It looks like the Tour de France has destroyed Team Radio Shack this year. What a shame. I was really pulling for Chris Horner.

About a month ago, a friend of mine gave me a loaner Trek 1200 from the 1980s. How do I know it’s from the 1980s? Because it’s neon yellow, that’s why.

I haven’t really done the road bike thing since the mid-aughts, when an ex-boyfriend roadie was like, yeah, now we can ride together both on and off the trail. But instead of helping me adjust to road biking, he complained that I was riding too slow. So I dumped the dude, sold the bike, and hugged the Yeti even tighter.

But then a girl comes along, a mutual friend, who’s keen into biking and patience and wants to spread the cycling love. So she gives me this, as a long-term loaner:

And I’m in love with bikes, all over again. This love is deeper because it represents growth and a move away from severe dislike and disdain for road cycling and -ers (apart from the Tour de France, of course) into a newfound love affair. My commute across town, which used to take 40 minutes on my Beloved mid-90s Bianchi mountain bike, is now under half an hour. (In comparison, driving can take as long as 20 minutes, but usually hovers around 15.) Easy. So easy, in fact, that I’ve taken to riding in delicate sandals and skirts.

The Trek is super lightweight in all its aluminum canness. Unlike the mountain bikes I own, the Trek roadie coasts. Pedal a little, coast. Pedal, pedal, coast, coast, coast. Sometimes the ratio feels exponential.

I’m not hitting the mountains or even the foothills just yet, but the tiny little SheSpoke universe will be the first to know when I do.

Vive la Trek!