You Are What You Wear

I own maybe a dozen cycling jerseys.
Now, I'm not the guy who wears the jersey of his favorite team or anything. In fact only four of my jerseys have any kind of print on them.
I have two Specialized jerseys, one Primo Beer jersey and one jersey with the Park Tools logo.
Oh, and I don't have the big Superman "s" Specialized jersey; I prefer the older retro style:



I did have one Crash Test Dummy jersey but it was too small so I gave it to my brother no pun intended.
Actually that wasn't a pun, but more of an insinuation but either way, uh, nevermind.
Out of all those jerseys, I tend to wear only four or five; mostly the light colored ones since it is so freakin hot here.
White is my favorite since it's visible and cool. Yellow would be next, but not that Screamin Yellow Zonker yellow(what ever happened to Screamin Yellow Zonkers anyways?), my jerseys are closer to primary yellow yellow.
I usually just stack them up and when it's time to go out, I just grab the one on the top and hit the road:



Well today was one of those good days on the bike. I was zipping around Kailua feeling like my legs were nuclear powered or something.
Okay, not really, but I was having a good ride.
Well, I was on my way home, feeling great, stupendous even so I hit the gas a little harder. I don't like coming home feeling like I left something in the tank.
Let me tell you, it was one of those days where you could feel the power hitting the ground. My breathing was good, cadence was good, and the bike just felt like it was moving!
All this while wearing my yellow Park Tools jersey:



Usually, I don't notice what jersey I have one while I'm riding. It's one of those things you just sort of forget about while your legs are on fire and spit is coming out of your mouth when you exhale.
Besides, who can see with all the perspiration blurring your vision.
Today, while on the last leg home, hammering down the road, I noticed my jersey was yellow.
For a second there, images of le Tour and racing popped into my fatigue addled brain.
Just for a second though, for I don't ride a road bike, and I am in no way delusional about how fast I am.
In that one second though, I could imagine, however minutely, what it was like to be Lance in yellow.
Uh, Lance Armstrong riding a one hundred and fifty three pound bike.
Through the sand.
Yet it was one of my yellow jerseys that inspired that fleeting vision; not the white or blue or red.
I promise not to make fun of cyclists wearing their favorite team jerseys or kits anymore. I may even look for a Team Radioshack jersey once it comes out.
Okay, maybe not.
I guess we all can dream, even if the dream is an impossibility.
There's been a speed indicator near my street for the last few days.
No, I didn't sprint at.
Didn't want to ruin the fantasy, don't you know.