Oh, the shame of it.
See, I converted my whole darn fleet to platform pedals last year, smugly snugged my regular old no-cleat Keen sandals, invoked the Luddite spirit of Grant Petersen (by girding my loins in wool and chanting, "beeswax! beeswax! shellac and twine!") and pretended to cast out the clipless devil from my parts boxes.
But it was a lie. Those SPDs were still in there, taunting me.
So, in a moment of weakness, I ignored the Voice of the Inner Retrogrouch and put them back on a bike this weekend.
And (heretic! sinner! witch!) I liked 'em. Felt faster. Racier. More "connected", to use the requisite Bicycling magazine ad-review buzzword and/or enraptured fixed-gear convert cliche. Less Fred-like. My bum leg actually made circles for a change, even when it didn't want to. Inexplicably, my wonky knee got less wonky. And, despite a temperature and humidity combination that made it feel like riding through a moist hairdryer (thank you, Iowa corn-growing climate), I snapped off a quicker-than-usual 35 miles last night and felt good enough to do more. Sure, that's 99.8% placebo effect, but when you're as fat and slow as I am, you take what you can get.
Sigh. I guess I'm doomed to be a pedal polygamist, forever following my whims from platform to toeclip to clipless and back again. Be it decreed that no matter what miracle pedal I claim to discover today or at any point in the future, I am hereby forbidden to ever sell a pair of pedals, because I'm just going to want them back again in a few months.
(The next sound you hear will be my wife's voice as she finishes reading this post: "Great, how much is this week's divine revelation from the cycling gods going to cost us?")
I love you, honey. But did I mention that my old clipless shoes are pretty much shot? [grin]