My Brand New Bicycle...(sorta)

Those who follow my blog are aware of my recent fascination with all things Bicycle. We all knew it would happen sooner or later...yes, I bought a bike. Sorta.

I say "sorta" because it's sort of missing a few parts. Like wheels. A seat. Handlebars. A fork.... for starters.

I can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth from here. "What kind of junk did he drag home this time?"

Come on, guys. You know me too well. I like Old Stuff. In this case, it's just a bike frame, circa 1980-something. It's called a Proteus. It was built in a small specialty bicycle shop in College Park, Maryland...so it's kind of rare. Nothing out of a giant factory here. They started building bikes in 1972, and this one, built ten years later, is only serial number 1187. That's roughly two bikes a week. Why they named their bikes after Proteus, the Greek god of the sea, I have no idea. Maybe the first few owners threw them into the ocean.

Now, while the frame is a quarter-century old, it's actually brand new, never having been built into a completed bike. It hung on some bike shop wall for years, if I'm to believe the seller's eBay description. It is a brilliant Ferrari red. "Just a few nicks from storage" I'm told. We'll see. I think I want to repaint it, anyway.

It's got sexy lugs. Lugs are very important on old bikes. They are the joints that hold good bike frame tubing together, you see. This one has some fancy curves, and cutouts shaped like hearts. These lugs are from Italy. Oooh.

I showed pictures of them to my wife. She looked rather dubious. I think she was hoping that if I must spend money on a bicycle, I could at least ride the damn thing by the time the check cleared. But noooooo.......not David.

Now I can start collecting handlebars and a seat and the three-dozen other gizmos I'll need so that I can screw it together. I know what it will look like. I know how it will feel.

Proteus will glide effortlessly, almost silently down the street. The steering will react as if by telepathy. Hunched over the bars, I will peer over the top of my glasses, therefore obscuring my vision. Small specks of road debris will fly off the tires and pepper my face. My fat ass will squirm on the hard, imported leather seat. The tires will moan, pitch rising as I press harder on the pedals. Faster, faster, I will coax my Italian-American steed.

Until I am out of breath. Or slam into a car. Did I tell you I'm not going to destroy this bike's seductive, clean lines, by adding brake cables? That's right -- Proteus will have no brakes. It's the trendy thing, trust me.

It's all going to be sooooooo cool.