Bum Steer

Melbourne is a thriving, multicultural city.  It’s a dynamic melting pot, a delectable mixture of theatre, sport, art, opera, ballet, concerts, markets …

and now, NUDE CYCLING.

I would like to take my helmet off to all those participating in the Melbourne (third) leg of The World Naked Bike Ride.  It puts a whole new dimension on the concept of pole position, even though this term is usually applied to motor sport.

Seriously?  How uncomfortable would newd riding actually be for both sexes?  I don’t like(ra) the idea of sailing along on the old gel seat, hunched over a set of dual handlebars (the ones on the front of the bike and those features of menopausal love around my waist) throwing caution to the wind.  Naked.

What of the practicalities and the hurties?  That anatomically sensitive area betwixt where the body evacuates fluid and solids.  You know, that thin membrane of glory otherwise known as the perineum?  (If Chicken can play Scrabble with a stranger and accept the spelling of semen, then Fangirl Sings the Blues can incorporate anatomical words in this post.)

How does the perineum cope with nude riding, for goodness sake?  Also, if you’ve been lucky enough to have scored an episiotomy following the birth of a gargantuan sphere, what effect does friction against the bike seat have on this?  And what of the boys?  Can’t imagine that he’d be having a ball as he rides along.  Nude. Perhaps he doesn’t allow the pain to penetrate and he hardens his mind to the testy times.  Ahead.

I could go on, but I won’t.  However, it would be remiss of me not to mention the larger bosomed lady ‘pon the Ride of Nudation.  How’s that for you?  Sorry, us, because if the cap fits, wear it.  And I must.  I don’t think we’d get bra … far. I wonder if we’d be able to see the forest for the undergrowth, as we nip in and out of the pack, trying to keep abreast of the other riders.  And what of speed bumps, potholes, and hugging the curve in the road as we merge — all extremely uncomfortable if we’re unsupported.

Especially well endowed peeps must worry about wind drag, surely?  It’s well and good to keep all members and busts inside the ride, but if we are heartily enlargened, stiffened even, wouldn’t this provide a momentum problem?  Bits lagging behind, other parts so excited that they could be heading off too far in front?  An unruly, bobbing rudder?

Wow.  Was it worth it, all the pain, chaffing, bodily fluids other than sweat?  To all the nude cyclists, you have my naked admiration.  I love riding (and on bikes too) but am so grateful to be fully clothed for the duration of the activity, AND I know that witnesses to my cycling are thankful as well.

If it’s your thing, to be braless and biking, then good onya.  All power and freedom to you.   Just make sure that when you’re reaching down for your drink bottle, that you feel around before you pull it upward.  By chance you’ve grabbed some other gear.

Picture from The Age, taken in Madrid 2006.