A couple of years ago, after I starting cycling semi-seriously, I headed out for what then counted as a long recreational ride.I was stopped at a red light, and another cyclist pulled alongside. I could tell he was a Serious Cyclist. His shorts matched his jersey. And his helmet. His bike looked seriously spendy. And he had that Serious Cyclist air about him.He looked me up and down, then said, “Gee, I sure hope you don’t crash.”Then he ran the red and rode off.What was he talking about? I gave myself a quick once-over.Did I present some sort of danger? Was my helmet on wrong? Was my bike improperly maintained? I couldn’t figure it out and finished my ride in various degrees of befuddlement.Months — maybe even a year or more — later, I finally figured out what turned out to be an age-old putdown among cyclists. The guy was calling me out for — get this — hairy legs.Not that my legs are unnaturally hairy, mind you. It’s just that one sign of belonging to the tribe of Serious Cyclists is shaved legs — by women AND men.Why?There are several reasons. Cyclists are said to go faster without the aerodynamic drag created by leg fuzz. Road rash from inevitable crashes is easier to treat and less painful with glistening gams (Hence, the “Hope you don’t crash” crack). And, at the top level, it’s easier to receive a massage (from the team masseur, of course) when one’s pegs are pristine. Of course, non-shavers insist the only reasons to shave are to conform and to feed the ego. Put enough miles in your legs, and you want to show ’em off.I’ve never seriously considered hacking back the thatch, in part because I figure if you’re going to go smooth, you’d better be able to go fast, too.Once or twice I thought about it, in the cold months when it wouldn’t be so obvious, just to see what all the fuss is about. I’m confident enough in my own masculinity I think I could pull it off, but I’m also confident enough in my own cycling cred not to have to.But two events in the past couple of weeks made me think about it again.A couple of weeks ago, on my first visit to the physical therapist’s to rehab my balky Achilles tendon, the therapist — also a Serious Cyclist — and I talked about our pastime. Working over my heel, she said (semi-seriously, I think), “You can’t be a Serious Cyclist. Your legs aren’t shaved.” I figure my clothes must have camouflaged my other Serious Cyclist traits: my bulging thighs, rippling calves, sunken chest and pipe-cleaner arms.Then just last week, after I reported a bit of a setback in my rehab, my new therapist introduced a new treatment that involved some infernal machine electronically injecting anti-inflammatory medicine deep into my heel. The machine uses two electrodes stuck to my leg, and though there was a slight, occasional pins-and-needles feeling, the treatment itself wasn’t terribly painful.But removing the electrode stuck to my (healthily hairy) calf hurt as much as anything since my injury.I did have a slight consolation.Before affixing the electrode, my therapist explained it was a ground wire that needed to be placed on a “meatier” part of my leg. She raised my pant leg enough to expose the calf and said it would “do nicely.”My consolation? She could see the tree through the forest.
