Gear Review - Oakley Eyeshade Heritage Collection

Light rain beaded and dripped off in rivulets. The SLX tubing was protected by the masterful paint-job, a deep red base dramatically accented with a diamond pattern, fading to yellow as the paint approached the seat-post. The steeply angled quill stem, tied-and-soldered 32-spoked ambrosio wheels, perfectly wrapped yellow bar-tape and matching yellow Selle San Marco Rolls Saddle; this Rossin was ready to fly.

The riders shivered at the start-line. Numbing spring wet and cold combined with pre-race nerves; all waited patiently as an endless list of sponsors was unintelligibly read though an old megaphone. Law-firms, building contractors, financial institutions; all critical to the cumulative result of a bike race, but a world away from the soggy rural-fields and pig-shit stained parcours that greeted the riders.

The Racer rested among the other riders, stoically composed atop his steel courser. Among the sea of trembling carbon-mounted competitors, he stood apart. Some dared to look upon the Racer with disdain; "how dare he ride that ancient bike in this race?" They asked themselves, "He won't even last 50km, he'll be spit out the back a third of the way through." Most largely ignored the Racer as they adjusted their arm and leg warmers in a final attempt to calm themselves.

Moments before the start, the Racer placed them over his eyes; a statement to all that he was ready. Only a few noticed at first. The size, the sheer monumental size of them drew their gaze. A monolithic shield of optically perfect lens covered his face, betraying no thought, no emotion. The eyes of the other riders, dwarfed within their own lesser sunglasses, struggled to maintain focus. Their minds could not comprehend the non-Euclidean geometry of the frames, driving more than a few to utter madness. Slowly, those riders able to maintain their faculties made out a singular word, a mantra, emblazoned upon the lens, OAKLEY.

An unnerving calm spread across the peloton. The Racer calmly rolled up to take his place at the very front of the vanguard, ready for it all to begin. None opposed him. They all truly witnessed the Racer now, perhaps for the first time. His gleaming legs, swathed in embrocation, appeared larger, more defined than before. Muscles hewn though countless hours of flagellation driving steel, he appeared an ancient hero out of Greek myth to those around. They trembled now, not due to cold but when they fell under his gaze. He looked from one rider's face to another; who would be Hector to his Achilles today? His trusty Rossin; always a spear at the ready. And now, with his Eyeshade, He had his shield. As the whistle blew and a deep, primordial dread spread though the peloton, the Racer finally smiled.


The Score

Usefulness: 10/10
Durability: 10/10
Style: 10/10
Weight: 8/10
Will it Help you Race?: 10/10

Overall: 10/10