Words by Richard Belson

It takes a strong man to admit his foibles.

I'd like to think of myself as strong ... sometimes. I've been known to make mistakes. Errors in judgement that seemed like the right thing to do at the time ... you know what I'm talking about: "Dude, I can totally do that skinny ... I know it's 6" up, but I can totally do it!" followed by pretty big clunk as my downtube meets the stunt, and I'm sent plummeting to the forest floor below.

There are also, of course, the errors in judgement that there is no possible way to be conscious of, and you can only see in hindsight. Yes, folks, I'm talking about fashion. No, not like Polo shirts and skinny leather ties (though they're not exactly something I'd brag about, either). I'm talking about Lycra.

No, not the racing suits that the pros wear. They have to. It lets their body breathe and get rid of nasty stank that'll only slow them down. I'm talking about the intentional wearing of fluorescent-hues under the guise of being cool. Way back in the late '80s and early '90s when our sport was still in its infancy, we had little to choose from in the way of riding togs. Most gear was either adopted from the hiking world or transplanted from the roadies whom we all looked at with such massive contempt. Unfortunately, living in Montreal during all of this, I was treated to the best of what Louis Garneau had to offer. Now, to say this Quebec-based designer had a flair for the "in-your-face" is being somewhat conservative. It wasn't rare to see Dayglo pink, yellow, and green all on the same garment ... and not just highlights - it was the whole bloody jersey. What's worse, is that there were shorts to match ...

Believe it or not, this colour used to be cool

Even worse still?!? I owned them and donned them proudly.

Add to that the pink "surfer dude" graphics of my '89 Haro Extreme, a Lycra-covered Bell helmet and some "Rad" Fluro-yellow Oakley Razor Blades glasses (Blades were SO last year!) and I was the pinnacle of fashion on the Quebec mountain bike scene.

GOD, I wish someone had told me about Sugoi!

Anyhow, the problem is that it wasn't just Garneau, and it wasn't just Quebec. I was just home for Christmas a few weeks ago, and while leafing through my 16 years of collected mountain bike magazines, I cringed at what we wore, and what we thought was cool.

Does anyone remember the JT Racing "Bones" outfits that Tinker Juarez and John Tomac wore? How about when the guys racing the Mammoth Mountain Kamikaze Downhill who wore Giro Tri-geek helmets in order get less wind resistance on their steel hardtails and rigid forks?

It's so much easier to appreciate where you are if you know where you've been.

Tomorrow's fashion victim? - Photo: Cam McRae

Luckily, now we can all ride in our urban-styled, loose-fitting mountain bike clothes, so, off the bike, regular folks can say "Hey, look, a mountain biker!" while they point across the street and smile in amazement. No sir-ee. No longer do we have to have non-riding men and women snicker at our choice on fashion based solely on its loud colour schemes, questionable fit, and lack of genital subtlety. We can proudly hang out downtown with our Sombrio/Roach gear and have people snicker at us for looking like futuristic street punks. We, as mountain bikers, have grown as a sub-culture with our "own" look, which somehow has merged snowboarding with BMX punk with a little technical fabric for good measure.

The only problem with existing in this little microcosm is that outside it, we just look like we're trying to be cool. When it comes down to it, maybe we are collectively, together, but on my own, I know I'm not cool. That's why I ride.

Just ride and forget what everyone else thinks. Just take lots of pictures so you can laugh at yourself in 15 years.