Not the Best Biking Wardrobe
What do you do when you mess your pants and have nothing to change into? Easy. You rock it! . . . Ok, let me explain. I didn’t really “mess” my pants. First off, it was shorts, and second it was mud not mess. I knew that but strangers didn’t.
Brady and I took a day trip to Decorah, Iowa last Saturday for an adventure. Most people would say, “Decorah? Iowa? What is there?” Well, you will have to go and find out, but we saw Dunnings Springs, had pizza at historic Mabe’s, ice cream at the Whippy Dip, and, the best part of the trip, biking on a trail that was in no way meant for biking—this is where the short fiasco comes into play.
It was much much colder and rainier than expected, so I had to put on every article of clothing I brought along, including my fashion scarf, black Sergeant Pepper inspired jacket, and my neon yellow running shorts over the top of my compression pants. Yeah, I was such a hot mess every local knew I was an out-of-towner, but that wasn’t the icing on the cake, or more like icing on my butt rather. It was so muddy on the non-bike trail that I took a digger only one minute into the ride. Brady’s response to my fall: “Did you just fall over?” like I had faked it. And, then he laughed. (This is not where I messed my shorts. I’m just trying to let you know how muddy it actually was. It was really muddy just to make my point one more time—cement muddy.)
We only lasted about 10 minutes on the “walking trail” when we saw that it took an upward route that would have been barely manageable hiking much less biking. It was then we stopped. It was then Brady starting laughing again.
“What?”
“It looks like you pooped your pants,” he said.
Yup, there it is–bright yellow inspired.
“What?” I tried to turn to look at my backside, but I had too many clothes on to really maneuver to get a good look, so what did I do? I had him take a photo, and sure enough, it looked like I had an accident. A thick target-like brown line ran up and down my short crack. I didn’t have a fender over my back tire, thus each speck of mud found a home and settled in my backside’s crevice.
Did I change when we got to the waterfall where a group of locals gathered to take family photos with the help of a photographer? Nope, I haven’t purchased clothes for almost 6 months, I could rock a muddy it-looks-like-you-messed-your-shorts crack, and I did rock it with my own style, which is called “I give up.”
I can only image their family photo shots with Brady and me in the background hiking up the falls with my muddy crack flashing in neon. “Did that girl poop her pants?” little Susie will be asking her father.
the Clothing Fast Project 