Indian Summer of the Mind

Riding on Sunday, November 8th I surpassed my totals from the entire month of October in both miles and number of rides. It's true that the weather was warmer and less squishy in these first weeks of November, but some of it has been mind-over-matter. I realized that given the gear I own, if it's not pouring. pitch black, or ice covered, I can ride. I probably don't want to ride in a plethora of other conditions (or combinations of conditions), but that doesn't mean I can't ride. I have accepted that I have to dress a little warmer, give myself a little more time, and be more alert to my surroundings seeing that I almost got hit twice this week...at the same intersection! Apparently motorists stop being aware of cyclists some time after Labor Day? I must have missed that memo.
This whole 'change of perspective' has been an all-around healthy thing for me. The word 'can't' is a pretty strong and absolute word. I'm trying to be more aware of my use of it. Am I using it appropriately or am I using it as an excuse for 'won't' or 'don't want to'? Realistically, I can always ride. Ride before work. Ride to work. Ride on break. Ride on my days off. Ride in the rain -- it just makes the post-ride shower all the better. It's not just riding: I can clean, rake the yard, return e-mail, and just be a better and more patient person. All I need to do is stop thinking 'can't'. This past weekend, after knocking off three rides in three days, I raked the yard I'd been putting off for weeks, gave the basement a comprehensive once-over before the winter, and finally got my bikes cleaned up and put inside for the season. All except for one, that is. The one I will keep riding unless it's too dark, icy or otherwise too just unsafe to get out there. Is it really that I can't do things or is it that I'm too damned lazy to try? Ultimately, we can't do very few thing if we really set our minds to it. I just can't lose these last ten pounds.

Hero Worship

Is it a 'middle-aged thing' when you realize that your heroes are now younger then you are? I only ask because I recently found myself e-mailing a complete stranger to tell him little more then how cool I think he is. On the one hand, I think to myself, "What am I thinking? This dude's going to think I'm nuts." On the other hand, I think I've picked some pretty sensible role-models to look up to throughout the years. My first idol was Gene Simmons back in the 4th grade, and he's still around and (tongue-in-cheek) pretty entertaining. Bono, Steve Yzerman (the great Detriot Red Wings captain), Lance Armstrong, and of course, Gary Fisher are all proven stand-up individuals that have hung in there for years as 'good guys.' So who is worthy of joining the exclusive crowd of people I admire, you ask? The last two years it's been Jesse Lalonde who has owned the WORS Elite Race division. I think I really get a kick out of him because if Gary fisher were 30 years younger, he'd probably look a lot. act a lot, and be a lot like I imagine Jesse to be: out-spoken maverick and champion. Jesse looks like a blend of tortured-junkie-artist and rock star. You wouldn't look twice at him staggering down Hollywood Boulevard or strutting around Time Square. But when he's in the woods on his bike, Jesse is at home. To top it all off he rides for Team Gary Fisher, so immediately he's alright in my book. In fact, I just saw that he's in the 2010 Fisher catalog. Which may be his doing, seeing that he got a job with Fisher Bikes last year. To top it all off, he thumbs his nose at conventional competition by riding (and winning) on a Gary Fisher rigid single-speed. A RIGID FRAME SINGLE-SPEED! How can a sponsor even sell that? 'He owes it all to our product!' Bull-shit. If you are part of the 1% of riders who can climb Sheboygan's 'equalizer' (on a rigid single-speed nonetheless), you're not just good at something; you're a god -- regardless of the equipment you use. Hell, he could probably climb that monster hill on my son's Big Wheel. When I have raced.... well, when I've been at events where I've crawled (usually bleeding) across the finish line firmly entrenched in the lower half of my division; Jesse and his brother Marko have torn up the same course at twice the speed and did so going usually four times the distance.
I've been on a bike as long as I can remember. I've played sports as long as I can remember. But competition has never been my strongest suit. I don't know why. I have a dad who played every game imaginable with me (and never let me win, so that should have pushed me). I spent every night of my youth playing something in the street until it was too dark to see. I just never 'rocked' at a sport. In my older years, I suppose I bought into the commercialization of sport a little much. I own the best bikes and the best gear out there, but I still lack what it takes to own the rides. Which perhaps explains why, at 41 years old, I still have idols. On the surface it's not hard to imagine a celebrity not having a care in the world -- money, fame, adoration, babes... But we often forget, or ignore, what got them there: patience, hard work, passion, drive, sheer will, and did I mention hard work. Maybe it's easier to have idols, then to put in the hours it takes to be an idol? If you read my last blog, you may may be picking up a kind of 'feeling sorry for myself' vibe. I hope that is not really the case. I know that my confidence is a little shaky. I had a rough riding season this summer. By the time I hit a groove, I had become disillusioned into mistaking faster on an easier trail meant I was becoming a better rider. The only way to get better is to ride more and keep challanging oneself. It's not a complicated formula for success. I will never be Jesse Lalonde. And I may always look up to him. There's nothing wrong with that. Having accepted that truth however, I have come to the conclusion that someday I want my son to idolize me. No one else has to, but it would be pretty cool to have Kovi think I was the best mountain biker in the world (not just the best dressed) and want to ride with me everywhere I go. So, the purpose of idols is to motivate us to be better, not to make us feel bad about ourselves? Hmmm. I can live with that. I'm glad we had this talk. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going for a ride.

Why Do I Ride?

Please take note that this isn't called 'Why I Ride'. The reason for this is that I had a shaking of my faith recently. I am not an adrenalin junkie. I don't do 'big air' or 'gnarly jumps' or 'epic descents'. I even gave my If it's too steep, you're too old t-shirt to Goodwill during this year's spring cleaning. I like a more PG-rated version of mountain bike trails. More like high-speed hiking. Long winding trails with rolling hills and lush surroundings. Trails that allow me to become immersed in the woods. Not trails that constantly have me fretting if the next obstacle will be the one that shatters my collarbone. Or a trail with two-story downs with a 45-degree corner at the bottom. Or bouncing over protruding rocks (the insider term is 'baby-heads'), roots, and logs until my spine is numb. My faith in my own desire to ride, as well as my ability as a mountain biker were called into question yesterday when, upon arriving at my favorite trail, I discovered that the trail is now closed to mountain bikers. Alas, I suspected this day was coming. The network of trails that I have been riding in Greenbush were originally solely for cross-country skiers. When mountain bikers starting showing up en mass, locals decided the area needed 'proper' mountain bike trails. My hat's off to the group of advocates that planned, mapped, and built the 12-15 miles of new single-track. It's beautiful and I'm sure it will stand as a benchmark of trail building in the area. BUT, it's not what I had come to the kettles to ride. I decided not to play the renegade and ride my favorite, albeit closed, trail. I studied the map and opted for loops 1, 2, and 3. Loop four is still under construction, and I had planned on a ten-mile ride. The three loops totaled what appeared to be a little over eight. The trails were really rough, winding and technical. I was on X-cal and getting bounced all over the place. The new single track isn't as well marked as it's cc trail cousins. I ended up way out of bounds on what I can only assume was the unfinished Loop 4. I walked practically as much as I rode. I was timid on the downs and ill-prepared for the ups. If I am ever to strap on a number again, I was definitely going to need to buck up. I was grateful when it was over, 12 miles and an hour and fifteen minutes later. I leaned my bike up against the jeep and glared back at the trail-head. "Now what am I going to do?" I asked the still cool morning air. At one point during the ride I even considered selling my garage and going back to road biking. At least a road is a road is a road, right? No, that wasn't an option. I would either come back here with the right tool for the job -- Sugar or Pro-cal -- and ride this beast until my confidence is restored, or I'd find a new trail. The Kettle Moraine National Forest has literally hundreds of miles of trails. I belong on a bike and I belong in the woods. I have called a lot of trails home since I took up this sport. There have got to be some 'high-speed hiking' trails out there somewhere. Now I just have to decide where to call home.

Father and Son (Day 3: Same Pair of Underwear)

Have you ever seen the print ad for...I think Patagonia underwear (it better be Patagonia, or some ad executive is going to get sacked because he failed to instill brand recognition in the reader once the president of whichever company it really was sees this)? The ad shows a very rugged traveler hiking through a very exotic scene and the caption reads something like: 'Two weeks, 300 miles, one pair of underwear.' Well perhaps he's not that cool. Perhaps he just forgot to pack more underwear. Or, perhaps he was just like me. I packed as though I was going to be either biking or sleeping. For the three days we were going to be gone, I packed two pair of biking shorts and one pair of underwear (and yes, is was Patagonia underwear). I didn't realize I had packed so light of essentials until after the first day's ride (if you recall from 'Day 1', we set out on our ride before checking in to the hotel) and we had settled into our room and were changing for dinner. Day two had me climbing cliffs, and now we're gearing up for day three.

Tuesday morning started just like Monday had ended: mostly cloudy, high-40s, and WINDY. We decided to try a ride, but agreed to turn around if it got too cold. The ride to be our 'other ride' was much shorter (12 miles round trip). The plan was to ride the Omaha Trail to its big dark tunnel and back before leaving town. We layered up, made arrangements to check out late (pending the need for a shower to thaw out), and headed out. The wind lashed straight at us. Gusts actually lowered the temperature on my bike's computer from 47 to 42 degrees. We knew that the 'getting there' part would be brutal, but this was something else. We had plenty layers to keep our cores warm, but without tights and proper head-gear this was foolish. Dad and I pulled up at the Elroy Station Trail-head, snapped some pictures, and turned around. The ride back saw the sun start to burn through the clouds, and riding with the wind behind us made it 20 degrees warmer. Back at the hotel, we changed into regular clothes and checked out. Once on the road, dad starting giving directions, "If we turn here we can probably drive to the tunnel." That was a great idea. I figured we were headed home. Now it appeared there was one more adventure to be had. The road should have taken us right over the tunnel, but the woods below were too dense to see anything discernible. So we took a detour that made us thankful we had taken the Jeep. We found the trail on a ridge above the road we were on, so we found a break in the trees and started hiking. The tunnel was about a quarter mile from where we picked up the trail. These tunnels are awe-inspiring when you stop to consider the era in which they were built, the means the workers had to complete the task of building them, and the trains that roared through them all those years ago. Again, we stopped for some pictures, and proceeded to hike back to the Jeep. On the way through Mausten, the first of many small towns we'd be driving through, the railroad crossing gates came down, and Amtrack's Empire Builder came flying through at 70-plus mph. What a sight that was to punctuate the 'rails' part of our Rails-to-Trails weekend. After a fast food lunch and a McCoffee dessert, we were home in time to drop off dad and pick Koval up from school. It had been a great trip. I came home, doled out hugs to the fam, unpacked, and started laundry. At least I only had to wash one pair of underwear.

Father and Son (Day 2: Why I Hate Switchbacks)

The perfect name for this blog would have been 'Stairway to Heaven.' But since I'm not a Led Zepplin fan, I had to call it something else. Switchbacks are zig-zaged trails with hairpin corners that wind up and/or down the steep side of a hill. On a bike they can be particularly tricky because the sharp corner is usually to go around an obstacle like a huge rock or a tree. You can't very well lean into a turn if it means smacking your face on a huge rock or tree. That's why I hate switchbacks. Here's the other reason:
Day two saw little improvement on the weather front, so biking wasn't really an option. We looked at a few other things to do. The first was an artisan cheese maker nearby. That made for a great snack, but only accounted for an hour of the day. Pouring over some of the travel guides we had along, we found that pretty much anywhere there are mountain bike trails, there are hiking trails. So we decided that we'd try some two-legged adventuring. I suggested Devil's Lake State Park. When we got there it was cool, cloudy, and windy but it was still warmer walking than biking. We picked a 2-mile trail that wound up and around a bluff to view a huge rock precariously balanced on the edge of a cliff, and then back down the other side. Naturally the flat, two-dimensional map was stupidly deceiving. The route up was literally a series of granite 'steps' that made up a 500-foot vertical climb strait up a cliff. It was slow going, but the views were as life-affirming as they were spectacular. Once to the top, the views down on the lake and valley were amazing. You could see forever. Making our way to the trail that was to lead us down, we ran into a couple of rock climbers who had just scaled one of the many routes straight up the rock face. They said climbing that way takes 15-20 minutes to reach the top. It had taken us the better part of an hour. The route down was easier in some parts and harder in others. The other favorable part of walking, is that afforded us the opportunity to take a bunch of pictures that would notify our next of kin what we had been attempting. Eventually we made it all the way down without incident and followed the trails through the oaks back to where we started. Upon emerging from the woods we saw a bald eagle circling the lake. In all that wind, he didn't appear to be working too hard to keep himself aloft. Dad and I had a late lunch at Culver's on the way back and toasted our summitting success with a round of ice cream.

Father and Son (Day 1: Rain or Shine)

Fifteen years ago I took my dad on a bike trip. There are two past-times he is passionate about: cycling and trains. Rails-to-Trails gives him a chance to enjoy both bicycling and railroad history. Wisconsin has some of the best R-to-T rides in America. The crown jewel being the Elroy-Sparta Trail. It's a 32-mile (one way) trail that includes three huge tunnels, the longest of which is so deep and dark you can't see one end from the other. My dad was obviously fascinated by this adventure and I knew he'd never do it alone, so for his 55th birthday, I took him. We took a long weekend, packed my Jeep, and headed west. We had a great time and created memories and stories I talk about to this day ("Eat the last chicken strip, dad!" could be a blog of its own). On the drive home I suggested we do this every year. Six months later, however, I moved to Oregon. So much for my great intentions. This year my dad turned 70 and the family turned it into a national holiday. The fact that everyone was around was gift enough for him. But being the only one of his kids who lives in town, I felt I needed to do something a little more than just show up. After all, he sees me all the time. When I got my Nat Geo Adventure magazine that month, there was an article about Wisconsin's 400 Trail. Another R-to-T ride that actually begins where the Elroy-Sparta Trail ends. So this past Sunday morning we packed up my Jeep again (albeit a newer version) and headed west.
About an hour into the drive my dad pulls out a big map of the state and puts on his glasses. He just spent a couple hundred dollars on a GPS system, but since we are men there would obviously be no need for such a device. After a a couple minutes of studying the map in silence, I became curious, "What's up?" I asked. "I can't find Tomah, " he replied.
"What's in Tomah?"
"Aren't we staying in Tomah?"
"I don't think so. Mom made the reservations. I just wrote down the phone and confirmation numbers."
"Really? Where are we staying then?"
"Sparta, I think. Where did we stay last time?"
"I don't remember."
(Long pause)
"I think we have to call mom."
I swear that man, as a species, probably had to ask directions just to get out of the stone age! We actually deducted that we were staying in Elroy by retracing out last adventure's actual ride. We knew we weren't staying in Sparta because that's where we stayed last time, and because last time we took a shuttle one way and ended at our hotel (in Sparta).
We got to Elroy about 10:30a.m. Our room wasn't ready, but we were essentially ready to ride. It was mostly sunny and 74 degrees. My dad suggested we just go ahead and start. Okay, I was thinking to myself, a little warm-up before we start the actual trail. Ten minutes or so into the ride, I asked "how far is this trail (we had considered doing another smaller ride or two while we were in the area)?" "22 miles," was the answer I got. "Round trip?" "No. One-way." Clearly my mother had not heeded my plea to tell dad to go easy on me. There were four towns along the way (the fourth being the end town that we'd turn abound in), where we'd stop to drink or stretch or have a snack. The ride was beautiful. The tree were turning color and the sound of crunching leaves and twigs under my tires were a sign that fall is right around the corner. We arrived at the Reedsburg Station (our end of the line) around 2p.m. Since we hadn't had lunch yet, (I was riding on a cup of coffee and a maple nut Clif Bar) we decided we'd lunch here and head back. While we were scouting the neighborhood for a restaurant, we realized that the sky to the north (the direction that would take us back to our hotel) had become somewhat ominous looking. We had to make a decision: stay in Reedsburg to eat and hope it blows through while we're eating or race back and hope we're safe before it gets too bad. We opted for the latter on the grounds that we didn't want to be 22 miles from our hotel in the pouring rain and have it start to get dark. So without as much as a commemorative snapshot of our accomplishments so far, we headed back up the trail. Before the station disappeared behind us, it started raining. It never poured, but it came down steady enough that we were soaked to the skin. We stopped at one of the towns along the way to rest. It had stopped raining and there was a kayak outfitter/bike rental shop I wanted to stop at to see if they had some spray lube. After 20-plus miles of rain, mud, and sand; and a night outside, the bikes were bound to need a little TLC before being ridden again tomarrow or the next day. We talked to the owner for a little while before heading out. No sooner were we back in a rhythm, and the rain started up again. At the next town it happened again. We stop -- nothing. We ride -- rain. I was starting to worry about the temperature. It had dropped 14 degrees from when we started and we were both in shorts and a short sleeve jersey. So, dad and I ducked into a little trail-side diner for a cup of soup and hot chocolate. We laughed at how covered in wet sand we were and watched the Packer game for a little while. A half-hour later, we stepped outside to finish the ride. Want to guess what happened next? You are absolutely right: it started raining. Not that it mattered much at that point. There's really no such thing as getting more soaked to the skin. It was during this last section that I thought of something that made me smile. I was looking down at the beads of water clinging to the hair on my arms, when I remembered seeing a bumper sticker that said, 'a bad day fishing beats a good day at work.' Now I know first hand what that means. We got back to the hotel and tried to brush off wet sand with wet sandy hands. I gave up on that exercise in futility and headed to the shower in an attempt to disprove the theory that a hotel can't run out of hot water. If that wasn't the best shower of my life, it was certainly the most deserved. Fourty-four miles (22 of them in the rain) and three-and-a-half hours after arriving in Elroy Wisconsin, we sat down to a well-deserved dinner of steak and shrimp....and a second helping of chocolate pudding for dad for dessert. Back in our room, we watched the National Geographic Channel and made our good-night calls home. When I heard him on the phone with my mom, I wanted to tell him to thank her for not telling dad to go easy on me.

The Tale of Two Tires

Saturday marked the 10th anniversary of the Maywood Earth Ride. I've been lucky enough to ride in eight of them. The first year, I didn't live close enough to get here for the ride, and two years ago I couldn't get out of work. I've rode with every combination of family members: with dad, with Sydney, with Koval, with Lori, Indigo, and Kovi......... You get the idea. The ride itself offers something for every rider, from the 100 mile trip to the 12 mile 'family loop'. This year it was to be Lori, Kovi, and I. Lori, who has been on a bike once in the last 6 years, was excited to ride since she's been running and getting healthy lately. I, as always, was looking forward to the ride, but wasn't looking forward to pulling a 60lb Koval and his 40lb Burley. This is definitely his last year in a trailer!

Our scheduled time to leave was 10:30am. We planned to leave early to get some breakfast at the park before we took off. Fortunately for us, we live only a couple of miles from Maywood, so we didn't have to deal with the parking congestion at the park. About half way there, I blew a tire. So Lori rode home, put her bike and my other hardtail on the Jeep and came back to the parking lot where Kov and I were waiting. As slick as things were working out....it was not meant to be. My other bikes disc brakes wouldn't allow the Burley to connect. So plan B sent me home in the Jeep with both of my bikes, while Lori and Kovi headed to Maywood to wait for me. I rushed home, parked the X-Cal, put a new tube and tire on the HKEK and headed to the park. I took a short-cut through the bike trails of Evergreen Park and arrived at Maywood in time to meet up with the fam (including my mom who was meeting my dad whom was out on one of the longer rides) in time to grab a couple of donut holes and still leave with the 10:30 wave. On the ride, Lori decided single-speed is the way to go, as she never got the knack of shifting. The weather was great, which made for a really nice ride through the all-too-rolling Sheboygan County country-side. The rest stop was even at a petting zoo to show that there is something for everyone. Once we peeled Koval away from the jungle gym, we headed down the final stretch of the 12 mile ride. We were maybe 1000 yards from the end when my tire blew again! So now we sat and waited for the support car to come and change my tire, as I had already used my spare earlier this morning. A half hour later we were back at Maywood munching on a sub sandwich and hot soup and laughing about our tire-popping adventure. We still had to ride home to our regular lives, where Lori spent the afternoon painting Kovi's room and I headed to work. Another day, another tire, another 16 mile love affair with cycling.

Race Day/Life is Good

Yesterday was race day. There are two races in the WORS series that fit my riding style very well. Unfortunately for me, the first of those takes place in June, while I'm usually still pretty out of shape. The second race is the Reforestation Ramble in Suamico (just north of Green Bay). It's a 12-mile route consisting of about 7 miles of ultra-fast double-track (my top speed was over 23 mph) and 5 miles of technical single-track, sharp turns, and steep sandy hills. It's always fun for me to be around so many like-minded people whether I'm watching or riding. 500 racers and their crews/families/friends all gathered at a forest sevice park to do what they love: tear through the woods on self powered machines. Machines that are treated like priceless works of art until the starting gun goes off. Then they are stomped down on, pulled and pushed to the very limit their aluminum or carbon frames can withstand. It's beautiful. The race went well for me. The single-track was harder (which, for me, translates to slower) then last year and the groupings were different which meant we left in a more general group so it took longer for riders to sift into their comfort zones. After a rather short lead-out, we shot into the woods pretty much aligned by speed. I'd keep with a group going into single-track stretches, and when we'd hit a wider double-track section, I'd make my move deeper into the pack. At the 7-mile point I had a Clif-shot to give me a kick for the end. It must have worked because my first thought upon seeing the finish was, "already?" My time was slower then I had been gunning for, but the ride felt good (and I didn't crash), the weather was perfect, and I was with my family. I had no complaints. After my race, we hung around to watch the pros race. We got a coffee drink and sat in the grass watching the Elites fly by on bikes worth more than my car. What is it about biking and coffee? That will have to be a blog for another day. We ate at Krolls -- an American burger institution -- in the shadow of Lambeau Field on the way home. I was a little sore, but it was a good day. A very good day. Riding is life. And life is good.

Landing Moby Dick

Upon hearing my last story about my bad luck on eBay, an old riding partner of mine commented, "Damn, you've been shopping the X-Caliber for years. It's like your white whale!" That was good for a chuckle for both its irony and its truth. But as luck would have it, lady luck gave me a second chance. The exact same model bike came up for auction from a shop in Colorado. Right down to the same starting price and buy-it-now price. Again, fate was tempting me! Do I snatch it up for the buy-it price or take my chance getting it cheaper in the auction? The clincher was that the auction was to end while my family and I were on vacation. When my wife read my blog, she too couldn't believe I had come that close...again. Now, she too, had an interest in the cat-and-mouse game that I continued to play. In my head, I knew exactly what I was and wasn't willing to do for this bike. She really wanted me to 'just buy the damn thing and be done with it.' But that's just not my way. So we left for vacation and the time counted down-- zero bids three days left. On our last morning in Door County, before checking out of the hotel, we used the courtesy computer in the lobby. Still no bids. I had to be home by 8:30pm to snipe it at the last minute. On went our last day up north. We played mini-golf, swam at my favorite state park, did a little shopping and headed south to have some dinner and head home. On the way out of town, Lori suggested stopping at the hotel and using the computer to put a bid in, in case we didn't get home in time. No dice, someone was using the computer. We were 2/3s of the way home when Lori had another brain-storm: we stop at a hotel off the highway, run in and use their computer to quickly put in a bid. I hemmed and hawed at such a notion, but I pulled into the parking lot of a hotel I had no intention of staying at anyway. Lori ran in, logged on, and placed a bid, all under the curious eye of the front desk clerk. An hour and a half later we got home, unloaded the car, and logged on to find out...I (actually my wife) had landed my white whale. It was a good vacation.

"I Was Robbed!"

I'm what's known on e-bay as a sniper. That is, I watch something but don't bid on it until the very last instant. In doing this I don't tip my hand and usually can grab something out from under somebody without ever showing prior interest. Yesterday e-bay karma hit me with all it's wrath.
The one style of bike I do not have is a '29er.' The Gary Fisher 29ers (29er stands for the larger wheel size) are built for speed and ease at overtaking obstacles. I've had my eye on a particular model for several years now. My desire for this bike is more of a curiosity than either a need or even a want. But I've been shopping for one all the same. Twice I've pursued one on e-bay, only to have it reach a price I was unwilling to accept. Last December I found one at the bike store in Green Bay on our monthly visit to my son's doctor. I told myself that if it was there the following month, it would be mine. It was sold by the time I returned. About a week ago, I started to look around again. My usual bike connection in Milwaukee came up empty handed. There were NONE in my size let alone the model I was after. Then, out of nowhere, one materialized on e-bay. The right model, the right size, the right condition, and the right price. The seller was a bike shop dude and had made same savory upgrades. And to make it truly enticing, he was offering it at an exceedingly reasonable price. The model new ran for about $1700. The auction was opening at $1100 with a buy-it-now option of $1300. Even the $1300 was a deal for that ride. There were two days left and not a single bid. I began working up a sale pitch for my wife. Certainly she'd remember me mentioning that I still wanted a 29er to round out my collection, right? I also starting studying my finances. This would be a hard sell on both fronts coming as it did, a week before our family vacation. All night at work I ran through my numbers and my speech. When I got home, I quick went to e-bay to stare longingly at the bike to gain confidence before going upstairs to talk to my wife. But low and behold, the bike was gone! Somebody...the FIRST somebody...realizing what a deal it was, grabbed it via the buy-it-now option and was now the proud owner of my bike! Damn karma.