yelled, "F'n A!! Lorinda's bike just flew off the back of the car!!" and sure enough, she had. We took the Bow exit and circled back. Several times. But to no avail. She was gone... 


I hate to speculate, but I believe she jumped. She just couldn't take it anymore. I pushed her too far and the thought that I may do it again was likely just too much. 


I was sorry to see her go. We had some good times together and I will miss her. 


So begins the search for a new bike. I learned from my previous relationship that any bike of mine has to be tough. Because life is unpredictable and you just never know when you may be pushed to go 200+ miles whether you feel like it or not .You just have to be ready!