tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2821760991275369602.post-31583698673891572272007-05-07T13:16:00.000-05:002008-12-08T20:29:29.925-06:00<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T3QwYwbcmts/Rj_QmLWH_VI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/dZ-V8C8YGWw/s1600-h/DSCN0837.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T3QwYwbcmts/Rj_QmLWH_VI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/dZ-V8C8YGWw/s400/DSCN0837.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5061993860486921554" /></a>Summer is almost here, and with it comes white tape, high mileage weeks, and insane tan lines. A cyclist's tan line is something that almost defies explanation to a non-cyclist: a striped leg created by shorts and socks, a pale hand punctuated by a dark circle, or the white area in front of your ear from the helmet strap, where literally "the sun don't shine". To a non-cyclist, the tan lines that are so common to us, warrant a double-take. <br /><br />For me, the tan line is a mark of accomplishment, a sign of your dedication to logging miles on your machine, and a statement that shouts: "despite all of my other commitments, I still find time to ride my damn bike!" <br /><br />Each season I place the bottom of my shorts on the same tan line I randomly established over 20 years ago. Back-to-back seasons have etched a tan line so defined that it would require a two month, Speedo-induced holiday on the world's finest beach to simply undo it. In the off-season, I barely lose my tan line despite the dark and cold winter and the etched line serves as a great reminder of seasons' past. <br /><br />Forget tracking the KMs, the quality of your season can simply be measured by your tan.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2821760991275369602-3158369867389157227?l=www.belgiumkneewarmers.com'/></div>Radio Freddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07419506761098758178noreply@blogger.com27