Why Do I Care What You Wear?

I don't really care.

OK. I care. But only because I feel like your wearing a garish spandex race suit with matching top and bottom is somehow a criticism of my baggy shorts (with cotton boxers), neon-yellow polyester t-shirt with stylish breast pocket for my pencil holder (actually, I don't really have a pencil holder in the breast pocket—clip-on sunglasses, yes, pencil holder, no), and New Balance running shoes with white tube socks.

But really, you don't care what I wear, do you? You just think I'm an outsider, a non-biker who happens to be on a bike. Since I'm not in the approved uniform (and now even my helmet is non-standard round), you don't give me a second thought.

See? I'm the one with the problem! I think it's spandex envy. When I think of joining local rides, I don't do it, not just because I'm an anti-social jerk but also because I'm afraid someone will offer advice about how much better my biking would be in spandex and click-in pedals. (Like the bike store guy who, when I was buying toe straps to use for lashing things to my bike, recommended that I try click-in pedals because . . . well, he didn't really say why. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I don't even use toe clips any more.)

I don't want to argue, and I don't even want to convert the world. I have now ridden well over 10,000 miles in baggy shorts, unattached to my pedals, and I like it. But I guess I have an image problem.

When I wore the uniform, I felt pretty cool in tight biking shorts and jersey and shoes that go CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK because of the cleats when I walked in them. My knees hurt, it's true, and the shorts had no pockets and weren't supposed to be worn with undies (and why is that a good idea for most of us?). But I felt like a member of the biking fraternity. I suppose that's much of the appeal for hobby bikers. Suit up and go for a Saturday morning ride, the longer the better so you can brag about it.

Oh well. My problem not yours.