I didn’t set out to buy a new bike, but a Yeti managed to work her way into my life and soul last week.
“If it has two wheels, it’s a good bike, a great place to start,” was the common response I got when I told people my mountain bike sucked.
That became my mantra. My decades-old Cannondale was good enough for me, until a bike mechanic looked it over – the wheels had been recalled but the manufacturer went out of business. I needed a new crankshaft and wider handlebars. All that added up to over a grand, and still I’d end up with a crappy bike.
We rode for a while and I realized the ease I felt riding a bike that I trusted.
Then I meandered around the shop overwhelmed thinking about whether I wanted a hydraulic seat or a single chainring setup. I debated the right amount of travel and pondered the pros and cons of a 27.5 or 29 wheel.
“What’s your budget?” Eva asked.
I shrugged. I hadn’t really planned on buying a bike. I didn’t have money set aside, so really my bike budget hovered right around zero.
“I don’t know your budget and that’s the first step,” she said.
I went home and looked at my online account. I take money out of my checking account every month, it’s called my F*ck It Fund, where I siphon money every month so when those crazy urges to travel whisper in my ear, I just might be able to make it happen.
A new bike puts myself on the trail to witness more sunsets and rainbows. The beauty of the forest lends itself to the kind of magical thinking where woodland creatures seem like a possibility around every bend. Every ride I make new friends and leave the trail open to the range of possibilities before me, awake to the chance to reinvent myself.
Mountain biking leaves me with the same type of high I get from traveling so I justified emptying my account to buy a bike.
When Megan told me Yeti was a Colorado boutique, I was intrigued. The website’s description of the company culture resonated with me – they wrote about drinking strong coffee in the morning and greeting strangers with big smiles. They talked about midday rides and after work beers. It sounded like a company I wanted to support.
Then I saw the bike in turquoise.
I called Megan. “I’ll take the Yeti. In blue. It’s my color. Everything I’ve bought since I’ve been about eight-years old has been turquoise.”
“I’m going to break your heart right now. They don’t’ have that model in turquoise,” she said. “But they do have it in black with turquoise detailing.
I was already sold on the company culture. I wanted a Yeti.
It’d be easy for me to say I don’t have enough money, that I’m not a good enough rider to justify such an exquisite bike. Buying a bike has been about more than carbon and rubber and all the components that make it so expensive. It’s about saying yes to more beauty into my life, to new adventures, and to new friends.
When driven more by a belief in abundance than fear of scarcity, we become better versions of ourselves.
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