Suffice to say, picture a bat - the flying mammal variety - ripping around the inside of your living room late one night, followed by you grabbing the nearest stick-type thing in an attempt to whack it. From there, you had to get up on a piece of furniture so you could have a shot at reaching the little critter, but not without jumping and swinging like Andy Roddick might first-serve. Then pretend you miss and get all catty-whompus while up in the air. And, pretend you've already had more shoulder separations than there are eggs in a carton. You get the picture. Good thing Mrs. Felt was right there to clear off the table, lay our company namesake down and pop his shoulder back in, like so many times before. No. 1 son JT took care of the bat.
You think its easy designing bikes this good?