Bike Forums - My tour.

So, today I was doing some back to school shopping at a certain upscale big-box store (a.k.a. Target) when I decided to make my usual detour to the sporting goods section to check out the bikes. To my amazement, I found a roadie, a $199 Schwinn Prelude. But wait, there was another! Two Schwinn Preludes! Neat! I continued my perusal to find THREE red "Shimano Equipped" roadies on closeout for $105.99.

"My pedals cost more than that," I bragged to the older gentleman beside me. I just had to give one a try. I wretched it off the shelf, surprised at its incredible lightness, despite the advertised "Ultralight Aluminium Frame." She bounced to the floor, her sagging tires begging for air. I obliged, wheeling her to to a nearby pump, quickly inflating them well beyond the bargain pump's 60psi max.

At 6'3, I require a lofty mount, and a quick seat adjustment courtesy of my trusty Leatherman was warranted.

I commenced with the preflight checks.

Brakes - spongy and inconsistent. Check
Shifters - friction and downtube mounted. Check
Bars - mounted at an odd angle. Check
Pedals - plastic. Check
Chain - attached. Check
Wheels - terribly heavy. Check
Tires - new and properly inflated. Check

Captain, you are cleared to taxi to aisle six.

You are cleared for takeoff.

With a glorious push, I propelled myself slowly down the deserted aisle toward the distant frozen foods section. Onlookers stood behinds, mesmerized by the shimmering beast. I slid my feet into position over the pedals, an imaginary click linked my body firmly to the machine. My feet beat rhythmically, driving ever onward. The crowd had gathered, cheering me down my own private Champs-Elysees. Only a few separated me from immortality. I had pushed my body and my machine to the breaking point. But tragedy struck.

With a sickening creak, I watched the finish line fade from view, replaced only by a blinding white light flickering before my eyes. I gripped the bars with all my strength as the scenery went tumbling before me. The crowd fell silent, leaving only the sound of low-quality aluminum on polished tile.

I opened my eyes slowly, half-expecting to be greeted by The Cannibal himself, only to realize that, in fact, we are both still alive. A wheel lay fallen, several feet from the mangled wreck to which I was still securely attached. It had not been the only casualty of the day. I slowly twisted my foot, an imagined click signaling my freedom. I carefully pulled myself from the wreck, assuring onlookers that I was uninjured, despite some nasty floor rash. It seemed to my untrained eyes that the fork had suffered a catastrophic structural failure. I suspect it might have actually been made of carbon fiber.

The manager arrived soon thereafter, insisting that I pay for the damages and leave immediately. But, after observing the tree-trunks I call quadriceps, he offered me an informal apology and asked me to sign a waiver. Never one to disappoint a fan, I obliged. "To James: Thanks for believing" I wrote, leaving him with a coy smile and a wink. I raised my head, swallowed my pride, and walked sullenly through the automatic doors, wondering what might have been.