For more than 30 years, technology has always sharpened my vision. Some kind of mechanical device has held a corrective lens in front of my eyes. I always know they are there. I can see the shadow of the rims in my periphery, or I can feel the contact lenses on my cornea. Rarely do I forget that something is resting on my face.
Riding bicycles now, even without prescription correction, I need to shield my contacts from the wind in my face, from gravel thrown by passing cars, and well, to look the part of a cyclist. Sometimes they pinch my ears or collect sweat droplets from my brow. They are always there. Ubiquitous. Glasses.
But every so often, a pair of glasses comes along that makes me forget all of that. Glasses so light that my nose is freed from the constant pressure on my bridge. Lenses so clear and sharp that I see the finer undulations in the trail, and better, stay away from the jagged granite teeth that can eat my tires. Ear pieces that grip without slip. Ventilation that keeps my brow dry but does not blow-dry my contact lenses.
Faces are like opinions. We all have them. Some ugly. Some fresh. Some weathered by years of experience, but rarely one-size-fits-all. Well, this slightly weathered face found a pair of riding glasses that made me forget that I was supposed to be writing a “review.”
How Daft. Perhaps that is why Spy Optic named them as such.