We’ve become very accustomed to seeing them on the road. You know, the “riders.” Wannabe Miguel Induráins (sorry, Lance—you blew it) wedged into heaving uniforms of fluorescent Grand Tour-branded Lycra, their, ahem, masculinity tokens protruding with all the elegance of a vacuum-packed pallet of bananas.
But even so, there’s something about cycling that remains a bit, well, off. And it’s in the gear. Not just in those silly shoes, surely the world’s most dangerous footwear. Not
