2009 Fisher - Vintage Trek

You know what I’m talking about, right?
It’s not even riding bikes, necessarily. It’s just the thought of them, the smell, the feel, the idea, the
notion, the daydreams and the nightdreams, the looking forward to rides I haven’t taken and looking
back on a million rides I have taken.
(Man, I wish I’d counted every ride I’ve ever been on. I’d love to know what that number is.)
It’s true. I’ve been on, around, and about bikes for more than a few years now, and I’ve had time to
refine my bike thinking. I’ve come to a conclusion. Not a big proclamation — more of a traveling thought
from a guy breezing by on two wheels.
Here it is: I think bikes have a purpose. I don’t think I’d be much for a bike museum. I like art museums,
because paintings were painted for the purpose of being looked at and pored over in a museum. That’s
what a painting wants to do. I’m good with that. A bike is something different. A bike wants to go, and
different bikes want to go differently. There are bikes for thorny woody places and bikes for hornyhonking
concrete places. There are bikes made to ride through the air and land (hopefully) with grace.
There are bikes for long ribbon road races.
I love ’em all. Apparently I helped invent the term “mountain bike.” If I really did, I suppose it’s because I
was dreaming about a bike I planned to ride on a mountain.
A bike. A purpose. Me. A mountain. See, that’s an arrangement I can get behind.
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