I’m not totally committed to such a, ahem, bold fashion statement yet, but on tomorrow’s epic 63-mile July 4 ride — the backbone of which will be a complete end-to-end traversing of the 27.65 miles that make up (George) Washington Boulevard — I may very well be sporting the following relic, dug out from the bottom of my dresser drawer that still holds the long-unworn Lycra garb I doffed when cycling way back when:

Most jerseys are decidedly less outrageous than this star-spangled spandexness, purchased a long time ago (in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 to be exact) in a fit of genuine love o’ country and pedaled around town with pride. Speaking of fit, it is remarkably less clingy now then the last time I wore it on the first anniversary of the tragedy.