Bike pants hit end of their cycle
This week, I say goodbye to a loyal, longtime friend. For some time, I’ve known this day would come, but I’ve been in denial. Every so often, something would remind me we’d soon have to part, yet I lived in denial and just kept going.
Kept pedaling, that is.
After eight years and probably two thousand miles, it is time to retire my cycling pants.
This is not a minor problem, nor an inexpensive one. Anyone past the age of 12 who has ever ridden a bike farther than two miles knows this. Bike seats are notoriously hard on the behind. Most of us have a memory of a bike ride on a beautiful day, a family outing that seems like such a good idea, until the next morning, when it feels like too much effort to actually sit down to eat your Cheerios.
Bicycle companies have been trying to solve the sore bottom problem forever, inventing all manner of special bike seats that promise to prevent the pain by shifting weight away from the “sit bones” and onto other body parts, including thighs, knees, feet and the teeth. These seats do not work. Nor do big, wide, squishy seats (bike seats, I mean). Unless they come up with a bicycle seat that’s as wide as an old-fashioned bouncy tractor seat, we’re going to have to look elsewhere for comfort.
We must look inside our pants.
The secret is the padded pants. The best way to put cushioning between yourself and the road is to pad your bottom. For proof of this, look at the pro cyclists at the Tour de France. They walk around like they’re wearing saggy, wet diapers – unsightly, but lofty and friendly when pedaling.
My bike pants, now on their deathbed, were purchased in 2007 for $195. That is about as much as I’ve spent on any single garment except a wedding gown. Black and stretchy, the shorts have bright blue padding made of astronaut-worthy material that is like sitting in a field of marshmallows.
They are expensive, but I look at this as a case of price-per-serving: less than a penny a mile. The alternative – Motrin and red wine or taking up bingo – would be far more expensive.
They were with me on a 350-mile ride from Washington, D.C., to Pittsburgh; they traveled to Argentina three times, cradling my bottom for many kilometers every day.
The pants started showing signs of age early in August, when a small tear appeared on a rear seam. Sure enough, the following week while I was taking my bike off my car rack, the farmer said, “You know you have a big rip in the back of your pants.”
I stitched them up. On my ride the next day, the thread felt like spiders biting me and left a big sore spot. And by then, new tears were starting. Stitching brought more tears and more sores.
In this throwaway economy, how often do we get a garment we treasure so much we mend it over and over, trying to wring the last few miles out of it?
They’re calling for a sunny Saturday. If the weather holds, I will put on the pants one last time and head out for a ride. I’ll wear Band-Aids to cover the sore spots, but my really important parts will be protected by that blue padding. When I’m home, I’ll shower and throw the pants into the trash.
I’ve bought another pair. They’re comfortable enough, I guess, but not a replacement. Are there another thousand miles in them? That’s a good question.
Are there another thousand miles in me? Another good one.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.