Single-Sock Paralysis - Opinion

I was over it. Four days deep into a recent moving adventure and artifacts, rare photographs, awards, blueprints of bicycles I had designed, and irreplaceable mementos from the birth of mountain biking were passing from my hands into cardboard boxes without sentiment. I began to question (like I always do when I move to a new home), "Why do I keep all this crap?" When I realized that I could outfit an army with my sock collection, I cracked. I seized a large black plastic trash bag and made an oath (the same oath I always make) to purge my life of these things once and forever.

It seems improbable that socks could have become the sport's universal business card. Call me ungrateful, but was I the only youth who ripped open a Christmas present with great anticipation only to discover - socks? And, there's science to consider. Males, the predominant gender of the mountain bike community, are almost universally afflicted by single-sock paralysis. I have yet to see a medical explanation of why, after donning the first sock, we are rendered motionless, unresponsive, and stare blankly at one bare foot, with the match dangling from our fingers - but it happens. Industry wide, the accumulation of time lost in to this crippling disability must number in years. Even if you cherish socks, there's a mathematical limitation to how many pairs a person actually needs. Calculate one for each day of the week, plus a pair for each ride and numerically, anyone who owns more than 28 socks is hoarding. My stash was closer to 280.

So, there I was, with one hand holding open the cavernous maw of a lawn-n-leaf bag and the other, scrounging through the first of two overstuffed drawers of industry cycling socks. The first pair set the tone: "Sprocket Heads," from Shay Peterson. We rode together back in the '80s. She was one of the first to craft jewelry from recycled bicycle parts. I tossed them on the bed. Then, there was Rage Cycles, Bike Beat, Poison Spider, Over the Edge, First Flight, Fruita Fat Tire Festival, Epic Rides, Yo Eddie, Ringle, Progressive Suspension, Foes, Western Spirit. Ibis, Santa Cruz, Intense, Fox, Fisher, Breezer, Bike, Bontrager, Titus, Moots, Kona, Norco, Race Face, Pivot, DT Swiss. When I realized that I had three generations of RockShox logos, I dug through the trash bag for the fourth. I found the history of Shimano vs. SRAM, the dawn of suspension, the development of disc brakes, evidence of the first 29ers. Bike brands bought and sold, long gone, and some I have known for over 30 years. Lumped together on my bed was the history of the sport, knitted and produced, to a large extent, by "The Sock Guy."

I sorted out the duplicates and dropped the bag off at a homeless rescue downtown. I repacked the two drawers carefully, but in no particular order. The mountain biker who figured that socks would be a great business card was a genius. Yeah, I'm flashing a bike company logo, but it's not brash and blatant, like wearing a corporate jersey or a T-shirt, or a cheap, scratched-up water bottle rattling on my downtube. Cycling socks are comfortable, essential, and you wear them where it all happens - down by the dirt and mud, churning the crankset.

It wasn't a collection of socks. I got it wrong - it's my connection to the sport. I keep those socks because each time I pull on a pair from those drawers, I'm going to pedal my bike. We may be in different places now, but I rode with those people once, and if I am lucky, we will ride again.

---