This weekend I struggled with an impulse buy: a bike. My mountain bike, purchased when I had aspirations and a boyfriend for this hobby is now collecting dust and I need to cross train for my running. So, during my devil may care morning in Nyack, New York, I popped into a bike shop to assess my new options.
The salesman was cute and flirtacious. Shit. He was also informative – walking me through all my (at times neurotic) concerns. I finally found a bike I loved with a price tag that was doable. Double shit.
Too bad my bike rack wasn’t in my car. Oh wait, it was. But still, it didn’t feel quite right.
I finally walked away because they were a cash only shop and I knew paying for the whole bike right now would eat into next week’s grocery money. SO, I left with a promise to return tomorrow (and the tempting salesman’s phone number).
I wasted no time in calling all the bike shops in my area. The evidence stood: This guy in Nyack was offering me a good price. And after visiting the local shops I also saw that the bike he had was more appealing and he was willing to customize it more. Here’s the problem: Did I need the bike? Would I really use it or was this one of those fitness purchases that would sit around unused? I shouldn’t hesitate to mention that this all happened on a fall day with perfect weather after I huffed my way through a two mile run in Central Park. (Sidebar:I ran a marathon six months ago. WTF?!)
So, I headed up to Nyack, with every intention of coming back with the bike. My bike. 45 minutes of the trip in, I turned around. It didn’t feel right, even though I ran my budget numbers and I could afford it – and had justified it as a birthday present to myself. I convinced myself I would just buy the (more expensive) bike at the dealer a half mile from my house. That would make it easier for maintenance.
So, I arrived at Montclair Bikery a half hour before they opened, ready to buy. Sort of. The problem was that my gut knows my impulse buyer alter ego. And was determined to fight her. She’s quick to get frustrated when questioned, and wants what she wants, no matter what. No price too high, no obstacle insurmountable. While she experiences an amazing high when making the purchase and bringing it home, anxiety generally follows after – and sometimes causes a hasty return.
The salesman sensed my hesitation and recommended we put slicks on my mountain bike. Done and done. I knew it wouldn’t make the mountain bike lighter, but I also know that it won’t give my anxiety due to a large expenditure one month from now when the bike just sat there. And upon further discussion it seems that maybe I should hold out for a road bike later, in case I want to pursue triathlons (as encouraged by a very cute salesman met today, who has a girlfriend.)
So, some new slicks and two rides later, I have learned that bike shops are great places to meet cute, active boys, and that my gut was right in saying not so fast.
