How to have bike sex...and is too much a bad thing?

Okay, I got your attention. “Bike sex” refers to the chatter created among a group of cyclists drooling over a new bike or an after-market upgrade (See Glossary on blog index for terms in italics). Typically bike sex involves another rider lifting your bike (of course after saddle bags, water bottles, various “mojos”--the bike’s clothes--are seductively removed) with a resulting gasp, “Hey dude; that’s light;” as if by picking up a bike you can discern a difference between a pound or two. “Bike sex” can also involved endless foreplay about the subtle differences in ride quality or bike weight created by various product choices from forks, chains, cranks, tires, wheels, saddles, stems, and “Hey dude, I saved 8 grams by using ‘stans’ instead of tubes.”

Well, I have to admit, “I love bike sex.” The only thing better than a new bike is a unique and insanely-expensive new bike.

My love for “bike sex” first began when I started mountain biking in 1994. A Californian couple-Paul Smyth and H.L. Weber—introduced me to sport and the term. H.L. road a Klein hard tail, with a killer paint job, internal cabling and a Pro Flex fork (one of the first front suspension models). Paul road a Trimble! (http://mombat.org/1991_Trimble.htm). They got a ton of bike sex. H.L. used to joke that she could be standing naked beside Paul’s Trimble, and on-coming riders, mostly men, would still be focused on the Trimble. “Hey Dude, is that a Trimble?” Not, “Hey Dude, is that a naked woman?” While I on my fully rigid Raleigh—despite my John Tomac black-lime green colors—only received passing glances (of course the jean shorts, tennis shoes, and cotton tee did not help my image). From then on I have longed for bike sex. Yet, I quickly learned to have truly great bike sex—unlike, well—you really need a stable salary.

And after countless bikes, countless fittings, and countless after market upgrades, I wonder how much it really matters. This past winter I did 85 mile hill ride—called the “Gravity ride,” named after a coffee house outside Jackson, Mississippi where the group met—on a used cross bike I bought for under five hundred dollars—far below my custom Seven. It was a ride for the memory books.

So I have learned over the years that my addiction to having bike sex—geometry, frame materials, suspension, tire weight, etc.—has been somewhat misplaced. I cannot really say I had more “fun” on my Raleigh, my 23 lb Trek Duelie, my Kona single speed, my steel Bianchi, my carbon 5200, my Fuji cross, my custom Ti Seven or my current 25.5 lbs Giant Anthem (oh, it’s so heavy)—each bike makes a difference in my speed and my comfort. Yet still, each bike has given me incredible memories and glorious rides.

Recently, I was struggling during a training workout, grunting and cursing, around Flatwoods' loop, only to pass a rider on a Wal-Mart-bought bike, with the saddle too low, tube socks too high, and, would you believe, work boots! Shaking my head as I pass the Gumby, I noticed the big smile on the rider’s face….making me, in all my misery, ask: “What am I doing wrong?”

If you have a bike: ride it, enjoy it, and do not worry about what others are riding! If you develop a love for bike sex, so be it….just don’t become a nymphomaniac!

Barbara Perigard Shircliffe