CYCLING GEAR

Cycling

SARTORIA VELOCIPEDA

Alf Alderson decries the Lycra outfits of the modern cyclist in favour of the more seemly cycling attire of yore

icture the scene: a pleasant Sunday

Pafternoon in the English countryside and a family sitting down for Sunday lunch at a rustic hostelry. All is well with the world, as fine ales and meat and two veg (plus Yorkshire puddings, of course) are served up, and then suddenly – whoa! Alarm and disarray despoil the bucolic scene.

For a group of cyclists have entered the establishment, clad in garish, eye-poppingly tight Lycra; rotund bellies cast shadows across the floor, and the meat and two veg on display is no longer restricted to the dinner plates.

I dare say many of us have been exposed to this scenario (which would be illegal in a less liberal nation) and wince at the memory. There is nothing “Yes, there were amateur racers who wore slimfitting jerseys and shorts made from woollen fabrics, maybe discreetly featuring the name of a sponsor or team, but they were in the minority; the average Cyclists’ Touring Club member looked as much like a rambler as a cyclist while rolling elegantly along the tarmac”

“The various excuses used today for wearing taut Lycra would have held no truck with hardy midcentury ‘wheelers’, who were content to amble along the byways in sturdy heavyweight cotton or corduroy shorts, replete with pockets for essentials such as pipe, tobacco and lighter (and there are even rumours of bicycles with handlebar-mounted ashtrays)”

wrong with the velocipede as a means of transport and exercise, but do bicycling enthusiasts really need to wear luridly-patterned fabrics that appear to have been painted on to their flabby bodies, and which seem to shock the elderly and scare the horses more than helping them to cycle more speedily?

Thankfully we can (indeed we must) blame the French for this outrage. Their national ski team wore Lycra outfits at the 1968 Winter Olympics, since when millions of sports enthusiasts around the world, cyclists in particular, have gone on to emulate this obsession with skin-tight sportswear, causing the rest of us regularly to encounter hideous sights whilst on our daily perambulations; images seared into our memories that we may never successfully erase.

Before this assault on our visual faculties, the cycling enthusiast was barely recognisable from any other keen outdoor type of a weekend – it might justifiably be said that a fellow enjoying a day of cycling in 1955 could stop off in a public house along his route and be recognised as a bicyclist only

from the cycle clips around the ankles of his tweed pantaloons.

Mid-20th century cycle clothing, as worn by the majority of those who rode Raleigh, Viking and other sturdy British-built velocipedes, was designed to be both practical and hardwearing, rather than loudly to advertise both the hobby of the wearer and the manufacturers of said clothing. Yes, there were amateur racers who wore slim-fitting jerseys and shorts made from woollen fabrics, the former maybe discreetly featuring the name of a sponsor or team, but they were in the minority; the average Cyclists’ Touring Club member looked as much like a rambler as a cyclist while rolling elegantly along the tarmac.

Headwear may have consisted of a flat cap, perhaps a woollen bobble hat or balaclava for colder conditions, or for the more earnest rider maybe a traditional racing cyclist’s cap with an upturned peak; helmets simply did not exist in those happy days before the Health and Safety police took over. The upper body would be kept warm perhaps by a string vest in place of what would today be called the ‘base layer’, with a regular cotton or flannel shirt worn above this, along with a sleeveless jumper or woollen crew neck for additional warmth, while a brightly coloured neckerchief might be sported by the more flamboyant rider; more conservative types were often seen wearing a tie.

Shorts, thankfully, were loose fitting and generally came to the knee or a little above. The various excuses used today for wearing taut Lycra would have held no truck with hardy mid-century ‘wheelers’, who were content to amble along the byways in sturdy heavyweight cotton or corduroy shorts, replete with pockets for essentials such as pipe, tobacco and lighter (and there are rumours of bicycles with handlebar mounted ashtrays).

Beneath the knee, thick, full-length woollen hiking socks were de rigeur, although warmer weather may have seen the more exhibitionist rider

take to ankle-length white cotton socks; tanned legs were generally regarded as something for louche continental types, however, and not actively encouraged. In cooler conditions, both men and women would don knickerbockers or plus-fours, usually of a woollen, corduroy or tweed fabric, which, as well as keeping cold winds at bay, also provided a modicum of protection from showers, if not full-on rain.

This choice of legwear was infinitely more pleasing to the eye than modern Lycra cycling shorts, and at the same time the loose cut allowed for a comfortable experience on the bike, with plenty of freedom of movement (the modern necessity to be as aerodynamic as a nuclear missile not being a consideration in those more innocent times). In addition, there was no excess fabric around the ankles to come into contact with chain and/or freewheel and result in disasters that may vary from ripped clothing to injured limbs.

Those riders who preferred to wear full-length trousers kept chain-related mishaps at bay by using cycle clips or simply tucking the hem of their trousers into their socks. Needless to say, the pantaloon de Nîmes never got a look-in – from a practical point of view, the seams chafe if one is riding a bike for any length of time, and should they get wet they become cold and clingy and most unpleasant in all respects.

One of the few items of equipment that might have been specifically designed for cycling at this time was cycling shoes. Italian styles were popular, made from soft, pliable leather and often featuring holes punched in the surface, which served to keep the feet cool in warm weather and allow water to drain out during wet conditions. These would often have a smooth sole for ease of use with pedals and toe-clips, the latter allowing a more efficient pedalling motion. For more adventurous cyclists looking to explore rough trails, Vibram soles were utilised. For the velocipedist not prepared to shell out for specialist footwear, stout walking shoes, often of the brogue variety, would easily suffice.

Traditional cycling shoes are still available today for the more discerning bicyclist, with companies such as William Lennon in the Peak District manufacturing shoes on a wider British last, while Isle of Wight-based Dromarti produces what some would say is a more elegant but perhaps less robust Italian-style shoe, featuring the aforementioned ventilation ‘holes’ (see photo on previous page).

Of course, for the British bicycling devotee, inclement weather was and still is an ever-present consideration. But whereas today lightweight, waterproof and breathable fabrics are ten-a-penny, back in the day this was not the case and protection from the elements generally came in the form of Ventile jackets and waxed cotton cycling capes. Ventile, developed in the 1930s in Manchester, provides waterproofing almost equal to that of today’s high-tech fabrics, although it is heavier and bulkier. The fabric’s fibres swell when wet to keep rain from soaking through, while the material is also breathable when dry.

Cycling capes give protection not just to the rider but also to the bicycle and any luggage which may be carried upon the machine, since they sit over the bike and attach to the frame via internal tapes and loops. That same loose fit allows air to flow around the rider to keep them cool. Facsimiles of these traditional cycling garments can still be obtained from a limited number of suppliers – Lancashire Pike in Bolton manufacture a classic hand-made Ventile cycling jacket (pictured right) inspired by a 1950s design, featuring a two-way zip and six exterior pockets, with an additional interior slip pocket and adjustable side straps. Carradice in nearby Nelson produce a hand-crafted, lightweight, reproofable waxed cotton cycling cape, signed by its maker.

This weather protection was often topped off with a waxed cotton or oilskin sou’wester, providing a rugged look of derring-do as well as keeping one’s Brylcreemed cranial topiary in shape.

Essentials such as puncture repair kits, tools and sandwiches were carried in a waterproof waxed cotton duck saddlebag, as opposed to the modern fashion for stuffing everything into the elasticated rear pockets on one’s cycling jersey, which gives a lumpy and misshapen profile and a less comfortable ride. Such bags can still be purchased from the aforementioned Carradice, with many of their designs having changed little over the decades; their rugged construction will last most cyclists a lifetime.

Fortunately, recent developments in the world of chainrings, derailleurs and shaved legs (perish the thought!) mean that there is now some respite from the modern-day horror of Lycra. The recently developed niche of ‘gravel biking’ (a cross between road cycling and mountain biking that the esteemed ‘Rough Stuff Fellowship’ cycling club has been quietly getting on with since 1955) has seen a move away from bright Lycra to looser and more subtly coloured cycling clothing, made from natural fabrics such as merino wool.

This happy turn of events in cycling means that it is now possible to encounter a ‘gravel biker’ about their activities without fear of having to cover the eyes of children and shield the feeble minded from their presence. Indeed, one might even take Sunday lunch among such individuals, safe in the knowledge that your fellow diners will not take offence. n