Ya wanna know the real answer? I've thought about this a lot. My take:
Back in 1971 or so, I smoked a pack and a half of Marlboros a day and dreamed of being a Formula 1 driver. I worked part time at the Oakland Public Library in order to pay my way thru junior college in Alameda, CA. One of the librarians was a relatively young, hip dude who listened to jazz and drove a Porsche C. I thought this dude was very cool. He also owned a couple of Schwinn Paramounts and told me I'd probably enjoy riding a good bicycle (I had ridden a 250 Yamaha across the US and Canada the year before, but had traded that in for a brand new Toyota Corolla (in McLaren yellow), which in those days went for just under $2,000).
So one day I wandered into Velo Sport, on Grove St. (now ML King St.) in Berkeley. I knew this store because when I was in eight grade (early 60's), one of my best friends was a kid from a beatnik family (they even had a Citroen with air-oil suspension, and they'd drive up to Burbank Jr. High School, park, and let the car down - much cooler than those Mexicans jumping their low-riders!). His name was Denis Hammond, and he had an older brother, Steve, who raced locally. Denis would regale me with stories of Steve's racing exploits, and also stories of the greatest cyclist in the world at the time, Jacques Anquetil. He introduced me to Velo Sport, where you could buy a Cinelli or a Paragon for about $200 in 1963; there were all these mean-looking bikes lined up in two rows, with narrow tires with no air in them looking like snakes. So here I was at Velo Sport in 1971, where I bought a cheap ($75) Centurion with steel rims and high-carbon steel frame, no quick releases, bars too narrow, lousy cheap plastic saddle covered with vinyl and soft padding, and tubes with Schraeder valves. I rode it around Lake Merritt, I guess, and I was hooked. That night I dreamt of being on the bike, flying on the bike, and it's been a passion to this day.
So that's my story and I'm sticking with it.
Luis