The Pains of Commuting: Dealing With Underwear Thieves

Any cyclist who commutes more than five miles to work has to answer one very important question:

How bad do I stink?

I don’t mean stink in the, “Man, Tiger Woods really stinks at monogamy” sort of way. I mean the, “Dude are you carrying around rotting onions and a squid carcass in your jersey because that really stinks” way.

Some people have a general issue with body odor. To them I have to say that modern civilization has advanced leaps and bounds in the personal hygiene department. There are products available now that will actually clean your body. For the most part these products are not poisonous nor will they be detrimental to your health. So please, for the betterment of society as a whole, give these products a shot.

Now, for the rest of us who manage to take advantage of these negative-odor-destroying-products on a daily basis, there are times when we too sometimes stink. For some of us, it’s usually after we get done taking part in some sort of extended, sweat inducing physical exertion. For others, it could be after a long night of binging on asparagus, fried goat cheese and onion sandwiches. Or for others still, it could be after a long night of binging on asparagus, fried goat cheese and onion sandwiches and then immediately doing some extended, sweat inducing physical exertion. Whatever the case may be, the general recommendation is showering immediately after.

Showering is easily the main obstacle to overcome when considering using your bicycle to get to work. When you burn calories instead of gasoline you emit sweat instead of carbon dioxide. Carbon dioxide is potentially lethal in large doses and harmful to the environment. Large doses of sweat is merely offensive to your co-workers noses and stings horribly bad when it runs into your eyes.

If you’re fortunate enough to work in a place that has a shower then this is no problem. The rest of us, however, are forced to find other methods of removing foulness. Luckily for me, I work down the street from a year round public pool. While using a public pool’s facilities as a clean up station makes sense, using the public pool water from the kiddie pool to shampoo your hair does not. I, nor the City of Tucson, recommend doing that. I do however, recommend using their locker room and showeringfacilities to clean up and change into your appropriate work attire.

The ARC

The public pool I use has some very fine amenities. And for a very small fee you can pay to have a year pass to access these amenities year round. There are very clean bathrooms, multiple multiple showers, sinks:

Classy

lockers:

Yellow-ee

and, of course, the underwear thieves. That’s right, I said underwear thieves. More than likely this is the preferred mode of transportation:

light speed

I’m not sure what the black market value is of gently used Fruit of the Loom boxer-briefs, but I’m sure I’d pay the 3-pack retail value to have them back. It’s not that I really mind “going commando” when I have to, and I’m no doctor but considering that my undercarriage spends a large chunk of time tightly cradled in spandex bibs as it is, I feel like I probably should free them once in a while.

My main problem with the situation I was presented with is that while even though cotton is no cushy chamois, it is another layer between my man bits and a rock hard saddle. And even though my work was merely a mile away, that mile, (like many miles in Tucson) is a neglected, cracked, pothole and loose gravel ridden road. Any extra layer of protection on my sensitive areas would be much appreciated.

To be honest, I’m sure that it was unintentional. I laid my very generic undergarment out within proximity of someone else’s backpack. He probably mistook them for his while he was changing and made off with them without even knowing. I actually feel bad for the guy. The problem with unintentionally stealing someone’s underwear, is that you accidentally handle a garment who’s sole purpose is to cradle someone’s special place. I would imagine that no man would be comfortable with accidentally handling this area regardless of sexual orientation.

What’s worse, he could’ve actually put them on. That could potentially lead to some serious psychological damage. If he has indeed walked out with them on, I would like him to know that they are freshly washed and Downy soft. I’m sure that any traces of a “human element” in said underwear has been completely removed and there is no reason to panic.

Cycling to work is lots of fun. It wakes you up. You show up to work refreshed and ready for the day. You’re energy level is higher throughout the day. And you get a good workout in early.

I’ve been commuting by bike for about 8 months now. The key to doing it well is learning to adapt. It may be calm and sunny on the way to work, and one heck of a Thunderstorm on the way home. Your usual route with that awesome bike lane may get dug up and there will be construction on it for the next 10 years, (Hey, this is Tucson). You may get caught in a head-wind… from every direction. As my ex-military and fellow cyclist buddy says, “adapt and overcome is the key to survival”… and the willingness to go commando once in a while.

Weekend Ride: Sunday – “Minor Battle, Major Victory

There are lots of ways to interpret the word “shorter.” You could say that Verne Troyer is “shorter” than most people. You could also say that Shaquille O’Neil is “shorter” than Yao Ming. He is, by about 5 inches (3 if Shaq’s wearing his heals.) I said today was going to be a “shorter” ride. And, apparently by “shorter” I meant today’s ride was going to be “shorter” than a century.

The plan for today was a nice, easy spin, mid morning reco

very ride. That would be best since I did a hard 50-miler yesterday and my legs were feeling a little tired. I mounted my bike and headed out south. I was spinning easy, and breathing the brisk January air deep into my lungs. I approached the first intersection and waited to make a right turn. As I was waiting for my turn I noticed a cyclist pass by heading in the direction I was about to go. I eventually made my turn and that’s when it happened. The switch turned to the “on” position.

I’ve said this many times to my cyclist pals: The cyclists a

cross the street, heading toward you, are your best friends. The one’s heading in your direction are your competition.

Tucson is full of cyclists. And for the most part they are nice, friendly people. When they pass you going the other direction they generally will smile and nod, or wave and say, “Good morning/afternoon” whichever the case may be. And these wonderfully thoughtful and kind human beings mean every word of it.

For the most part, the same can be said of cyclists travel

ing in your same direction. They will usually give some sort of, “Good morning” phrase as they’re passing you. But don’t be fooled by this seemingly innocent greeting. They mean nothing of it. What they are saying is “I’m faster than you. Suck wheel loser.”

After I made my turn I started to notice that I was quickly gaining on this cyclist. My breathing quickened and my legs began to heat up a little. I was uncontrollably going faster. The gap rapidly closed between the cyclist and I. Before I knew it, I was on his wheel. I made my way to his left and as we made eye contact I said in a very nice, innocent tone, “Good morning.” He nodded his head, returned the greeting and I calmly passed him. Then I heard him shift. So I shifted and picked up the cadence. Another shift, and I returned the action. My legs were heating up more. Another shift and the cadence went up again. It was clear that it was on.

I kept my head in front of me and didn’t turn around, as if to say I didn’t notice that we were rapidly accelerating and this is exactly the kind of random shifting that I love to do and would have done in this very spot anyway. I even calmly managed to snap this picture.

I think that just made him mad. I felt him right on my wheel now so the camera got put away fast.
Luckily for me a large abnormal tour bus was passing us going the opposite direction. I locked my head on to it and watched it as we passed. I couldn’t tell you what color it was because I wasn’t ever actually looking at the bus. I was checking my peripheral vision to see if I was losing him. I wasn’t, and I’m fairly sure he was now in the drops.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I dropped to my last gear and stood up. I cranked it hard. My legs quickly went from warm to burning as the lactic acid rushed into my quads. I held this for a while. Eventually I sat back down and went into the drops, still cranking. The sweat was dripping onto my top tube. I kept my head looking straight down the road. Finally after some time I lost him. I turned around just in time to see him turn into a grocery plaza.
From then on I couldn’t get out of it. My easy ride turned into a fast pace, 45 mile burner. That’s the way it goes on the bike, I guess. It’s happened many times before. A previously determined route often gets detoured while attempting to discover the unknown. The same can be said for the easy solo ride that turns into an unsanctioned race to an undetermined finish line for an undisclosed amount of sprint points.