There comes a moment in the life of nearly every cyclist when someone questions the need for another bicycle.

Usually that someone is a spouse.

And usually the cyclist has a perfectly reasonable explanation involving carbon fiber, electronic shifting, aerodynamics, gear ratios, and a completely legitimate need to save four seconds on a Saturday morning ride.

The spouse listens patiently.

Then asks the devastating question.

“Don’t you already have a perfectly good bicycle?”

That is exactly what happened at the bike shop.

What the cyclist failed to appreciate was that his wife had been taking notes.

---

A few weeks later, they stopped at a horse shop.

He wasn't entirely sure why.

She had said she only wanted to “look.”

Experienced husbands should recognize this phrase.

It means roughly the same thing as when a cyclist says:

“I’m just going to stop by the bike shop and pick up a tube.”

Inside stood a magnificent horse.

Beautiful coat.

Western saddle.

Strong legs.

Intelligent eyes.

And a price tag of $24,995.

His wife walked around it slowly.

“Look at this beauty.”

The cyclist looked at the price tag.

Then at the horse.

Then at his wife.

“You already have a perfectly good horse at home.”

She continued examining it.

“It has excellent legs.”

“So does your current horse.”

“Beautiful saddle.”

“You already own a saddle.”

“Very responsive.”

“Your other horse is responsive.”

She gave him the same patient expression he had received at the bicycle shop.

He suddenly had an uncomfortable feeling that this conversation had happened before.

Then he spotted the Marginal Gains Department.

Polished horseshoes: $199.

Mane conditioner: $49.

Custom saddle pad: $129.

Ear bonnet: $39.

Lose ten pounds: FREE.

Unfortunately, that option was temporarily out of self-control.

He pointed toward the horse.

“This is ridiculous.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You spent how much on ceramic pulley wheels?”

“That’s completely different.”

“Of course it is.”

He tried another approach.

“What can this horse possibly do that your current horse can't?”

She considered the question.

“Make me want to ride more.”

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

That particular argument sounded disturbingly familiar.

She walked around the horse one more time.

The cyclist noticed another sign:

RIDE NOW — PAY LATER

Below it, in smaller letters:

Your back will remind you.

He began calculating.

Feed.

Veterinarian.

Shoes.

Trailer.

Tack.

Boarding.

He suddenly realized something remarkable.

For the first time in recorded history, a $15,000 bicycle seemed financially responsible.

His wife stood beside the horse, smiling.

“I've thought about it carefully.”

He knew what was coming.

“I need this.”

“You absolutely do not.”

She smiled.

And somewhere behind the counter, a credit-card terminal quietly woke from sleep.

The cyclist stared at the horse.

Then remembered the carbon bike sitting safely at home.

He sighed.

Fair was fair.

So do I.