“But where does it go?” I asked my friend.

Two novice cyclists looked quizzically at a pot of Vaseline before setting off on a bike ride from John O’Groats to Lands End.

“I have no idea but I’ve heard it’s essential,” she replied.

We put the little pot back into our bag and decided that, if it really were necessary, it would become clear what to do with it before too long. By the end of our first day, we agreed that sharing the pot would no longer be appropriate and stopped to buy another.

There are places on a bicycle where friction and pressure are very good things: your brakes would be useless without the former; without the latter, your tyres would be flat and you’d be left riding along on a once-round pair of aluminium rims. There is one place in particular where we could do without these two scientific phenomena though; I like to call it the “Bike-Lady Interface”. In the interests of clarity, I’ve drawn a diagram.

With a little more experience, I now know that the pot of petroleum jelly is not actually necessary at all, but what I cannot do without is a decent pair of cycling shorts. Think beyond the 90s fashion frenzy, I’m talking about the ones with a nice padded chamois (pronounced “shammy”, like “jammy”) stitched in.

Many new cyclists despair at the idea of wearing them and there is no getting away from the fact that, the first time you put them on, it feels like there’s the crust of a thick-sliced wholemeal loaf down your shorts. But if you think that’s uncomfortable, try riding for more than 2 hours without a pair: your lady garden will be blooming in black and blue, or the fruits of your man orchard overripe and bruised. Now who’s uncomfortable?

I know you’ll see those professional triathletes winning an ironman in nothing but a wafer thin tri-suit; this has always baffled me, to be perfectly honest. I can only assume that their saddles are stitched from the delicate underbelly of a centaur and woven together with fairy dust; that, or their undercarriage is undergoing a certain degree of “compromise” over the course of a 112-mile bike ride. We mere mortals simply need more protection down there.

Take one look at the pro-cyclists: hard as nails but never a chamois shunned. When David Brailsford talks about marginal gains, he’s also referring to that extra few millimetres of wadding in the shorts of his athletes, and the savings he makes on his Savlon bill.

There are different styles available: for men, for women, bibs (like braces but cosier), no bibs (easier for toilet trips), baggies (for mountain bikers, or shy people), or ones with skirts attached (please don’t). They all have the same purpose: keeping your interface happy. Once you’ve chosen your pair, you’re ready to go.

Just one thing though: leave your pants at home. Cycling has just been added to your list of knickerless recreational activities, since the seams of your undergarments just adds to the risk of chafing. Suddenly, a little bit of chamois allows you fly in the face of convention and parade around without your smalls on. How liberating? This does restrict your kit wearing to a strict one wear/one wash laundry pattern but I think it’s worth it.

If all that hasn’t convinced you, let me leave you with one last point. A European directive, known as “Chamois Time”, dictates that any time spent in cycling kit counts as time spent on the bike. Today, for example, I rode my bike for 4 and a half hours. Since then, I have eaten lunch, drunk a coffee, and written this, all while wearing my shorts: that’s another hour of training for free! I’ll leave you to ponder that as I go and put some washing on.