Before we get started, I’d like to alert you to a new term.  I created it in honour – it’s clearly an honour to have me bestow a term in reference to your actions – of a former co-worker and ardent cyclist who’s stretchy pants and stiff-soled shoes provided some level of juvenile amusement to the rest of us.

Ever since Best Wife surprised me with a Birthdayish celebration and gifted me a new set of MEC Roubaix stretchy pants, I’ve been anxious to try them out.  Unfortunately the weather has been unseasonably hot though I’m not in any way complaining.  Fortunately for me, fall is now officially upon us and Mother Nature has kindly delivered the required morning temperatures to make donning the stretchy pants appropriate.

Wednesday was my first ride and you know what?  I like them.  No really, I do.  It’s hard to put my finger right on it but the difference is nice.  How nice?    I might step up to stretchy shorts next summer and leave the cargo shorts and my modesty at home.  They feel…sleeker, like there’s less stuff going on.  I wouldn’t have guessed there was anything going on before but its absence is noticeable.  There’s less friction between my legs and the seat now, again – I wouldn’t have said there was any until it wasn’t there.  Subtle little things.  I need to adjust my seat again now – it’s no longer positioned just right with my new slippery pants.  I’d said to nobody in particular that I planned continue riding in my cargo and other non-stretchy shorts in pseudo defiance of the cyclistas who would proclaim my non-conforming attire an indicator of my ability and I would ride them off my wheel when I found them.  This has not happened.  To date, I’ve only been dropped almost exclusively by cargo wearers so perhaps the I can outride you in my work clothes while riding my grandfather’s cast-iron bike is way over-done anyway.  The stretchy thing is good – really it is.

Of course the overarching benefit of my great new stretchy pants is that they make me look good.  No, the real benefit is keeping my knees warm.  The last couple of 5°C rides were not entirely uncomfortable but caused me some level of concern just the same.  Given the importance of my knees in day to day life what was that?  uhm no…that’s not what I meant <ahem>.  Considering how dependant we are on functional knees, I am keenly aware of keeping them healthy and happy.  And warm.   So now I have nice warm knees, even when the temperature hits the (literal) freezing mark as it did this morning.

I didn’t think to bring along my cargos for the journey home so, as I did yesterday I rode home with my stretchy pants in the 18°C sunshine.  I would say this exceeds the comfortable temperature for these pants if you’re putting any effort into your ride.  By kilometre three I was debating whether I should doff them and go in my supposed-to-be-under-your-cargos chamois-equipped stretchy shorts – finish the ride in my shiny grey padded underwear.  In the end I opted not to traumatize fellow path users that way and rode home too hot.

This morning however I arrived to find work in full swing already and before I could get out of my stretchy pants and sweaty shirt I was on the phone and answering emails.  Or was I meeting with my team in an emergency huddle tackling some tough issues.  Maybe I was sitting with my feet on the desk talking to a co-worker about riding.  Regardless I was clearly very busy, too busy to follow the cardinal rule of chamois shorts – don’t stew in your sweaty pants.  Half an hour later I finally opened my clothing stash drawer and had one of those moments.  Hey…uhm…wait…ohhhhh…aw crap…and I have an off-site meeting…<sigh>.  I’d been Thomas’d!  You ever had one of those dreams where you show up at work and realize you aren’t wearing any pants?  It was like that only I wasn’t dreaming.  The drawer was as bare as a roadie’s calves save for a lone t-shirt – I’d forgotten my pants.

Go forth and spread the good word – when you arrive at work with nothing but stretchy pants (or their length-challenged brethren stretchy shorts) to wear, consider yourself Thomas’d.

PS – no, I did not subject my fellow meeting participants to the wonders of my stretchy pants, I did what any man would do – I asked Best Wife to rescue me.  Her Bestness knows no bounds.