What´s in a bicycle shoe, I ask myself. A foot, you might say. Well, most of the time that wouldn’t hold true. It´s just the shoe. And hundreds or thousands of stories, shaped and fueled by years of endless circular motion. Always coming back to the same spot. Again and again. Effortlessly continuing past that one spot just to return the second after. Over and over. Never stopping, never complaining. Demanding nothing.
That would wear anyone down, wouldn’t´t it? My ugly Shimanos (they were always ugly – the reasons I got them were the fit and the price) have come to their final rest. I cannot throw them away. They have served me on long road rides, on gastly trails, on icy, snowy roads few would even consider walking or driving a car on. They have endured temperatures lower than a sunk boat. They even helped me open doors and break ice coming to work meetings and interviews.
Today I got a new pair of Shimanos. Same kind but black.