We're always glad to hear great stories about our clothing – none more so than this fantastic Facebook post from Mark Wells in Nottinghamshire. Mark's story of his trusty Lands' End chinos leading him to victory over his lycra-clad rival had us in stitches! Can you beat it? Share your Lands' End winning wardrobe stories with us in the comments section below.
"Thought I'd share this confession with you. I was cycling home yesterday evening after work. It was one of those journeys when everything seemed good. No queues at junctions, the lights were green, a slight following wind. I was cruising.
And then it happened. A man in Lycra on a serious looking mountain bike overtook me on Melton Road.
Now I don't wear Lycra any more. I cycle to work on a good sturdy, sit up and beg Dutch bike, with a steel frame over the front wheel to put my briefcase in. I hope you agree that with such a genteel method of transport Lycra would look silly. No, instead I cycle in my Lands End chinos, button down shirt and Squall jacket.
So as I stared after the finely-honed, lycra-clad buttocks pumping away in front of me, I felt affronted. My manhood felt affronted. I had been enjoying my ride. But now this sweaty intrusion on my idyllic cycle home had stirred some deep rooted warrior instinct inside me.
I began to peddle a bit faster. The gap narrowed. I peddled faster still. The gap narrowed further. I decided to change my Sturmey Archer 3 speed gear up from its trusty 2 position to the rarely used maximum 3 position. My protesting thighs took the strain and my speed increased again.
I looked up through watering eyes and there was my prey, a few yards in front of me, blissfully unaware that his nemesis was approaching. As we neared the traffic lights to Musters Road, I put on a final burst of speed. The lights were red, but so was the mist that had fallen in front of my eyes. Just as Lycra-man began to slow down, a perspiring, panting, chino-wearing, old fogey on a big black bone shaker, hammered past him with reckless abandon.
Now I don’t consider myself lucky, but for whatever reason, the fates must have been smiling on me that night. Because at that precise moment, the lights changed. Had they not, I would have been smeared across a windscreen. I had reached terminal velocity and nothing short of an articulated lorry would have been able to withstand the impact of my momentum at that point.
Instead I blazed across the junction like a cotton and polyester blur, wheeling right into Musters Road with G forces threatening to topple my briefcase into the gutter before rattling up the home stretch, like a bat out of hell.
When I arrived home a few minutes later, I entered the garage like a triumphant jockey to the winners enclosure. Dismounting, I patted my steed, whose leather saddle was, admittedly, steaming like a horse after the Grand National. Having rested against the frame for a few minutes to recover my composure I collected my briefcase, straightened my shirt and returned to being your everyday commuter, returning home after a quiet day at the office.
Secure in the knowledge that when it comes to cycling, chinos beat Lycra any day."
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