Bearded Greek

B E A R D ed G R E E K

A bicyclist without a beard is lighter—weighs less—than a bicyclist with a beard. Which means that in order to gain a competitive edge, a male rider needs to be beardless. Females don’t have to worry about the gram count of facial hair.

Usually the relationship between hair and competitive cycling concerns one’s legs. As a matter of course, women, cyclists or not, shave their legs. Men don’t. Thus, the issue requires more sacrifice from men who wish to ride competitively—an attitude toward the sport that each man must define for himself.

For the span of six months or so, I joined the leg-shaving crowd, which at the time included every male in my regular “A” group ride. The decision to conform came after convincing myself after months of reflection that at least one of these four reasons for doing it sufficed: (1) Less wind resistance; (2) quicker/easier recovery from injury; (3) smoother donning of bibs and tights; (4) uniformity of group appearance leading to better bonding.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I was a fool for both rationalizing my insecurity and trying to compensate for my mediocrity by applying a razor blade to my lower limbs. As for my four reasons above:

· I never cycled fast enough for such an infinitesimal decrease in wind resistance to be felt.

· I didn’t crash during that half-year, thus rendering immaterial the need to heal faster without the added discomfort of tearing pieces of bandage across an unshaved calf.

· It isn’t that hard to put on a pair of tights even when one’s thighs and calves are hairy. A year or two after this smooth-leg phase, I had withdrawn from this type of riding anyway, so that I no longer wore padded shorts and bibs.

· I didn’t become closer with anyone not already a friend—in that “A” peloton, maybe one or two riders. No one gave a damn about my hair issues. They were too busy going fast. I was a marginal member of a race-oriented group. I had trouble hanging on. It was no one’s job to coach me or encourage me to greater speeds. I didn’t belong and shaving wasn’t going to change that.

This stage of my riding life ended five years ago.

. . .

I began a beard on 22 March 2017. Since I’m not a competitive bicyclist, I didn’t have to worry about the inconveniences that might arise were I still trying in vain to hang with the racers. (Not incidentally, a lot of “B,” perhaps even “C,” riders who will never race shave too—possibly because it gives them a sense of belonging to an elite group whose skills they can’t hope to match?)

Now in my fifth month of full beardedness, I can report that having one has benefited my bicycling life. Here’s why.

First and foremost, contrary to what I would have predicted had I bothered to think about it back in March, the beard actually keeps me cooler in these hot, humid summer months. You can imagine the heat indexes, day after day, in muggy South Carolina. I’m out in that sun-blasting mugginess all the time, whether lugging groceries on my Trek 520, streaming along on the “B” group rides, or soloing. To my surprise, I soon found as the beard evolved that it decreased not increased my discomfort. It keeps me cooler. Why? Because the beard prevents the sun from reaching my face. It insulates me against solar rays.

An added advantage is that I don’t need to slather sun block on my face anymore. Think of all those chemicals seeping through the open pores of one’s sweating skin…. No more toxins being absorbed with each pedal stroke; no more lotions that are both carcinogenic and unsustainably packaged.

Moreover, when the autumn cool-down and the winter freezes begin, I will be ready. Like wool, my facial hair will comfort me in cold climates even more than in hot ones. Cooler now in mid-August will be warmer in mid-December.

Consider too that the beard confers a certain dignity on a man, a result of which may be increased respect from drivers. Because I wear street clothes when I ride, I’m even less affiliated with the spandex racing element that seems to create anxiety in a large number of ignorant drivers who consider bicycling effeminate, an activity kind of like ballet (i.e., not suitable for “real” men). In any event, the number of verbal incidents I’ve had with motorists in the last six months has fallen to a mere one or two.

Finally, when stopped at a traffic light, I assume an “at ease” stance, cross my arms, reach up my left hand, and pluck my beard while waiting for the green. This soothing motion helps me maintain my center amid all the cars and trucks rushing in front of me and lining up behind me.

As an active year-round cyclist, I like my beard. I’m glad I decided to grow one—my first.

(No photo for this blog. I took a selfie but deemed the steel-wool image too unsightly for my reader to behold.)

The Bearded Greek Bicyclist,

Roadysseus

8.20.17