selling my tri-bike, part by part

 sung to the genesis tune above. enjoy...this is a vintage peter gabriel tune. it is phil collins with hair... before he was corrupted by pop. you would do well to listen and ignore the rest of this blog.

but...read on if you dare...

i am selling my tri-bike, part by part, dancing with the moonlit knights, otherwise known as the slowtwitch jerks of the roundtable. sour grapes? maybe, but this is my blog and iam free to use metaphor as i see fit.

i feel like a traitor. i feel like i am committing treason. slicing my best-friend into parts and selling them off (or, as in the song, selling england by the pound). my bike has been a trusty partner for four years now...but it is time to move on. it is time to build a new bride. and she is  hopefully not a frankenstein. this process is traumatizing and tantalizing both in equal amounts. 

but aside from the obvious trauma of dismembering a loved one and trading in the parts, there is the pain in the ass of dealing with a bunch of triathlete vultures who are circling the classifieds on slowtwitch looking for cheap road-kill to prey upon.

doing business with people on slow-twitch is like dealing with a bunch of know it all, childish, entitled and narcissistic jerks who are looking to get an impossible deal. it is like negotiating with a toddler, minus the cuteness and diminutive size.

and why would this not be so?

triathlon tends to attract narcissists like no other force in the universe. slowtwitch is their electronic temple. it is  a cyber black -hole for assholes.

these are the same people who swim over you, punch you, kick you and cut off your line in the water like you weren't there. they try to get in front of you at aid stations,  and draft off you at races.  they are assholes. full of themselves. generally lacking in insight, reflectiveness or sense of humor. and hard-wired to love a fight.

i don't care what happened to them as children. i want to lance them off their bikes and watch them writhe in pain on the asphalt. 

i have decided that i need to find the narcissistic a-hole within if i am going to get good at this sport. and, as you can see,  i am working on that, not altogether unsuccessfully. and i have a few recent pool stories to prove it, but that is another blog, maybe. 

problem is, i have used gear to unload, which puts me in a very vulnerable position vis a vis other slow-twitch jerks. we are like a bunch of dogs all trying to hump eachother in the park. everyone wants to be top dog. and selling used gear makes you like a vulnerable dog, or fire hydrant or worse, like an old shoe or a welcoming pant leg
.
you are something to be pissed on, fucked, taken advantage of.

i cannot believe what people expect they should be able to pay for perfectly good shit for because they sense that you need to sell it. robbers.

fucking bunch of animals. endurance animals.

e-bay here i come. craig's list here i come. kijiji here i come. local bike store, here i come, i might need to sell some shit, but i don't need to be anally raped.

see you at the races.