October 15, 2009 (unfinished)

Money

When I started cycling all I wanted was two wheels that I could pedal away as far as I could go. The only friend from my home town that I still keep up with (my brother's best friend growing up) gave me his old Diamondback highlighted by a day-glow orange paint job. Back then I couldn't hold more than 17 mph. Maybe that was with a t-shirt and it was definitely with tires ineptly pumped to no more than 40psi. My third ride I headed southward in search of NC. I failed, completely bonked at Blackwater after 45 miles on the return where I refueled and barely made it home before sunset.

Eventually I hooked up with the group rides and people gave me a couple of things to upgrade. I got an old 8 speed entry level wheelset and some shoes with cleats and pedals to replace the sneakers. It was great. Now, with the ribbing I hear about my tightness and rumors that I was some trust fund kid, I wonder if some of those people think me a complete ass who wasn't in need at all. No, back then I had a $2000 car and I was working part time and didn't earn enough to pay the bills and the mortgage, and with rising credit card debt that lifestyle was within a few months of ending. Now the explanation for that lifestyle is another story, but I suppose that at least is accurate and fair game for snickers.

I don't know what it is with people and money. I was occasionally derided by some of the kids for being rich--and one of those was a girl whose family had business ties to the McKinleys and the Diebolds since the 19th century and owned the land that the local mall was named for as well as a brick plant which wiki claims is "one of the largest family owned brick manufacturers in the U.S." Meanwhile my dad was a self-employed architect and we lived in an average sized (though a flashy modern) 4 bedroom house. One of which was the sewing room so I shared a room with my brother until I left for college. One of those "brickmen" once, half-drunk at a cocktail party, vilified my father for having spec'ed concrete instead of brick for the downtown library. Though my dad loved to drink he didn't care much for the blasé intercourse and consumption that took place at the usual stand-up cocktail party. He much preferred beerball. But I digress.

My mom was FRUGAL. She grew up during the Spanish Civil War with memories of eating lots of lentils. They sometimes were treated with a third rate substitute for chocolate extracted from carob beans that were otherwise fed to the mules. In our house she still couldn't help making Select-a-Size paper towels long before they ever existed. We used to make fun of her for that, but now I find myself tearing even a Select-a-Size in half when that's all I need. My dad on the other hand could spend money like there was no tomorrow -- at least when he had it.

So when I was 11 my dad had it and pulled us out of school. His convenient phobia about flying was a good excuse for sailing first class on the QE2 to Spain to visit my mother's family. We got back after a month near the end of my 5th grade. That was when some of the crap about being rich started. Whatever. I didn't understand where that cattiness was coming from or why it would even matter. A lot of other crap also started there that made my life hell at times for years, but that's another story. Later in Virginia at the end of my college years my dad had lost his job with an architectural firm as well as his insurance. His health was failing and he couldn't get his own insurance. I took him down to the unemployment office to see if he could get Medicaid where we waited a long time only to be turned down. We were renting a townhouse, but just a car and some money invested put us over the poverty level needed to qualify. The timing isn't clear anymore to me. He probably had less than a year left. I can't even remember where that office was...maybe someplace on the Boulevard near Pembroke. I've never been back to one of those places.

After that my mom worked full time from her home dressmaking and tailoring business, and lived off that and my dad's social security benefits.

...

I guess I forgot to list one item among my assets above. I was one of nine to whom my grandfather willed the once family house that had been expanded vertically into apartments in the center of Sitges.

It certainly wasn't anything near enough to live off of. Now, things have changed again financially, so who knows?                I certainly haven't done the math.

This isn't meant to be some sob story. There's a million of these stories and most are much tougher. I may be cheap. Make fun of me for the paper towels, but this is about bikes? As if a mediocre local racer needs a pro bike. As if anyone needs 808s on a group ride, much less              . I went into Conte's the other day to ask about the price on the Supersix Two. I was shut down, told the team deal was for the Hi-mod. Me I assumed all their bikes are for sale and have a price, but maybe I'm an ass.

  ...

You can't always get what you want, but...you get what you need? For me it gets damn close, but so far it seems to work as far as money goes. I guess I just need something more than money.