Pulling the Wool over my eyes

I am pleased that they have gone to good, appreciative homes.

I am talking about two of my old cycling jerseys.

They have history and I did wear them many, many times when first purchased but in polite terms their size became incompatible with my own or in brutal and no holds barred language- I simply outgrew them.

I did, I admit attempt one last wearing before packaging them up for the successful E-bay bidders but fearful of being hauled up under the misdescriptions act for ' little signs of wear and tear' I aborted the exercise at just below head height. 30 year old stitched seams do weaken over time and I attribute the extremely tight fit to excessive shrinkage at the last low temperature wash.

The jerseys were 80% wool mix from an era when lycra was but a chemical formula on the notepad of a research laboratory technician and still too much of an expensive commodity and in limited supply to be considerd for any sort of  practical application to sportswear.

I do recall the cycle runs when I wore such vestments. In the dry they retained their shape, form and function but if wet weather was encountered then they rapidly took on the form of a frock dress, baggy and saggy so as to catch around the knees and impede the actual physical process of pedalling.

Still, they were the pinnacle of fashion and bang-on with the heroes and icons of that era of cycle racing.

One of the jerseys was in the colours of the bike manufacturer Colnago. Pale blue shoulder yoke, powder blue in fact and with the distinctive typeface seen on what were regarded then, and still today as some of the best frames in the world of cycling. Below the wording the jersey was striped in alternate blue and white vertical bands, a bit like the kit of the Argentinian National football team. In contrast to what else was available to purchase from my local bicycle shop it was positively exotic but then again anything sounding french, italian or continental in late 1970's Britain was in vogue.

Examining the jersey before wrapping it up for its Californian destination I noticed a small rip and tear in the side panel. This immediately brought back the painful memory of falling off my bike in 1980 probably as a consequence of not paying attention to the road or more likely from posing outrageously for a bus queue or other audience. The three rear pockets also looked a bit sorry from being overloaded and stretched from a typical store of drink bottles, Mars Bars and spare parts. I was surprised that the oily fingermarks had either decomposed and disappeared over time.

The jersey will go down well in the United States. It is authentic and Italian made which for the inhabitants of the New World is, frankly, of antique status. I just hope the lucky recipient is prepared for the sweaty and uncomfortable experience of actually wearing it in a warm climate.

The other part of my cycling inheritance was a purchase in France in 1983 when I saw a stage of the Tour de France.

It was a La Redoute Motobecane replica team jersey made famous through Stephen Roche the Irish cyclist who made such an impact on the continent as one of the most successful of the pioneering English speaking riders to shake up the home advantage.

I recall that it cost me nearly all of my hard saved holiday budget, about £40 sterling although I forget the rate of exchange to Francs. Very distinctive and striking in its design with blue, green and white colours and a good amount of advertising logos. It is funny that french words take on a very romantic persona. La Redoute. At face value it sounds strong, forceful, powerful, reliable. In fact it is a mail order company, still one of the largest in France for clothes and fashions. The nearest UK equivalent would be Littlewoods or my Mother's regular- Brian Mills. Many would refuse to wear a jersey so branded. Motobecane similarly suggests something exciting but it is in fact just a bike manufacturer.

On my return to England the jersey was much admired and I could easiy have recouped my initial expenditure if I had given in to the clamour for its acquisition by those who saw it. I think I may even have worn it to a disco once.

So a memorable chapter comes to a close in the history of my cycling knitwear.