Before 1996, all overly serious weekend bicyclists were begrudgingly confined to very
non-official-looking gear while riding—they simply had no choice. Sure, they dreamt of riding their bikes in fancy, race-inspired lycra uniforms with sewn-on patches mimicking sponsorship deals, but they were also afraid of being labeled as a "moron" or "gay." This fear of being ostracized by society outweighed their desire to finally get the chance to wear an athletic uniform—fake or otherwise—for the first time in their collective lives.
Then, in April of 1996, all of that changed. When he got on the Monon Trail at 75th Street, an overly serious cyclist named Jeremiah Platsky was about to lead a revolution. Bravely clad in a newly purchased bright red Team Schwinn jersey with matching shorts and helmet, Platsky became the first person to bike the Monon who was fake-sponsered by Subaru.
During that first test-run, walkers, joggers and other bikers stopped and stared at the speeding Platsky and wondered aloud why some professional cyclist had chosen to train on the Monon. This exhilerated Jeremiah greatly; even though he didn't race bikes for a living, he realized that he could make people think he did. His low self-esteem was finally on the rise.
As we all know, the trend caught on. Word quickly spread within the cycling circles—from accounting firms to Xena chat rooms to the people drinking coffee at Barnes & Noble at 10:30 on a Saturday night—that wearing the replica uniforms of professional cyclists did NOT cause the social ostracization once predicted. Overly serious Indy-area bicyclists were finally free to pursue their dream: drawing attention to themselves through their meticulous immitation of
Tour de France racers in order to boost a sagging self-image. |
