When I first worked at the bike shop, I was just a mechanic. The Service Manager was a fellow named Dan. Dan fancied himself to be a road racer, and he was real weight weenie. He would go through tires and tubes, weigh them, and only buy the lightest ones in the shop for his bike.
One day, I rode my Schwinn World Sport to work. I had just gotten a set of small commuter panniers, and I had mounted them on the bike for the first time, that day. I rolled in to work, with the panniers full, and my lunch strapped on the rack.
"How much does all that stuff weigh?" Dan asked.
"I dunno. Let's find out," I said.
I picked the loaded bike up, and hooked it onto the bike scale we had hanging from the ceiling.
"Thirty six pounds," Dan said, reading the weight from the scale. "Looks like you succeeded in making a pretty nice bike into a pig."
"Looks like it," I replied, as I pulled the bike down.
I've always considered my road bikes to be beasts of burden. I use them to carry stuff, and myself, from Point A to Point B, so the weight doesn't really bother me. But it would bother me to not be able to carry my stuff along..