Plenty of guys get excited this time of year for the arrival of Sports Illustrated's annual swimsuit issue. I can appreciate that. When I was younger I spent plenty of time paging through the annual collection of superfit models in superskimpy outfits, just knowing somewhere in there a well-placed splash would have turned some woman's bikini top just translucent enough to reveal ... well, you know. Naughty stuff.
These days, though? I get my late-winter thrills from a different and not necessarily healthier source: bike magazine buyer's guides.
Oh, sure, there's still something to be said for an entire magazine full of mono-named models lounging seductively in what appears to be highly impractical beachwear. But these days there are so many more options for seeing attractive women in their almost-altogether. Magazines like Maxim and Stuff and, I think, Popular Science, bring that kind of thing to readers every single month. Scantily clad women are practically required viewing on the Internet.
Pictures of supermodels in mesh tankinis are great, but how about the carbon-fiber weave on a new Trek? And what's the finish on that new titanium model? Is it ... nude? Good golly!
Let's face it, a well-made bike frame is about the sexiest a couple of triangles are ever going to look.
For the last week or so I've been pouring over Bicycling magazine's annual buyer's guide the same way I used to flip through pictures of Kathy Ireland and Elle MacPherson. Is it entirely healthy to linger over photo after photo of lovingly crafted bikes when I'm already riding something that costs several times more than a lot of people's first cars? Maybe not. Five-figure price tags aside, a lot of these bikes just weren't made for someone like me. I'm 6-6, and this is a sport where someone who stands six feet tall and weighs 180 pounds is practically a giant. High-level bike racers are like slightly taller jockeys with bigger thighs. There's a legitimate risk some of the really featherweight bikes would just plain fall to pieces under someone my size.
Why do it, then? For the same reason -- well, sort of -- I used to get excited about that swimsuit issue. It's an aspirational thing. As much as I'd like to have enough in the bank to drop the price of a Toyota Yaris on a custom-made Italian dream machine that will do everything but pedal me up hills on its own, that's not going to happen anytime soon. But I'm never going to date a swimsuit model, either.
At least, that's what the restraining orders say.
It's still nice to look at the pictures, though. It's just, instead of looking at pictures of beautiful women in exotic locations and wondering where the tide might have washed that poor model's bikini top I'm reading about exotic frame materials and beautiful frame geometries and wondering just how much faster I could ride right now if I'd spent the extra grand or two to knock an extra few grams off my bike's weight.
Now that's sexy.
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1 comment:
Don't sell yourself short on the supermodel thing.
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