A double treat today. I could not decide which to post. So, here are both.
Most folks consider bike duds to be fringe lunacy. Why anyone would want to wear skin tight anything when the skin being held tight might be better off behind a curtain with pleats. Lots of pleats? Yet, we cyclists insist on sullying up the scenery with our outlandish garb and traffic congesting mode of travel. The fellows in the line up here represent a very fine example of whacky team garb design. They point up exactly why we cyclists and our clothing are held up to ridicule. What is up with the crotch accenting red ending up just under the chin anyway? Their outfits scream, "Look at my crotch, and now follow the line to my head." Or, "Look at my head , and now follow the line to my crotch".
Gotta love the cyclist. No one does it worse than we do.
I have become numb and now ignore all the jokes made at my expense when caught out in public by a non-cycling friend or the occaisional obnoxious redneck. All the homophobic comments, the "all you need is some clown paint" clever digs. I don't hear them anymore.
It was worse 20 years ago when I squeezed into that first pair of crotch hugging lycra shorts. I was new to it and there were noticeably less folks out there looking silly in skin tight bicycle duds. But I wore them anyway. I have always been a function over form kinda guy. If something works, I tend to go with it. Lycra shorts work. They decrease the discomfort and increase the pleasure when I decide to punish my ass with a 3 or 4 hour ride.
Anyway, back to what is important. Appearance. How we look to others. Doesn't matter how well we do as long as we look good doing it.
I gaze into the casket at the same time Aunt Martha does. She speaks to the wrinkled up codger laying therein.. "You was a contrary old fart, but didn't they make you look good? You ain't looked this good in 30 years. You also ain't worn a suit for 30 years. Shoulda buried you in your overalls."
I smile at her, and she blurts, "What you looking at? I weren't talking to you. Move along now. Maybe some other old broad will be impressed. Someone smiles at me, I figure they's about to fart."
So I moved along. And considered the words she spoke. The guy's dead and all she can comment on is how they gusseyed him up? I could tell there was serious history left unsaid. I was probably lucky I was spared the punishment of hearing it.
Even in death, we are often judged by what we wear for that final trip.