Whenever I do anything, I try my best to project the confidence of Han Solo leaving the cantina after cooking Greedo which has been scientifically proven to be the maximum possible score on the Casually Deliberate Scale. Being Casually Deliberate comes down to two fundamental units of knowledge that you must hold unwaveringly within your heart: That you Look Fantastic and that You are Awesome at What You Do. Greedo never stood a chance; he hardly had a name tag.
I consider it my personal and professional responsibility to Look Fantastic at All Times whether on the bike, at the office (nothing but Maison Martin Margiela touches this body), at home, or at social engagements (at which times I will allow Rick Owens to mingle in the palate). The secret being, of course, that if you Look Fantastic, you appear twice as competent as you actually are to the casual observer – which is almost everyone these days because no one pays attention anymore.
The Cogal of the Falling Leaves was a cruel mistress, almost sinister. I dreaded the ride a bit, cursing Midsummer Frank who chose such a tough route, basking in his Midsummer Form, oblivious to what kind of horrible shape October Frank would be in. Midsummer Frank is a dick.
Courage is knowing what suffering lies down the road and setting forth nevertheless, but Courage is also a clueless twat about how humbling it is to helplessly watch the group ride away from you on hill after hill, a sensation I’m not entirely accustomed to. Each time, I could barely manage bridging back up just in time for the next hill so I could slip uselessly away again like a teflon-coated stone.
Eventually, the hills were too close together for me to bridge up, and I was cut adrift like a dinghy at sea.
I set off down the road alone while the group refueled at a rest station, not wanting to stop and lose whatever rhythm I’d regained, knowing full well that I was beyond a point where refuelling would be of use. Here it was just me, alone with the hum of my tires and the completely detached sense of ownership of my legs. I wish I’d grabbed the Good Legs from the garage today, but alas I hadn’t.
What kept me going, more than anything, was the knowledge that however slow I was going, I still looked a proper Cyclist, with my kit perfectly in place, my sunnies tucked neatly away in the vents of my helmet, jaw agape, and my perfectly curated machine carrying me along the way. I knew I looked resplendent while pedalling smoothly, the muscle-memory of countless hours accumulated pedalling a bike during my lifetime took over; shoulders steady, head low, legs on autopilot.
Being out of shape at this time of year, with the cold and wet months approaching is a solemn reality. There is nothing welcoming to the common Cyclist: the days are short and cold and getting out during the workweek is an act of true dedication. Kitting up in my finest Nine Kit or my Flandrian Best, emulating the Hardmen is what encourages me to set out onto the road to start the long journey back to fitness.
Looking Fantastic might not be all there is to Cycling, but at times like this, it’s all I got.
VLVV.
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@frank
Tom Ford's 2012 line of athletic wear was done correctly and is demonstrated very well here. I like this shot because 1) you can glimpse the elastic straps Tom built in to keep the cuffs down as much as possible, which I had heard existed but never confirmed; and 2) you can see that a proper fitting pair of slacks need no belt, unlike your tan 3 piece example, which have entirely too much additional weight from superfluous bits like belt loops. It's the little differences that count.
@litvi
You're confusing "transcending" with "getting paid". Transcending is making something that should look complete crap look rad, like Pantani and the bandana, and possibly PB here with the triple and the EPMS.
A Pro who looks shit wearing their sponsors kit is not transcending anything apart from a paycheck. Which is not a knock; I celebrate people getting paid for doing stuff.
@frank
Oh yeah. Just got home. Le gilet est énorme. Love it.
@litvi
Believe me. I don't fault him for anything. If I hadn't grown up on a relatively flat part of the USA I might have had a damn triple. PB had some je ne sais quoi style in his look. As far as I know Bridgestone was not selling kit, just bikes, so PB probably got to put his kit together his own bad self. Chapeau.
Didn't @cyclops know him from his Bridgestone days? Where is @Cy? Tenn? Ky?
@Gianni
Lexington, Kentucky
@Gianni
looks like Bridgestone logo mark on the sleeve
@Gianni
Yeah they def had some clothing. I was handed a wind jacket by a rep one day and I had to wear it or get in trouble with the boss because we'd just picked them up.
@frank 's new line of business wear
@wiscot
Yeah, his gumwall tyres are the shit. The EPMS is an abomination, but he looks so fucking casual and badass in all other regards I say let him rock the pink EPMS. Maybe that is where Bob puts your soul after he crushes it....
@frank
You're thinking of the Angliru in the Vuelta, although the same was said about Monte Zoncolan in the Giro.