Fat gets Fitted, or Resistance Is Futile

Dear Reader,

Yesterday, after a very long week and a surprise 4:00-on-a-Friday-afternoon meeting which ran long, I stumbled into my local bike store 20 minutes late for my road cycle fitting session. I did call first to let them know that I was running behind, but this clearly made no difference to the bald man whose job it was to make Bivnard and I a seamless cyborg of road burning fury. Jack was his name, and his eyes told me that I was the only thing standing between him and the end of his shift.

For those of you who don’t know, there are approximately 5 zillion tiny points of adjustment that can be made to a bicycle so that it perfectly matches its rider’s anatomy. The bike fitting is when a bike mechanic meticulously adjusts each one of them by hand while you pedal in place in their basement. This is usually about $100, but since I had bought the bike from the folks who were doing the fitting, it was going to be half price.

I was late but I had come prepared. I had my bike shorts on under my jeans, my new bike shoes, cleats, and pedals. I even brought my helmet in case he told me to go play in traffic. Fit Lesbian and I followed Jack into the depths of the bike fitting dungeon (always bring a buddy) where he put Bivnard on a trainer and surveyed the situation. As I shed my jeans, he informed me that there would be an additional $50 fee for also fitting my shoes to my bike.

Fat Lesbian (pants around ankles): “But don’t I need the cleats and shoes and everything to get the rest of the bike fitted?”

Jack: “Yes. You need your feet to sit correctly so that your seat is in the right place, and then we can adjust you handle bars.”

Fat Lesbian: “Then why isn’t it part of the fitting? Is this negotiable?”

Jack: “No.”

This is when I realized that bike shops, like car mechanics and dentists, have no qualms about blatantly gouging their customers. Thankfully Fit Lesbian was able to whisper reason into my ear and talk me down from my pillar pantless of indignation. So after grudgingly agreeing to this obvious bait and switch, I stepped out of my jeans, and gave in to the process. Jack fit my cleats to my shoes, my shoes to my pedals, and the rest of me to my bike. It took just over an hour and was probably the best $100 I could have spent. We have been assimilated.

 

Sincerely,

Fat Lesbian

P.S. I’ve learned how to use blogger a little bit better! Check out the nifty social sharing stuff on the side bar to my left (your right).