It is a truth universally acknowledged that no cyclist looks good in shorts. This is all the more veracious a fact when one is confronted with such garments actually designed for bicycling, which incorporate a panel of padding in the gusset that makes the wearer look as though they are wearing an alarmingly bulky nappy.

Spare a thought, then, for the brave ladies modelling the cursed things at Earl's Court in London yesterday, who had been paid by the Cycle Show - an annual exhibition to showcase the best in biking, which is on until Sunday - to prove that hey, cyclists can look cool too.

The models fared better than the rest of us would, largely because they dodged stumpy-leg-syndrome by cheating, and wore their shorts with the sort of high heels that even the most dedicated cycling fashionista wouldn't dare pedal in. But overall, the fashion show was merely a reminder that however trendy cycling might have become - what with folding bikes replacing capacious handbags as the trendsetter's accessory of choice - teaming Lycra with a fluorescent cagoule is never the nattiest of looks.

That doesn't stop half of the exhibition centre being jammed full of enough stretchy, luminous fabric to cover Chris Hoy's thighs many times over. There is, however, one oasis in this migraine-triggering, Mr Motivator-recalling sea of neon. It belongs to Rapha, routinely described as the Prada of cycling.

This fledgling British label was founded by a dapper man called Simon Mottram in 2004, who had the radical thought that just because a person was into cycling, didn't mean they didn't care about looking good. "Up until recently, the cycling industry put all the emphasis on how things performed, and didn't pay much attention to how they looked," said Mottram yesterday. "That didn't make any sense to me. Why should people have to squeeze themselves into a day-glo skinsuit? Why should cyclists compromise on style?"

Pride of place on the Rapha stand yesterday was a really rather lovely jacket in a Prince of Wales check, lined with a breathable membrane to keep the wearer sweat-free. Perhaps the biggest compliment you could pay it is that it doesn't look like cycle gear, despite clever yet discreet touches, such as a flap that folds down to keep the wearer's bum dry on the saddle, which can be tucked away when not on the bike. Fantastic - except that it costs £450.

"It's outrageously indulgent," admitted Luke Scheybeler, head of design at Rapha. "But our customers want to look good, and are prepared to pay for it. They are designers, entrepreneurs or consultants; many work in the City. Or rather, they did."

Surely now is the wrong time for such frippery? Apparently not: all 100 of the limited edition sold out before they were even available.

But the Cycle Show isn't just about fashion. It's about making life easier and more comfortable for bikers.

There are folding tandems, whizzy electric gear and breaking systems and even saddles which claim to be "gynaecologically tested" (they monitor the blood flow to "that area", explained the coy salesman on the Selle Royal outlet).

More than one stand appeared to be doing a roaring trade in electric bikes, far cheaper than a moped at around £1,500, and good for cyclists with mobility (or laziness) problems.

One stall advertised Italy Bike Hotels, the first Italian hotel chain designed especially for cyclists. That means each establishment has a laundry service that won't ruin technical fabrics, workshops for emergency repairs and a safe place to lock bikes, plus reception staff who can recommend cycling itineraries.

The most unfortunately named stall belonged to a German firm called Puky, which offered a huge range of colourful bikes, trikes and go-karts for children.

Mostly, though, the exhibition is a chance for bike nuts to dribble over machines they will never be able to afford, with carbon frames lighter than a box of tissues, components that flow like runny honey and livery that makes the rider look as though they have won a stage at the Tour de France.

Over the next three days, visitors will even be able to touch their cycling idols - Olympians Nicole Cooke and Shanaze Reade will be around on Sunday and tomorrow, respectively.

But there's no point buying a new bike if some imbecile steals it, which is where ilovemybike.co.uk comes in.

A not-for-profit insurance scheme, it offers a better deal than many non-specialist insurers, promising to reimburse customers with the full cost of their bike as new (rather than what it was worth when it was pinched), and even something called "get you home" cover, which promises to pick you - and what's left of your bike - up from the crime scene and take you home.

Yannick Read, manning the stall yesterday, had some tips for the owners of the estimated half a million bikes which get stolen each year. Some are predictable, such as never putting the lock so near the ground that it can easily be smashed. But one hint is beautiful in its simplicity. "Putting a basket on your bike puts people off - even thieves want street cred."

The must-have accessories

Rainlegs
Anyone used to cycling in Britain will be well acquainted with wet-leg-itis, when the front of your trousers get soaked while your bottom and backs of thighs remain dry. Rainlegs, an award-winning Dutch invention, stops all that. You tie it around your waist like a belt. When it starts raining you simply roll it down and secure it with one clip and Velcro fasteners.

Bike indicators
Do you wobble around like a newborn lamb when you take one hand off the handlebars to signal left or right? Perhaps you need a Winkku, a compact device which clips on to your handlebars and acts as an indicator and a mirror, together with lights for night use.

Bike satnavs
A cycle-specific satnav, such as Garmin's dinky offering, can plan a route, avoiding motorways and warning you of horrible hills. Good for cyclists fed up with lugging piles of Ordnance Survey maps in their panniers on long journeys.

Clever bike locks
These canny zig-zag "Cop" locks from Trelock fold up neatly, taking up far less space on a frame than a D-lock but providing the same sort of security.