On Becoming "That Guy"

Housekeeping note first. In "Heretic Homer," (season 4, for the true junkies) Homer Simpson decides he's had enough of church on Sunday. His effort to start his own religion (with virtually every form of sloth you could imagine) fails, but God tells him as the credits roll, "It's ok, Homer, 9 out of 10 religions fail in their first year." I suspect you could say the same about blogs.

As a blogger, I'm not particularly reliable. The six month gap since my last post here makes that clear enough. Alas, as I read regarding the demise (after far more than a year) of one of my favorite blogs, life always wins. So it has for me for a while. But I'm back. At least tonight. And probably not again for a while.

So I'll cross the first of 22 topics I have jotted down off my list: Lycra.

It's "that guy's" uniform. Up on Canada Road, Skyline, over in Sausalito, and especially on CalTrain. Always with the lycra.

I resisted. At some level I agree with the good people at Rivendell who suggest that the implicit snobbery of requiring a uniform to mount a bike ruins the experience -- or at least cheapens it -- for everyone else.

Up to December, I didn't own any. But I'd gone on a couple of rides where, frankly, I felt out of uniform, and a handful of friends I respect sport it from time to time. Lo and behold, Christmas left me with a nice pair of riding shorts from velowear.

So I waited for the rain to clear and hopped on the road bike to head to work. It was as though karma was after me for my hypocrisy (karma seems to figure heavily in my experiences here). Less than a mile into my ride, I had a flat. I walked home, changed, grabbed the commute bike, and headed to the train (not wearing lycra shorts for the first time on the train. Not. Gonna. Do. It.)

Undeterred, I tried again the next day. And here's the thing: I really liked the shorts. Really. A big improvement over my shorts. That was it. I'm officially that guy.

Jersey? Check.
Clipless pedals? Check.
Lycra shorts? Check.
"That guy?" Check.

Any sense of moral superiority is gone. I've become what I mock. And sure, I'll point out that nothing I wear has any big, fancy team logo, or psychedelic colors, or what have you, but if you see me out there on my road bike (still won't wear that stuff on the train in the morning), I'm him and he is me. And it's gotten worse, but that's a topic for another day.

And I'm ok with it. Turns out there's a reason for all the lycra. It's really quite comfortable. What's a guy to do?