The Beast

The Beast is currently the main moniker I use when I refer to my rad new mountain bike, the Yeti 575. The reference is easy, low-hanging-fruit easy, but since I was in the mood for low hanging fruit when I decided to name my beloved, it seemed fitting.



But that's on the surface and there is something deeper than just calling my bike the Beast because it's a Yeti. I am also referring to the beast in my belly that bellows when I can't ride for whatever reason, or the animalistic, voracious happiness I feel when I'm on the side of a mountain on my new shiny toy. I realize it's a toy, in fact, I think it's my mid-life crisis toy.



If it's perfectly acceptable for middle-aged men to purchase new sports cars and bone girls half their age when they feel the fingers of mortality wrap around their turkey wattles, I see no reason why I can't do the exact same thing, except with a bike. and not really bone girls half my age, but rather, hang out with cool ladies of all ages who feel the same way about their bikes as I do about mine.