On the way back to San Diego from Palm Desert, with our convertible top down and my new bike sticking out of the back seat, I began to think about riding gear. Holy crap! Am I gonna have to wear skin tight shorts and jerseys? No freaking way! I’d look like the Michelin man wearing tight shorts and crazy sponsors all over my jersey. I could just picture my friends rolling over with laughter the first time they saw me in my riding kit. Just wasn’t gonna happen. No way. Nope, not ever.
Instead of going straight home, we decided to stop at the local branch of a bike store chain.
I definitely needed something with padding, even though I had no expectations of ever needing to father another child. But maybe I could get shorts that had the tights inside loose pants. So that’s what I asked for. There was this young sales guy and he asked me what kind of bike I had. I told him it was a Klein road bike and that I’d just bought it and needed biking clothes. “They’re called kits” he said. “OK” I said, “I need biking clothes.” Boris, (not his real name in order to protect the guilty) said “let me show you what we’ve got” and he proceeded to show me skin-tight shorts. I said “are you kidding me? Are you blind? Do you see what my body shape is?” He said “You can’t go around wearing mountain bike clothes on a road bike.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You can’t, it looks funny”
“I’ll look funny wearing that”
So he said, “c’mon, just try it on. My dad wears this stuff and he weighs 300 pounds”
“I’m glad I don’t know your dad”
This went on back and forth until I finally relented and told him I’d at least try it on. “OK, I said, give me a 2XL.”
“You need an M or an L”
“Are you kidding? You really are blind”
“No, trust me. You’ll thank me afterwards”
“No I won’t, I’m gonna be cursing you”
So I tried on an L. As soon as I bent over the waist rolled up and my belly was hanging over it. I looked ridiculous. I heard Boris and my wife call out to me asking me to show them. No way was I leaving that dressing room. I think I started humming “She wore an itsy bitsy yellow polka dot bikini...” I got back into my clothes and told Boris no way.
So Boris then says “Let me show you bib shorts. They have straps that go over your shoulders and you don’t have to worry about the waist rolling up. You really need a medium, you know.”
So I tried on a medium and a large. The large looked only slightly less out of place on my body than the medium. Again Boris and my wife wanted to see them on me. I told them to go away. That changing room was my sanctuary.
I told Boris I’d take the shorts with the bib in "L". I figured I’d use them like underwear and have some other shorts over them. Then Boris said “you need a jersey, probably a medium.” I told him a medium was out of the question. “Just try it on, you’ll see.” I tried a jersey on. I couldn’t even stretch them over my shoulders. I tried a large. I looked at myself in the mirror and burst out laughing. I never the inside of my belly button was shaped like that! I finally settled on a somewhat loose fitting 2XL.
I walked out of there with my new bib shorts, size L, jersey, size XL and assorted other necessities that were supposed to make my riding experience enjoyable. Later, after a ride, my wife took to calling me “popcorn man” because as I peeled off my riding kit (I say kit now, I think I'm becoming a road cyclist), I would literally “pop” out and expand! It was pretty hilarious.
The next morning, I decided to go for my first ride in almost forty years. I put on all my new gear. I discovered I didn’t really have another pair of shorts to put over the bike shorts so I just shrugged and walked into the garage, incredibly self-conscious about my attire: Black bib-shorts/tights and a somewhat loose fitting yellow and black jersey. I almost couldn’t bring myself to get going, not because I wasn’t excited about riding, but I was mortified about my attire. It took all the courage I had to open that garage door and announce myself to the world. Not that the world was watching.
Turns out that I didn’t have all the courage I needed. What I did was hold the garage remote in my hand, get on my bike, open the garage door, yelled at my wife to shut the door and I bolted out of our driveway before any of the neighbors could see me.
