The Cash for Clunkers is on, and we’re all taking (or being taken on) a ride.
I have a few ole Clunkers in my stable—my trusty, slightly rusty, 2001 Chevy Blazer for one.
Then there are: my 1981 Trek 412 (my own first bicycle purchase); a recently restored late 70s Motobecane Grand Jubilee (a gift from a barn in New Hampshire); an in progress Raleigh Record (a gift from Joe Dadez, which has been across the United States three times); and a dormant Schwinn Varsity (a gift from Eleanor Chance, which weighs as much as the other three bikes combined).
What am I to do with all these clunkers? The only one which has any hope of fetching clunker cash is the Blazer. But to give that up is to acquire another thirty grand of debt to a Japanese Toyota Prius or the new sleeker Honda Insight.
No. We need to buy American and take nary a farthing from our struggling fellow taxpayers. And, mark you, we need to remain fit and fulfilled into the bargain.
As we approach sixty two and enter the great internal struggle, which would it be?
The American-made carbon fiber wonder of the Pro Cycling Tour or the artistically lovingly hand-shaped steel from the Mecca of custom bicycles to the east Waterloo?
In June’s Tour for Cancer Century, I had the delight of riding with Dave Wages who crafts bicycles in his Ellis Cyclery shop in Waterford—once the home of Schwinn’s Paramont custom shop. Dave luggs at the hearts and desires of those who adore what only a true artisan can provide.
However, time is rolling rapidly away from my body’s ability to keep pace. Technology, spinning, and abstinence from Blue Moon and vino may be the only answer to the grim advance. Spinning is too early in the AM, and abstinence from golden foam and fragrant red is unthinkable. Trek held hope—and not just any Trek, but the Madone endorsed by the Great American Armstrong himself as customized by their Project One programme— a simply obscene Obsidian Blue Red Carbon 6.5 in all it’s elegant simplicity.
This bicycle greets one with a paint job which is free from graphic distractions and appears as deep and mystical as Lake Tahoe. Obsidian has the power to heal and make young. Faust (Fausto) himself could ask for no more. And the new Madone comes with the endorsement (viz. peer pressure) of more than a few of our fellow Upper Left Hand Corner of Illinois riders.
“It is the best investment I’ve ever made,” claims Eric Helm. Eric passed his beloved Serotta down to his son and found new wings on his 6.5. Fred Shappert strapped on a new electric blue Fizik saddle and tactile bar tape on his 6.5 and sold his 5200 on Ebay even to the envy of that greedy Cote from Huh knee well.
Then came Rick Long, who only two years ago was on an old steel Columbia with enough weight and road rash to make one groan on or alongside the saddle. First, Rick bought a suitable LeMond aluminium. Then, he trekked to Madison only to return with a Baccetta recumbent. Finally, the Lorelei Madone lured Rick smack dab into the promise of carbon fiber.
Now, that same siren has claimed the Fausto within me. And so, not unlike Doktor F. himself, I traded a small portion of my trust for the hope of continuing (pray lingering) youth. Ohh, to be swifter, fit and free from the dread of what lies ahead!
Mind you, this is the ultimate stimulus package: A USA made in Waterloo, Wisconsin Trek Madone Obsidian Blue frame & fork replete with Sram Force components from a company headquartered in Chicago, Illinois USA and Race X Lite wheels, tires, brakes, stem and handlebars made by Bontrager— owned by Trek USA.
Perhaps this isn’t really as risky as Goethe’s tragic obsession. This could be a patriotic celebration of all that is good and clean about the American dream. For what is the risk if the return on investment is at hand or peddle.
I recall purchasing an IBM Personal Computer back in the early 80s. As advertised by Charlie Chaplin’s silhouette, that piece of windowless word-bound technology cost me well over five grand. Imagine what its power represents by today’s standard. And instead of getting me out of doors into the fresh air, this technology drew me into its royal blue vacuum tube.
Basta! I will not further remorse this decision. The deed is done. I have turned my back on the Clunker junk money and struck a deal with my local Freeport Bicycle Shop on a pride of America purchase. It is my fantasy, my trust, my life. Now, it truly is time to lick the plate clean
