An open letter to human beings who cycle

To change or not to change? This a question, one I ask myself from time to time. And I'm not talking about my hairstyle, my outlook on life, or even my tyres. It's a quandary I find myself mulling over whenever I'm setting off to cycle somewhere, in my case usually work or college, knowing that at some point along the line, personal hygiene might enter the realm best described as 'challenging'.

I like to think of cycling as a leisurely pursuit, so I don't therefore attempt to break any land speed records when I'm meandering my round-wheeled way. By the same token, I don't want to have to dress up as an Olympic gymnast and take to the streets looking like a tube sock with a hard hat on, just to combat the inevitable issue of sweat.

I'm sure you're all with me on the subject of a little healthy perspiration, a kind of ruddy-faced 'glow'. Sooner or later you're going to find yourself riding into a stiff breeze, or tackling what looks more like a skateboarder's half-pipe than a mere incline, and a dash of exertion will be required. Now, in the balmier months of the year, a mop of the brow and the heat of the sun will do the job, particularly if there happens to be a cooling breeze tickling your neck at the same time. However, in winter, when more layers are in my experience required, this can lead to some tricky wardrobe issues...

There was a time when I chose to cycle in an old T-shirt, possibly with a sweater on under my coat, which I could then ditch on arrival at work in favour of something more sartorial. However, this arrangement makes demands of its own, in terms of baggage, and having a fairly well-stocked supply of grubby-but-not-too-smelly travel garments. No, too much hassle, I concluded; best just to utilise my scarf as a draught excluder, moderate my ambulation, and turn up at my chosen destination fresh as the proverbial white and yellow flower.

But, you see, as someone who has rarely been importuned by the demands of 'business dress', I speak from a somewhat cosseted position. Would I be so laissez faire if a can of spray could not undo the ills of a creased shirt and rainwater on my brogues? And would I want to come huffing into the office if I had clients to attend to? Perhaps some space-pants and a change of clothing would be just the ticket in such situations.

But anyway, I've digressed too long. At the time of writing, I'm still dodging the puddles and braving the PBOP (potential BO problem) in my regular day gear. I can't be doing with faffing around on arrival - locking the wheels up and finding a way of lunking my helmet about with me are tasks enough. But - whisper it quietly - is there a third way (or even, preposterously, a fourth and fifth)? What do others do, and can I learn? Maybe, like a Victorian gent atop a Penny Farthing, I need thick woolen breeches and a heavy tweed overcoat, sweat be damned; or perhaps there's a technique which obviates the need for concern over the state of one's attire entirely.

It may be the usual manner of columns to dispense advice, but, dear reader, this one wishes for instruction...