I was driving the family downtown a couple of weeks ago when we encountered a cyclist coming our way.

He was wearing the full matching team kit: shorts, jersey, helmet … heck, maybe even sunglasses and socks.

My wife — who still thinks it’s clever to refer to my bicycling bib shorts as my “overalls” — looked him over and mocked, “Why don’t you wear a neat matching outfit like that?”

I ignored the “outfit” part (I can’t remember the last time I wore an outfit; I’m partial to get-ups) and explained the only cyclists to wear matching kit like that were racers and wannabe racers.

And since I want to be neither a racer nor a wannabe racer, nor would I want to race on any team that would have me as a racer, I said I thought I’d stick to my rather drab cycling attire when I ride recreationally and street clothes when I commute.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if the time isn’t right for bike commuters like me to earn sponsorships.

Nobody’s ever going to pay me or ply me with free bikes and parts and clothes and accessories because I ride fast, but maybe somebody’s just smart enough to sponsor me to ride slow.

See, I figure this cyclist-sponsorship thing is backward anyway.

Bike racing is a niche within a niche.

Fans of bike racing already know what bikes their favorite riders ride. They know the brand of every component. They know who makes their clothes and sports drinks.

They know when Lance Armstrong needs a new Flux Capacitor, he heads to his friendly neighborhood Best Buy, er, I mean, RadioShack, his primary sponsor.

Trek, Oakley, Nike, Michelob Ultra, Nissan … all these sponsors pay big bucks to have an itty-bitty logo displayed on one of Armstrong’s itty-bitty outfits, all so the average fan can see it zoom past in a many-hued blur.

Talk about a waste of money.

Now, a sponsor for a bike commuter — at least this one — really would get its money’s worth.

For one thing, I’m slow. Really slow. Slap a logo on me, and it’s going to get maximum visibility.

It’d be impossible to pedal with a sandwich board, but there’s plenty of signage space on my back.

And since half of my work commutes are done at night, I’m thinking I could get twice as many sponsors — one for daylight, and another in reflectives for my nighttime commutes.

Say Java Break wanted to jump on board (and I picked JB out of the blue, and it is for illustrative purposes only; in no way am I trying to curry favor with the best coffee shop in town, just because it’s mere feet from my office, open 24 hours, serves grub, has outstanding baked goods, 24/7 paninis, cereal in take-out boxes, friendly baristas and a cool bohemian vibe).

My daytime signage could be something simple, like “Java Break: Cookies. Coffee. Yum.”

At night: “Java Break: Java and grub, 24/7.”

Can’t you see it now? A carload of clubbers closes in on me from behind. They’re dazzled by the message beaming off my back, reflected in their headlights.

“Hmm,” says the (designated) driver, “I really could go for a delicious baked good and a cup o’ joe at this late hour. Who knew Java Break was still open? Perhaps we should stop on our way home.”

It’s golden, I tell you.

So, if anybody wants in on this groundbreaking advertising gold mine, give my agent a ring.

I’m sure we can work something out.