Today I attended VeloSwap, an annual event in the Denver area that attracts thousands of people to the Place Next to the Denver Colliseum That I Can’t Rember the Name of.
You go in, you pay your eight bucks, and you collect your free copy of VeloNews. Then you walk past a sea of people walking out with rims and tires hanging from their shoulders, mountain bike forks three in each hand.
You got there late.
I was toying with the idea of attending this event all week and at the last minute decided to shoot down to Denver to check it out. After making a wrong turn off I-25 and touring north Denver’s interstate trucking infrastructure, I arrived at Veloswap around 3PM, after the Madness of Opening Hours had ended. I still had a good time.
There were the bike shops, with their formal booths, of course. And there was New Belgium Brewery, with their stands selling overpriced Fat Tire Pale Ale. But soon after all that bullshit, you got to the back, where there were still probably hundreds of private individuals with booths selling off all their accumulated veloshit that was taking up too much space in their garage.
I felt vindicated when I saw an Independent Fabrications Planet X cyclocross bike (the same bike I bought on an eBay auction last month) for two grand, when I got mine for less than half that. Of course that bike was still for sale at that price, but I digress.The entire joint was crawling with the cycling subculture. You had the skinny, CliffBar-eating freaks, the bolt-through-the-ear-downhill-mountain-bike-freakazoids, the shorts-and-long-sleeve-shirt+ski-cap-wearing-nut-eating-nuts, the recumbent-bike-riders and the bike sluts all assembled under one roof, and it was a fun show.