As children, none of us were given an allowance. Instead, we were taught from a young age that if we wanted to buy something, we had to earn the money in order to do so. To facilitate the model, and possibly to avoid child-labor law infringement, we were paid to do chores around the house in exchange for a cash payment directly proportional but not necessarily related to the amount of time it took us to execute the task. The hourly wage, at it turned out, was at the discretion of the one doing the overseeing and commissioning of the task at hand.
In my view, it worked out very well for us. Coming from a family that was neither wealthy nor poor, it taught us a number of important lessons about life, money, and the important ways the two are separated. It’s one of the fundamental things I’m very glad about regarding my upbringing.
My grandmother, by choice or otherwise, was in on this scheme of leveraging our desire to earn money as a means to achieve her end of having her dog tended to regularly. As grandmothers are wont to do, however, she found ways to be knowingly complicit in circumventing the intended lesson by overpaying us for our labor; she was perhaps too fond of her dog, and I was perhaps too willing to walk it repeatedly and unnecessarily in order to earn my wage.
I don’t remember how old I was, but I was still riding my old Raleigh made of Reynolds 531 tubing and clad in a Weinmann grouppo which I now wish I’d kept; I could have been no more than 10 years old. Nevertheless, I had already made the determination, by studying the pros in the races I watched on scratchy old VHS cassettes, that if I was going to amount to any kind of cyclist, I would require proper cycling kit.
I needed cycling shorts and I needed a cycling jersey; t-shirts and an old pair of lederhosen simply wouldn’t fit the bill. And cycling shorts and cycling jerseys would cost serious money. So off I was, walking my grandmother’s dog fourteen times a day – collecting payment every time – and before very long, I had saved up the money I needed.
I don’t remember the name of the shop, but I do remember on which rack and in which corner of the store it hung. It resembled Laurent Fignon’s System U kit, though I felt a tinge of guilt that it wasn’t as fluorescent as LeMond’s ADR strip. It was nothing compared, however, to the unexpressed guilt I’d felt all year at secretly having hoped Fignon would win the Tour against my countryman.
Riding my trusty Raleigh, I spent the summer of 1989 riding with my left hand on the tops of my handlebars and my right hand on the hoods. I’d spotted a photo in Winning Magazine wherein Laurent Fignon was leading the Giro d’Italia riding in just this position; I summarily emulated him in this regard.
The fact that this was just a moment captured in time as Fignon changed hand position was lost on me; the fact held neither relevance nor value to my view of the world. Fignon rode like this, and so would I. This single photo fueled my desire to ride a bicycle for an entire summer. Up and down the streets I went, imagining myself making history as I left both Fignon and LeMond in my dust and I took off up the road – one hand on the tops, one on the hoods – with Phil Liggett’s voice in my ears as he commended the ferocity of my attacks.
I found daily motivation in riding like Fignon. In rain, in shine; I rode the way the photo I saw showed him riding. Every time I climbed aboard my bike, I wanted to be a better cyclist; I wanted to be more like Fignon. I was nevertheless bound to eventually discover that Fignon didn’t really ride like that; it had been a trick of the camera. By the time I discovered the truth of that photo, I had ridden like that for so long that it felt lop-sided to go back to riding sensibly, with both hands level.
I felt awkward then, riding with both hands in the drops, as I chased my sister down a mountain during a family vacation in New York State. She was in front on her Raleigh with pink handlebars, and I was frantic at the notion that she was ahead of me. There was no alternative but to beat her through the series of sharp corners coming up ahead on the road we had dubbed “Alpe d’Huez” for its steepness and numerous twists and turns.
There was, of course, a very real alternative to beating her through those corners.
As I laid in the emergency room with the doctor scrubbing furiously at my wounds, he posed several theories that might explain the flawed decision tree that placed me in his care. The prominent thought suffocating my mind was that my cherished kit had been torn apart firstly by the crash and secondly by the doctor – and that neither seemed to hold the garments in the same esteem I did. It was destroyed; a summer of over-paid dog-walking lost.
As a matter of comparison, this commercial, aired during this year’s Tour de France, is exactly how I rode as a kid. In fact, I still do today.
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@Jamie
My first "non-freebie" jersey has a Steal Your Face design. At the time, it was the nicest jersey I owned. Tried it on for laughs the other day - sharp seams, bad pockets, bad fit. Definitely doesn't "disappear" when worn. I keep it around to remind me that the extra cost for great kit is well worth it.
First kit memories? I'm really not sure. I do remember it was all wool. A dark blue long-sleeved jersey and black wool tights with built-in real chamois. My shoes were all black, all leather with a thin leather sole. (I think they were actually touring shoes). They were replaced with a pair of Vittorias with thick leather soles, laces and lots of holes for breathability. They looked so pro!
What I do remember was getting my first Johnstone Wheelers Cycling Club jersey. White, yellow and blue heavy duty acrylic (panels sewn together, not screen printed or sublimated) with the club name in thick flock lettering. As well fitting as a potato sack but I felt so proud and so pro; I was a member of a club, not just an unaffiliated rider. Wearing it, I rode my way-too-big 24" red Holdsworth bike that I had built up to replace the enormous 25" Peugeot my folks had bought me at age 14. You'll grow into it, the salesman said. (Almost 35 years later I ride a 22" frame.) The problem with the old acrylic jerseys was, if it got wet and you had anything substantial in the back pockets, the jersey ended up looking like a freaking mini dress because it stretched southwards. That's why, to this day, I stow my spare tubes, CO2 and levers in a wee saddle bag. I just have recurring visions of my jersey drooping below the back of the saddle if I have too much stuff in there. Rule violation I know, but old habits die hard.
In the 80s I had a bunch of pro jerseys. La Vie Claire, Seat, Fagor, Carerra, Del Tongo, RMO, Gis-Gelati, Alfa Lum, red and green tour jerseys, Pink Giro jersey. Most are now gone who knows where. Still got the red, green, pink, Alfa Lum and RMO ones. Mostly now I wear gear with as few names/logos on as possible.as little Over the years I've seen lycra come in, washable chamois and breathable fabrics. The modern stuff in quality, style and value is amazing. For you young kids out there, you don't know how good you have it!
@frank
believe me frank, the locals don't give a flying freak, they are down with whatever, unless you are of course cat 1 and selling yourself as Team BMC or the like..then produce the goods bro
@frank
As I think back to my shoes, I think they were flat soled Kaepas that I actually wore a groove in with the pedal. And as for numb feet, it wasn't a ride if I could feel my feet. That is for suckers.
Hell, I only bought my first kit two years ago now. I had enough good sense to at least start with bibs first thing and not screw around with shorts, but I did little else right.
My first real kit was a pair of black PI bibs, a red LG jersey (too big of course - why would I want something to fit snug??). And of course ankle socks from Target to round out the whole look. Gah.
Before I bought my real bike and kit, I had been cruising around in normal shorts, a tshirt, a camelbak, and tennis shoes. I don't know how I cycled around all summer in that without dying of heat stroke.
I dare say, the V-Kit is the first complete kit I've had where I've felt totally put together, and I wasn't just cobbling together what I could find for cheap at the LBS or online.
@frank
@Gary J Boulanger
I'm lucky I was not drinking anything right then or I'd be detailing the mac. That is funny.
@Gianni
Should have nod-snobbed him!
@the Engine
Most of them do look pro, at least in sort of unenlightened manner that I've seen elsewhere, too many European Posterior Man Satchels, too many frame pumps, straps over eye wear and a collective failure to observe Rule 33 (although I mustn't be too judgmental there) but the club kit is quality stuff and looks good. Having someone in a discordant kit just jars with my sense of coordination way more than all the little rule violations. Doesn't matter if the offender himself is in accordance with every last rule and can ride the tits off us all, it's just fucked from the word go.
This brings back a few memories.
- first nashbar purchase- a cinelli logo white t-shirt and a campy logo yellow, worn to death
-first actual 3-pocket jersey, also sale bin stuff- long sleeve polypro from performance, butt-ugly purple w yellow n red accents
-first raleigh- a "sovereign", in red, summarily stolen. Only had the entry level stuff, had to practically break off the decidedly non-pro hand brake levers, and if iirc tried to replace the hoods with something more fitting.
-second raleigh- an international, also reynolds 531 w campy dropouts and insane chrome lugs. Had been modified by the lbs owner from a race bike to a triple crank tourer. Traded the fucker for my first mtb. Oy.
@frank
Aaaaaaaaaargh! Got back from my post work ride and went to the Man Cave to retrieve 1980's vestments. VMH came back from Spinning (I know - on a summer evening too - I'm working on getting her on a bike - story for another day) and said - "Ooh, I put all that stuff to the jumble as you said you don't need it anymore and we need the space." I could also tell that she was thinking, "Anyway its all too small for you anyway and you look ridiculous when you try and wear it. "
I said "Ah".
I thought "Fuck".
She may be yanking my chain (indeed probably is) but as yet I haven't got to the bottom of the tottering pile of boxes where I think all my old kit is.