Gore Bike Wear Fusion 2.0 shorts

I’ll come out at the beginning and say it: I’ve always liked Gore clothing.

Mostly because, as a reasonably tall chap, and neither rake-thin nor darts-player corpulent, I’ve always found it hard to find biking clothes to fit. Lycra shorts can leave me looking like I’ve just waltzed out of a ‘specialist’ club in Berlin; jerseys can look baggy off the bike, but whenever I grab the bars, the cuffs fly backwards in a clear (and successful) attempt to escape from my wrists.

But Gore Bike Wear stuff fits me, and these shorts are just the right length. They’re not too baggy – although there’s just enough room for some svelte kneepads – and they are relatively flattering around the bum, so that they don’t comically expand and make me look like Widow Twankey when I’m off the bike. They’re made of a summery, lightweight fabric with a stretchy inseam. My rather bright orange example has worn in with washing to a slightly less headache-inducing (but still plenty bright) hue.

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There are two side pockets – one of which thoughtfully comes with a glasses cleaning cloth, and a wide, shallow, zipped pocket at the back, which I didn’t trust to put anything in but served for me as another bit of ventilation. The only real niggle I can find is in the inseam stitching. The main overlocking stitches are holding up admirably, but the top stitches which hold the seams flat against the rest of the fabric are coming adrift in several places, which isn’t really on in a £100 pair of shorts.

Overall: Good looking, well featured pair of shorts with some minor stitching issues.

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Barney Marsh

Barney Marsh takes the word ‘career’ literally, veering wildly across the road of his life, as thoroughly in control as a goldfish on the dashboard of a motorhome. He’s been, with varying degrees of success, a scientist, teacher, shop assistant, binman and, for one memorable day, a hospital laundry worker. These days, he’s a dad, husband, guitarist, and writer, also with varying degrees of success. He sometimes takes photographs. Some of them are acceptable. Occasionally he rides bikes to cast the rest of his life into sharp relief. Or just to ride through puddles. Sometimes he writes about them. Bikes, not puddles. He is a writer of rongs, a stealer of souls and a polisher of turds. He isn’t nearly as clever or as funny as he thinks he is.

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