Duane Behrens

This morning, I put 30 miles on a 30-year old Raleigh. It's a steel bike, a thoroughbred in its day. This one was hard to get right - wheels, brakes, derailleurs - but it's getting tight now, and I enjoyed the ride.

This afternoon after work and after a glass of wine, I rode my 35-year old Nishiki around the block. Twice. Then 3 times. It's my heaviest bike, but it's also the most fun on the flats . . . a near-perpetual-motion machine. Silent competence is underrated. I enjoyed it like anything.

Tomorrow, if I can get off work early enough, I'll sneak out on the carbon bike. I've got the bar width and stem length pretty close now. The 53/39 combined with a 10-speed 12/30 cassette give me the right gear for everything. The integrated shifters are almost TOO easy. Gonna head to Santa Monica and back. It'll be a 50 mile ride with a 1400 foot climb at the end, and this bike will make the miles and the vertical feet disappear under its wheels. It's gonna be great.

Summary: Compared to the motorcycles I've ridden for the last 30 years, riding bicycles seems akin to driving a manual transmission car after 30 years of driving automatics . . . because with THIS sport, I'm a participant. And the particular bike I'm on becomes irrelevant, because the silent and inexplicable pleasure of piloting a gyroscope is constant and everlasting.

I feel like a kid again.
We're quite lucky, you know.

Duane Behrens