My Wet Dream - A Bicycle That Resists The Rain, Tim Dawson (2011) Original article first published at thesundaytimes.co.uk on 20 Feb 2011

I have tried to reach a friendly accommodation with the rain. Better to embrace it, than to fight it, if you want to be a cyclist on these islands, I figure.

It has not been easy, however, and it has taken both investment and experimentation.

Mudguards are a must. No matter how sleek your bike, a pair of plastic eyebrows arching above the wheels are vital. Without them, in the event of downpour, you might as well wade into a stream and sit down - so dramatic is the effect of unguarded road spray on the extremities.

And it is not only water. The filth that jets up from the road is of a consistency that defies cleansing. After half an hour in a torrent of regurgitated road muck, you can forget drying clothes out. Dispatch them straight to the bin.

Mudguards alone won't protect you, though - although the real trick with waterproof clothing is expectation management. Years ago, there was a manufacturer that advertised that their products allowed cyclists to 'laugh at the rain'. They were stretching the truth.

I have tried them all - traditional capes, the Gore-tex suits, patented waterproof socks, chaps-like leggings, a fisherman's oil skin, cheap cagoules, high-cost race-styled jackets, and 'waterproof' helmet covers. I have used waxed cotton, cotton duck, leather, any number of 'breathable' nylon-based fabrics and pvc.

All have their shortcomings. A cape lets the body breath, but has the effect of mounting a sail to your bike. Fine if you are riding with the wind - potentially deadly should it be gusting in any of the 359 degrees whose bearing you are not following.

Breathable fabrics and clever design have brought improvements to modern wet-weather gear, but I have yet to discover an outfit that will completely resist a cloudburst. First a drip runs down your neck. Then the area around your wrists starts to moisten. And before long, somewhere about your midriff is feeling unexpectedly clammy.

The only garment I have owned that would actually stand up to any form of British precipitation was my fisherman's oil skin. Such was its weight, though, that I might as well have been dragging a sea anchor, while submitting my body to a weight-reducing sweat bath within.

No. The only approach to cycling in the rain and preserving sanity, is to embrace the wet. Accept that you are submitting yourself to a high-pressure shower. Its only water, after all. Pedal hard enough and your pumping heart will generate a satisfying, insulating glow, to ward off the cold no matter how sub-aqua your clothes become.

I won't pretend that it has been easy to achieve that level of detachment. But winning a mind game with a storm that has bested even the finest Swiss-made waterproofs is a victory to savour, even if the forfeit is days of apologising for subsequently drenching the kitchen floor in several pints of rain water.

But what the rain does to my bike, however, provokes an ache in my heart for which I can find no succour. Clothes can be laundered while I take a restorative bath. But there is nothing that will save my beloved from the adverse effects of a baptismal drenching.

I mop. I dry. I polish. I lubricate. But try as I might, a bike is different after a dip in the drink.

The inventor who comes up with a product or procedure that eliminates that scratchy, squeaky feeling that a bike acquires after full immersion would win a hero's thanks from cyclists everywhere. Forget turning lead into gold. Discover a means to protect base metals from the elements and you will be acclaimed as a king of kings - by me at least.

TD Feb 11

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