Back on the featureless plains, under the dim skies, bent against the shrieking winds of the wider Chicagoland metropolitan area, I had thought the word “mountain” in the phrase “mountain bike” was simply a clever bit of marketing exotica; adding a word refering to something pleasant but far off or unobtainable in order to jolly up an ordinary product. You know, like “French Windows” or “lanai room” or “sun roof.”
What a surprise on arriving in ♫CahlFURNyaah♪ to learn that mountain bikes are actually bikes intended for riding up mountains! Grades I can barely hoist myself upwards on foot host the passage of many a hardy cyclist on fat tires pedalling for the skies.
What other names I once thought fantastic will turn out to have a basis in reality? Surf wear? Sky light? Summer sausage?