A decision several weeks in the making came to fruition today.

Last month, I decided I wanted to buy a folding bike to celebrate another marvelous year on this planet. I tried a full size dahon at our man nelson’s store, al’s cycle solutions, which was fun and I knew it would be convenient.

But then I got a little sidetracked. I fell in love … with a cannondale synapse. I felt like I was willem dafoe in spiderman, gliding purely by the power of my hands and feet.

I was siding with the road bike. I mean, this was love, right? All you need is (the bike you) love.

But love is a battlefield. I started to have doubts. I take the path every day to Newark, and I hate having to leave my current bike exposed to the elements locked up at Grove Street. Did I want to go from a specialized sirrus I’ve been beating around for three years to a fancy road bike I’ll barely let myself touch? Or a bike I love so much that I’d be pathologically nervous about someone stealing it? Or a bike I knew in my heart of hearts I couldn’t properly take care of. Women who love (bikes) too much, on the next Oprah.

And then, no joke, it came to me in a dream. I had been visiting my family in this dream, trying to get all around the baltimore/dc/annapolis/western maryland region, relying on the kindness of strangers (and their cars), and I was so frustrated that I didn’t just have a folding bike that I could tote along with me.

Reader, I bought it.

(If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with. No, but really, I love my new bike.)

After a week of waiting, it arrived today. It’s a Dahon Cadenza, 8 speed hub, 26″ tires, and a ride as smooth as an opcao custard cup.

Still. Bikes are expensive — dreaming is free … at least until my dreams drive me to eventually buy the $1,000 road bike I (not so) secretly pine for.

Just writing that made me feel like I was making my new bike a cuckold. I think there’s something wrong with me. (Okay, or maybe a lot of things.)