A Bloody Sunday @ the Bike Show.

This fine piece of industrial cycle machinery is from Quebec. It's called "le Voiturier".

Now just what could we fill this cargo-carrying crackerjack with if we had ever the chance? Perhaps a fresh pile of composted material, ready for the sprintime garden soil. Or perchance a bouuet or six of your finest flowers, that would shine forth the sunlight of oncoming spring, still so distant in these wintry parts.

Better yet, why not wheel round the snowy town bearing a load of shiny new bike kit hauled down from that annual orgy of retail binging we call the Toronto International Bike Show? I had to work two shifts of this three extravaganza this past weekend, and let me say to one and all, it was 'pas grande chose', as they say in the province next door. After doing my duty, demonstrating the bus bike rack forty times or so, I wandered over to the booth of Racer Sportif to look over the 'blow-out' wheelsets, which included the 'Anniversaire' Mavic Ksyrium with that stunning red anodised spoke amidst the black ones. A steal at $890 + taxes, my inside connection, Jeffrey, informed me. My other Insider, Alberto, couldn't believe I was hesitating over mere matters of money.

"What, David Miller not paying you enough, buddy?", Alberto fairly yelled into my ear over the din of the Show, from a good four inches away, his grey toothy grin beaming in the odours. For a second I was totally confused - thought he was referring to David Millar, the Scottish Time Trial pro now co-owner of the new American outfit, Slipstream. But no, a different argyle sock-wearer was being referred to, our local anti-disestablishmentarian and sitting mayor. Of course, I work for the union-loving bastard, don't I? There's the typically graceless beaurocrat for you, eh Alberto, you son of a gun you.

Instead I threw down the ATM card for some blow-out tires and wandered over to La Bicicletta (the most high-end snobfest in city limits), where $3000 wheelsets lay strewn about the racks, secured by nothing. They were blowing out the same Ksyriums for $899 and had a slightly lower grade model of same for a eye-watering $780. I hesitated. I hemmed, hawed, and chewed the lower lip awhile. It was Sunday, last-chance day for the show, bargains or no. Finally, I walked away from it all with the most spectacular piece of my haul being a long-sleeved national jersey of Espana a pretend-deal at $80. I doubt if it'll make me any faster, but perhaps will up my chances of Spanish conversation at the Donuts Ride.

Naturally I came to regret the whole no-buy thing on the wheelsets, once home and looking at my unchanged '06 road racer, clamped into the trainer. Why can't I ever just let myself go and blow $1000 on something for once? No one else is going to do it for me, goddamit. What's point of having the Voiturier, if you're not going to fill that trunk with gilded booty?