Ever suddenly realize you've totally neglected your gear stash? That elements vital to your outdoor survival are broken, worn out, woefully outdated or simply not cool anymore? And you find yourself asking questions like, "Hmm, I wonder what ever happened to my mountain bike?"

I wonder whatever happened to my mountain bike? On Aug. 2, after a month of being driven nuts by an unidentifiable squeak on my Trek Fuel 80, I discover its root: the frame was broken -- again. On Aug. 3, I took the bike back to its source of retail origin, the Spin Cycle in Cary, to begin the replacement process. Again.

Perhaps recalling the last time we went through this and the associated whining over the month and a half it took to replace the bike, store owner Kevin Coggins immediately offers me a loaner. It, too, is a Fuel 80, though with nine speeds instead of my older model's eight. Perhaps this is why it's taken me nearly two months to care that my ride is not back. I pick up the phone:

"Spin Cycle, this is Matt."

"Hey, Matt. It's Joe Miller. Any idea what's going on with my bike?"

"It's in process. (Silence on my end.) Meaning it's on the way."

"So ... the frame is in the mail?"

(Silence on his end.) "Yes. Or if it's not, it's close."

Matt closes by telling me I broke the bike at a bad time, at the start of new bike season. Interpretation: Trek is more interested in making frames for new bikes it can sell for $1,000 and up than it is with making replacement frames for it's defective models.

I vow to ride the loaner more aggressively.

$100? For convertible pants? I have never paid more than $30 for outdoors pants. This is because I buy off-season. Fall, I quickly discover, is not a good time to buy such pants, especially convertible pants, which are ideal for cool fall Southern mornings (long leg) followed by toasty afternoons (zip into shorts).

Yet a C-note is what Mountain Hardwear wants for its zip-off Reguls. Ex Officio wants $64 for its version. Even the basic REI Saharas -- like the gossamer thin ones I'm replacing, the ones I paid $29.99 for -- are $55.

Perhaps I can make my threadbare Saharas last until clearance time.

$36 for shorts? If I flew north -- to Saskatoon, perhaps -- I could no doubt score these same Gramiccis for half price. But this is the South, and REI shrewdly realizes that shorts season lasts into November (and is year-round, for some of us).

Pass.

Bike shorts. I won't dwell on this, won't need to once I paint a quick picture: I cycle four times a week; I currently have one pair of serviceable bike shorts.

Retail, you can't touch a decent pair of shorts for under $50. But in a bike catalog or online -- from Performance (www.performancebike.com), Bike Nashbar (www.nashbar.com), Colorado Cyclist (www.coloradocyclist.com) -- you can score a better pair of shorts for half that.

Much as that smell emanating from the laundry hamper near week's end beckons, I must pass here, too.

Seeing the light. Shopping out of season for outdoor gear is one problem. Shopping without doing your homework is another. I realize this as I stand before REI's wall of head lamps.

Do I want a fixed beam or one whose width can be adjusted? Do I want an all-purpose, around-camp LED, or a hybrid that includes an incandescent bulb for greater illumination? How important is battery life? And weight?

I'm so addled I can't remember why I need another light in addition to my Petzel Tikka Plus.

I need to do a little online research (Backpacker magazine's backpacker.com Web site offers good product reviews).

My leaky bladder. For a couple months now, after a mountain bike ride (on my loaner), I've noticed that my lower back and torso become soaking wet, a suspiciously cool soaking wet. Eventually, I discover that my bladder is leaking -- this is in my CamelBak, by the way -- and needs immediate replacement. Which is why I wait two months.

Imagine my surprise when I price replacement bladders at REI and discover they want $30 for a 100-ounce bladder, the size required for my ancient BlowFish model.

My eyes drift from the $30 replacement to a spiffy new CamelBak Lobo model. It holds 70 ounces, is lighter and, perhaps most important, appears to be the same color as the new frame I've ordered for my Trek: rage red. (If, that is, I ever get it back.)

I wasn't planning on spending $60. But then, I wasn't planning on spending $30, either. And wouldn't it be pure folly to pay $30 just for a bladder when I could pay a little more for a new, more efficient hydration system?

Of course it would.

Alas, the next day in a rare moment of lucid early morning insight, a no-cost solution occurs as I fetch the morning N&O. There'd been a threat of rain overnight, and the paper came in a protective plastic sleeve. A plastic sleeve that fit perfectly, protectively, around my leaky bladder.

D'oh!

Make that a $60 D'oh!