Just because it comes in your size …

I’ll just come right out with it: Is there a jersey on the planet that doesn’t make a fat guy look like an elephant in a wet suit? It’s bad enough that the standard dress code for cyclists calls for neon-bright, retina-burning colors and wild, psychedelic designs that look like they were dreamed up during a bad LSD trip in the 60s.

But to wrap that sort of fabric around a person of size is not healthy for either the wearer or the sighted public. But try to find cycling clothes in bigger sizes is nearly impossible.

I have yet to find a reliable online (or bricks & mortar, for that matter) source for bike clothes made to fit “real” size people. I’m not really sure who most of the manufacturers use as size models, but it’s nobody I’ve ever ridden with. I mean, my closet has hanger after hanger with jerseys that are the biggest size available online from Pearl Izumi, Performance Cycle, Nashbar, Canari, Descente and Primal Wear and every single one is listed as either a size XXL or even XXXL on the tag. But whoever sizes these things has a really, really sick sense of humor.

Just trying to get one of those puppies over my head and past my shoulders is like stuffing 20 pounds of knockwurst into a 10 pound casing. You can count the hairs on my back through the fabric – it’s stretched so tightly across my torso if I’m even able to wriggle into the things. I mean, most store mannequins wouldn’t fit into these sizes.

And shorts? Puh-lease. You know that popular rubber stress-reliever toy that’s shaped like a reddish pink, squishy alien and you squeeze the thing in your fist and his head expands and eyes pop w-a-a-a-y out of their sockets?

Yeah. That’s pretty much an accurate description of me trying to cram my ass into most pairs of bike shorts available in any given store. Come on, people. We’re not all like the rail thin, teeny tiny, man-boy riders on Team Saxo Bank, for crying out loud. Yeah, yeah, I know – if I put more miles under my wheels and less food in my face I’d find it easier to wear the biking clothes. And I’m truly working on that particular problem. But even having lost nearly 80 pounds in the last four months doesn’t make a shred of difference in finding shorts or jerseys that I can wear without restricting necessary bodily functions like, oh say … breathing. And the flow of blood through my arteries. That sort of thing.

So, while I do have a couple of pairs of shorts that I can manage to stuff myself into and take advantage of the padded chamois imbedded in the fabric (thank the good Lord for THAT invention! – see my post of 4/7/11 http://fatguybiking.blogspot.com/2011/04/agony-of-da-seat.html), most of the time I wind up wearing a large, loose t-shirt instead of a jersey. But I know that no cyclist can ever be given an iota of respect by other riders if he’s seen riding in a spaghetti-sauce-stained Hanes Beefy-T instead of an officially sanctioned jersey and six-panel bib shorts. I might as well be riding a rusted-out Huffy with training wheels and smiley face stickers plastered all over it.

And yet, I can’t be responsible for the consequences if I venture forth in some of the jerseys I’ve tried to squeeze into. Trust me, the last thing I want is to be the unwitting cause of other cyclists careening off the road or straight into the back of parked cars just because I’m riding in public with a way too-tight, jiggling riot of color-saturated stretchiness. I have more consideration for my fellow man than that.

Seriously, I’m pleading with you. If anyone out there knows where I can buy well-made shorts and jerseys made to fit body sizes larger than an anorexic jockey, I’m all ears … and butt, gut, chest like an oil drum and thighs the size of Douglas pines.

Ride on.

The Agony of da Seat

Okay, so my wife and I managed to sneak in another ride – our second after more than a year off the bikes. The ride was “only” nine miles this time, but I’m actually surprised that we rode even that many. Why?

Two words: baboon butt.

I’ll give you a moment to conjure up an image of the last baboon’s rosy posterior that you’ve seen. Got it? And now you know what almost had me leaping off my bike’s seat the first time I sat on it after my 13 mile, first-time-back-on-the-bike-in-over-a-year ride two days before.

Much like the excruciating pain of child birth (so I’m told, at least), the mind mercifully forgets how much agony those rock hard, razor thin, completely inflexible bike seats can inflict on the oh-so-sensitive skin on one’s nether regions. What masochistic sadist designed these things, anyway? I mean, besides having less padding than a wedge of granite, these satanic “seats” want to disappear up inside places where the sun don’t shine within the first half mile of any given ride.

Bumps in the road? Puh-lease! Talk about "the agony of da seat." Dear goodness.

Thankfully, of all the adventures I've had in life, I’ve never been caught unawares in a prison shower. But (butt) after my recent battle-with-the-saddle, I think I might have some idea of what that intrusive experience would be like. Yowza!

Now, one would think that a heavier person like me would have an advantage – all that extra padding and all. Having cheeks like fluffy twin pillows should make the ride a whole lot more comfortable than someone who is more of a boney Ichabod Crane type. Sadly, no. The extra weight I lug around combined with the forces of gravity over many miles of riding produce some of the worst chafing and irritation a person can experience short of an infant’s case of terminal diaper rash.

If you’ve never ridden a road bike with a traditional saddle, try it for a few miles and you’ll understand why cyclists wear those stretchy skin-tight short pants with the padded crotch (the technical name for this heaven-sent invention is the chamois).

The subject of bike shorts is rich enough for another post entirely. So I’ll save any more comments for a later day. But check back often, because there’s a secret to wearing bike shorts that is extremely well-kept and embarrassingly obvious once you find out. But, that’s all I’ll say for now.

 I have to go find a barrel of Desitin.

Back in the saddle (again)

It had to happen. Well, actually it didn’t have to happen, but I hoped it would. Eventually. Some day.
 That day was yesterday. A fine, cool, overcast Southern California Sunday. My lovely wife and I dusted off our bikes, Put air (and a couple of new tubes) in the tires, lubed the chains and cables and headed out to the San Gabriel River bike trail.
 It’s been such a long time since we’d ridden our bikes, neither of us could remember how long, in fact. But through process of elimination, calendar landmarks and such, we figure it has been almost two years. That’s just ridiculous. But, the journey (or bike ride) of a thousand miles begins with one step. Or one pedal stroke. So I pulled on the stretchy bike shorts, stuffed myself into a jersey, dug out my helmet, gloves and shoes and mounted up.
 How was it? In a word: wonderful. Not only had the civic powers-that-be greatly improved the bike path from the last time I had ridden on it (newly repaved and striped, smooth, crack-free and relatively debris free), but because of the mild grade of the path as it heads from Arrow Highway south, past Interstate 10 and on towards its ultimate destination near Long Beach, I was able to ride six miles (even into a strong headwind) before realizing that – I was now six miles away from our truck and ride home. And that as nice and relaxing as the six miles just ridden had been, in spite of the wind – the six miles back would all be uphill.
 Doh!
 But, the bicycle spirits were kind and the headwinds became tail winds, helping to make the return ride – dare I say it? A breeze. Yes, my thighs were beginning to protest as eight miles turned to nine, then ten and the grade increased the closer we got to our starting point.
 But we did it. We even added another mile in the other direction once we made it back to our pickup truck – just because we felt like a cool down mile.
 It’s great to be back. So much so that – we’re talking about entering the Pasadena Marathon Bike Tour that’s coming up at the end of next month. I mean, if we were able to crank out thirteen miles the first time back on a bike in almost two years, how hard could 26 miles be to work up to in almost two months? Right?
 Stay tuned.