A Fashion Statement on Flying Monkey Mesa; just the most fun bike loop ever if you don't mind a little hill at the beginning :)

Well, there I am, Spandex biking tights, riding jersey, and all—taking in the far views of Zion Country after peddling up "Flying Monkey Mesa." Lordy, I've become one of those guys I used to ridicule—with their fancy sh-mancy bike garb-auge—and this after a lifetime of getting along just fine wearing cutoffs, tee shirts, and a 30 pound backpack. I can hear Maikel snickering now...


Yes, I use to make fun of biker pals—all dressed up in spandex that clings to their Manhood like they're headed off to a wet silk undie contest. Gawd. You see, I'm a modest man...I have yet to make it through "The Nutcracker Suite," what with full grown men leaping around in tights like it was some "battle of the bulge." 

But I've been mountain biking with The Boonster lately, probably one of the most modest, gentlemanly, and private type guys you'll ever meet (excepting his blog posts where he denigrates everything the rest of us holds dear), and he always shows up Spandexed to the max. It just doesn't make sense; him, of all people. 

"Grasshopper" that I am, he begins to instruct meh student on the practical merits of proper biking attire...the sweat wicking ability of Poly type materials, its aerodynamic skin hugging attributes, and those wild ass jersey colors that makes one more visible to texting/sightseeing drivers. He laughed at my backpack after trying to lift it, asked, "how many people does it take to pull that seat out of your ass after a long ride?" 
"Two." I said, slightly embarrassed.

So The Boonster gives me his seat post mounted rack. Now I can  pare down...shed my top heavy, ass wedging, backpack. Then he offers me one of his jerseys to try on, in the privacy of my own RV, of course. Sheesh, I look like a walking Las Vegas billboard, for crying out loud...a Neon Leon if there ever was one. 

But it's really those nut-clinger pants that makes me squirm...might as well ride naked cause they certainly leave nothing to the imagination!

Then Boonster instructs me to be sure and get biking shorts with a "diaper." What? That's apparently what the "industry" calls the anti chafing chamois sewn into the crotch area. Well there's another reason not to buy...I'll be in diapers soon enough, buster, no need to rush it.

So, secretly, I start looking for a new biking wardrobe, and Jesus H. Christ, talk about "sticker shock!" They want 70 bucks for the cheapest ugliest jersey you've ever laid eyes on (gag), and nearly a hundred bucks for those nutcracker pants with a diaper crotch. I haven't spent that much on clothes since my first wedding. Finally I stumble across a closeout "end of the season" sale in Moab. Way down in the bottom of a bargain bin lies a non-neon jersey...it's actually a tasteful black and white and only 25 bucks. I pull it out; it's an extra large. "Uh, Miss, do you have a place where I can try this on?" Well it fits like a glove—my man-boobs never looked so humongous. 

Now I need "diaper pants." Another bargain bin; Low and Behold, a pair of biking pants with longer legs...for those chilly morning rides. Bingo, they're only 35 bucks! But the tag says "extra large," and I'm a medium kind of guy. I hold them up to my lower torso; they don't look that big. Well, for that price I'll wear a baggy diaper. I ask to try them on and head back to the fitting room. 

They are a tight fit, to say the least...like pulling on panty hose (not that I know what that's like). I finally get them stretched over my manly legs and decide that they're really comfy. But for some strange reason I can't seem to get them above mid-hip no matter how hard I pull, and my belly pours over the waistband like a waterfall. (Note to self: Cut back on Beer!) Man, if they were only a little taller in the waist area. 

I'm a cheapskate nowadays, so I take the jersey and pants to the counter lady and announce that I'll take them. She asks if they fit ok. I hesitate, thinking about the sight of my waterfall belly in the mirror. Sheepishly, "Well, the jersey is fine...but I couldn't seem to get the pants up to my waist for some reason." She looks down at the tag, "You know these are women's pants, don't you?"

Yep, so that's me, wearing my new jersey and Women's Extra Large Hip-Hugging biking pants. Very slimming, don't you think?