For the ageing male, cycling may be a good choice but its definitely a bad look. Lycra is barely flattering to fit young men in their muscular prime, far less for the flabby MAMIL’S who pepper our roads on Sunday mornings.
Nor does the cycling build help. The emphasis being all on leg power, there are more sunken chests than at a pirate’s reunion. Arms like a pair of folding chopsticks enhance the weedy look. The backside in contrast looks over-developed, suggesting an accident in an incontinence pad (see below).
Partners of these strange creatures will know that the appearance is scarcely improved when the clothes are removed. Covered all summer in sun-proof lycra that reaches half way down the thighs and forearms, the naked cyclist resembles a stick insect with a blue-white torso and mahogany brown appendages.
MAMIL by the way is the derogatory acronym for the cyclist beyond the first flush of youth. It stands for ‘Middle Aged Man in Lycra’. Sadly I am too old for even this derisive phrase – unless I live to be 120. I tried to think of other, more felicitous expressions, but none would come forth. I was stuck with: PILOC: ‘Pensioner In Lycra On Cycle’ or OFIL (awful): ‘Old F***** In Lycra’. Not epithets to inspire confidence.
The steatopygian backside is a result of incorporating the padding in the shorts rather than the saddle. Supposedly to protect your ischial tuberosity, it sounds to me like an elaborate joke on the gullible cyclist (is ‘ischial tuberosity’ Latin for ‘fat arse’?).
To say nothing of the shoes…
Whilst the shorts may be just a harmless joke, the shoes are a potential death trap. These lock you to the peddles by means of a device known as a ‘cleat’. Perfectly harmless whilst the bike is in motion, the drawback becomes apparent if you have to stop suddenly. Every cyclist knows that sinking feeling when gravity exerts its pull and there is no free leg to impede it – you and the tarmac must inevitably meet, with road-rash an inevitable consequence.
I have even managed this manoeuvre whilst standing with one foot on the ground. A simple rotation of the handlebars shifted the centre of gravity to the side with my foot still locked in the cleat – result, embarrassing collapse. A scene whose surreal nature was enhanced by two pedestrians waiting to cross the A40. They simply ignored me and walked on, as if my mishap was the standard procedure for dismounting a road-bike.
So, could I get to Ventoux looking the part and able to avoid embarrassing pratfalls? Time to get training.
Joe Brannan's Blog 