The Monkey and I have been through all kinds of hell this winter. Hundreds of miles through every kind of garbage condition. You might hear this on a typical day in January:
Pat: "Wanna go, Monkey? It's super nasty out. Maybe we should stay in."
Monkey: "I don't care, I'm all about you. Let's ride!"
Pat: "I love you, Monkey."
Monkey: "I love you more!"
I really, truly thought I loved the Monkey above all other bikes. As soon as I thought winter was ending (even though it turns out this is the year of the everlasting winter), I splurged on some Schwalbe Big Apple tires to convert my bestest winter bike to my bestest spring bike. They even have reflective sidewalls. So cool:
Well, I hate myself for even saying this, but even with the new tires, the Monkey is, ummm . . . . a little . . . well, uhhh . . .
To make matters worse, the light, skinny, sexy bike has been in touch. I've tried to ignore the flirtation. But I'm weak and I've spent the last couple of nights with it. Bathing it. And dorking it out with a basket. We have a connection that I have never experienced with any other bike. I know I've said this before, but this time I mean it. I think this bike might be the one.