I have a confession to make: I wear bib shorts. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I love wearing them; I genuinely, genuinely love wearing them.
The first pair I bought were nothing special, and I selected them solely on the basis of their ridiculously low sale price, simply for the sake of giving them a shot. I was shocked at how much better they felt and performed in comparison to ordinary riding shorts. So, a couple of days ago, itching for some new gear and looking forward to ODRAM, I decided to purchase another pair.
Now, having said all that, it’s important to add that I am not proud, and I have far too little shame. I fully and deeply embrace the fact that I am and look like a complete dork most of the time, and especially when I don cycling clothes, and all the more so still when bib shorts are part of the ensemble. It’s not difficult for me to accept this fact. This manifestation of dorkish behavior is not what makes me a dork; rather, it is merely but one of many expressions of who I truly and already am at my core, i.e., a dork.
Being, therefore, sufficiently comfortable (or oblivious, as the case may be) so as to kit up with reckless abandon and pedal shamelessly over hill and dale assaulting the eyes of so many innocent bystanders before they can avert them while striking the serious pose of a Cat 1 aspirant despite the pitiful 14.3mph showing on my cyclometer, I was profoundly nonplussed (and this, by the way is in fact the underlying impetus for this entire post, i.e., an excuse to occasion the wider circulation of some of the most daft and doltish words ever typed) to read this comment from someone reviewing one of the items I was considering:
These shorts are quite comfortable and appear to be made of top-quality materials. The “chamois” seems to be particularly well thought-out. It seemed odd therefore that the leg seams appear to be a bit off-kilter, giving the shorts a distinctly clownish appearance. I’m going to wear them anyway . . . but not to events where I’ll be seen by a lot of other cyclists.
I honestly don’t even know where or how to begin responding to this, because every time I set out to do so I begin laughing uncontrollably. I mean, really? In my humble opinion, it would be a real mind-bender to spot Bozo amid any run-of-the-mill crowd o’ Freds at the local charity ride. Be honest; don’t you think?