>>1135269When your brifters shatter in a light breeze and you say "god damn, those guys from /n/ were right". Then Sheldon Brown rides up on a lugged Rivendell ghost bike, tucks a joint into your pocket, then gives you a firm handshake. As he rides away laughing warmly, you open you hand to see two Shimano shifter pods, and a pair of ten speed Dura Ace downtube shifters.
Suddenly, you see clearly. The joint is roached in your hand, but you didn't even hit it. Clouds swirl. The contrast is increased. You slip off your Strava computer and toss it high into the woods. It makes a whistling sound, then a thud.
A weight lifts off your shoulders. You look down at your Canyon and it's a lugged Bridgestone X-O. You pick it up. "Light enough" pops into your head. "Cromo is cromo. Good enough for me" Who put these thoughts in your head?
It hits you like a warm wave: you're a real cyclist now. You've finally arrived. You just needed to stop running. The only race you needed to win was there one in your heart. The only time you needed to beat was the one they put in your head. Call your family. Hug your friends. You've finally escaped the brifter mindvirus.
A group of guys roll up. No helmets. Khaki pants, sandals. They're going on an s24o they say. A what? You say.
"Come on, we'll show you. You got somewhere else you need to be?"
"Nah man, nah. Heh. I'm in no rush. Just out here enjoying the breeze. Let's go."
