Easy Riders I’m curious. When did it become necessary to don bike leotards to ride a bike? Where was that line of demarcation drawn? I’ve been riding a bike all my life and not once have I ever thought, “boy this T-shirt is really slowing me down.” OK. If you’re a world-class athlete named Lance or Floyd: go ahead, knock yourself out. You can wear body latex for all I care. Even you hard-core amateurs riding thousands of miles a weekend: have at it. But for the rest of you leg-shavers, come on, take a peek in the mirror. You look like a bunch of douche bags. And what’s with the leg shaving, anyway? I know…I know…just preventing “road rash,” right? Well, I’m not buying that for a second. Unless your Schwinn ten-speed happens upon some X-Games track and you catch some unexpected “air,” I’m pretty sure you’re just shaving for the fun of it. And hey, I’m not judging, just calling it what it is. You dig shaving your legs. Embrace it. So my neighbor, 50’s, skinny legs, no ass, fat gut, saggy man-boobs, emerges from his garage today in full neon-yellow bike leotards. Apparently he needs to shave a few hundredths off his time on that ride to the park and back. Look, when you go swimming, do you slap on a Speedo? Of course not. Even if I’m going to swim a few laps to get the heart pumping, I’m still wearing board shorts to do it. Just as when I hop on my bike for an hour or so I’m wearing cargo shorts and my “Who Farted” T-shirt. I know we all like to “gear up” for our favorite activities these days, but please, someone needs to enact some basic standards. Let’s let our collective consciences guide us.Another favorite of mine are the little gangs of leg-shavers that feel the need to gather at a coffee shop after the big ride. Sweaty, legs glistening, they plop their space helmets on the tables, click-clack around on their little pedal-cleats, while blinding innocent people-watchers with their peacock-like costumes that if any tighter would let you know if they were circumcised or not. It’s enough already.Maybe we can start some form of grassroots campaign to buy these “athletes” stationary bikes, thus allowing them to “train” in the privacy of their own homes, wearing pantyhose and leg-warmers for all I care. Let’s get ‘em off the streets, people.On that note, I’m off to hop in the pool. Now, where’s that Speedo?
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Easy Riders

I’m curious. When did it become necessary to don bike leotards to ride a bike? Where was that line of demarcation drawn? I’ve been riding a bike all my life and not once have I ever thought, “boy this T-shirt is really slowing me down.”

OK. If you’re a world-class athlete named Lance or Floyd: go ahead, knock yourself out. You can wear body latex for all I care. Even you hard-core amateurs riding thousands of miles a weekend: have at it. But for the rest of you leg-shavers, come on, take a peek in the mirror. You look like a bunch of douche bags. And what’s with the leg shaving, anyway? I know…I know…just preventing “road rash,” right? Well, I’m not buying that for a second. Unless your Schwinn ten-speed happens upon some X-Games track and you catch some unexpected “air,” I’m pretty sure you’re just shaving for the fun of it. And hey, I’m not judging, just calling it what it is. You dig shaving your legs. Embrace it.

So my neighbor, 50’s, skinny legs, no ass, fat gut, saggy man-boobs, emerges from his garage today in full neon-yellow bike leotards. Apparently he needs to shave a few hundredths off his time on that ride to the park and back. Look, when you go swimming, do you slap on a Speedo? Of course not. Even if I’m going to swim a few laps to get the heart pumping, I’m still wearing board shorts to do it. Just as when I hop on my bike for an hour or so I’m wearing cargo shorts and my “Who Farted” T-shirt. I know we all like to “gear up” for our favorite activities these days, but please, someone needs to enact some basic standards. Let’s let our collective consciences guide us.

Another favorite of mine are the little gangs of leg-shavers that feel the need to gather at a coffee shop after the big ride. Sweaty, legs glistening, they plop their space helmets on the tables, click-clack around on their little pedal-cleats, while blinding innocent people-watchers with their peacock-like costumes that if any tighter would let you know if they were circumcised or not. It’s enough already.

Maybe we can start some form of grassroots campaign to buy these “athletes” stationary bikes, thus allowing them to “train” in the privacy of their own homes, wearing pantyhose and leg-warmers for all I care. Let’s get ‘em off the streets, people.

On that note, I’m off to hop in the pool. Now, where’s that Speedo?