“Partly cloudy, 14°C, feels like 6°C, rising to 21°C, with possible wind, sun, fog, sleet and a small chance of meteorological betrayal.”
You sigh. You open your wardrobe. And you begin to layer.
Welcome to September — cycling’s most treacherous fashion season.
The great layering lie
Layering sounds smart. Practical. Scientific, even.
Until you realise that you’ve just wrapped yourself in €400 worth of breathable, sweat-wicking technical fabrics that now feel like a mobile sauna ten minutes into a climb.
And yet, every September ride begins with someone declaring:
“Better to overdress than underdress.”
This is the biggest lie in cycling. Right after “It’s a recovery ride” and “I’m just getting into it.”
What you wear vs. what you regret
| You Wear | 10 Mins In | Regret Level |
| Long-sleeve base layer | You’re boiling like a ravioli | 9/10 |
| Gilet + arm warmers | Removed and shoved in pocket | 7/10 |
| Leg warmers | Fall down immediately | 6/10 |
| Short sleeves only | Body temp = freezer burrito | 8/10 |
| Rain cape | No rain, 100% sweat | 11/10 |
| Everything at once | Michelin man vibes | “I hate myself” |
The goal is versatility. The result is a slow strip-tease on the side of a country road while trying not to drop your gloves into a hedge.
The morning-freeze-to-noon-sweat pipeline
September rides follow a cruel pattern:
- Start: You are a shivering husk, questioning why you ever took up this cursed sport.
- Mid-ride: You’re sweaty, cooking, squinting at the sun like it betrayed you personally.
- Final 30 mins: The temperature drops again. You’re wet. You’re cold. Your body is steaming. You can see your breath. Your socks are sad.
You finish the ride colder than you started and somehow still too hot inside. You are simultaneously a fire pit and a fridge.
Dressing according to the group chat
Never trust the group chat.
“I’ll just wear a jersey, it’s fine.”
“Guys, no layers. The sun’s coming out.”
“It’s always warm on that climb.”
All lies. Every single one.
These people will show up looking like alpine climbers. Or worse: they’ll actually be fine while you descend like a shivering, caffeinated lizard in a mesh base layer.
Advanced techniques for survival
The Pocket Stuff System™
Wear minimal gear and shove five backup layers in your pockets like you’re moving house. Just don’t crash — you’ll explode like a technical fabric piñata.
The Sacrificial Layer
Start with an old gilet you intend to overheat in, then ditch it dramatically in a hedge halfway up a climb like a sweaty, Lycra-clad Cinderella.
The Committed Minimalist
No layers. No regrets. You will be cold. But your jersey will look sharp and your suffering will be aesthetic.
The “I Brought a Backpack” Guy
Don’t be this person. We don’t talk to this person. This person is living outside the code.
Conclusion: fashion is pain, especially when it’s weatherproof
There is no perfect kit combo for a September ride.
You will get it wrong. Everyone gets it wrong.
Some days you’ll look like a Rapha model.
Other days you’ll look like a soggy performance burrito taped together with arm warmers and denial.
But you’ll ride.
You’ll unzip, rezip, stuff, curse, freeze, and maybe — just maybe — get the layers right for 12 glorious minutes before the weather changes again.
Because in the end, cycling isn’t about comfort. It’s about looking marginally fast while suffering stylishly.
