Savannah —- What comes to be called fearlessness —- or, when the gamble fails, recklessness —- varies from profession to profession.

For Lt. Gov. Casey Cagle, a politician whose Gainesville roots scream NASCAR, the moment of truth came Sunday morning.

Seconds before Cagle climbed onto a titanium bicycle that cost more than many of the stock cars his neighbors worship, he dropped his baggy gym shorts to reveal a pair of Lance Armstrong-style black tights.

Then the novice cyclist, a duffer by inclination, led a Spandex-clad mix of rank amateurs and world-class professionals on a spin through the coastal Georgia countryside —- a fund-raiser for cancer research.

The event was a prologue to the weeklong Tour de Georgia, which begins this morning with a 70-mile sprint from Tybee Island to Savannah.

For the first time in the tour's six-year history, a politician is calling the shots. Last fall, Cagle was named chairman of the state board that owns the nationally ranked but financially troubled road race.

Risk permeates the enterprise for Cagle, personal and otherwise. There is the sartorial issue, of course. Ever since Democratic presidential failure Michael Dukakis climbed into that tank and popped up in a dorky helmet, politicians with any ambition have been wary of new uniforms.

But Cagle is trim, certainly not overweight, and carried off the Sunday change of clothing with only a smattering of self-consciousness. Besides, he's got nice legs.

For the lieutenant governor, the larger peril comes with putting himself in charge of a multimillion-dollar sporting event that has a thousand moving parts —- never mind the competing athletic egos.

"Some people have called me crazy," Cagle admitted as he pedaled. He'd added some extra padding to his narrow bicycle seat —- in cycling circles, the equivalent of hanging fuzzy dice on a Formula One car.

Mari Holden, the women's 2000 world time trial champion, who grabbed a silver medal in the Sydney Olympics, rode beside Cagle much of the way, offering advice on when and how to shift gears. (Things have changed since Cagle's last bike, a Schwinn ten-speed.)

"People like me have to be careful about what we get involved in," Cagle said. Earlier this year, the lieutenant governor's participation in a charity for children from broken homes devolved into an ugly fight over control of the nonprofit.

The Tour de Georgia is a much larger enterprise, with terrific promotional potential for the state in the long-term —- if it can be rescued. The race was nearly canceled last year for lack of corporate sponsorship.

"It's too important to the state to let it go. But honestly, I've assumed an enormous amount of risk. I had to raise $3 million in a very difficult [legislative] session," the lieutenant governor said. "And all the things that could go wrong. ..."

Things like the weather or injuries. Or doping scandals.

So why take that risk? "Public service is always about giving back. And this is a great way to give back for a good cause" —- Children's Healthcare of Atlanta is a major beneficiary —- "and also promote the state. It's just the right thing to do," Cagle said.

And it may be the politic thing to do for a man of ambition.

Sonny Perdue has remade the way a governor of Georgia climbs into office and stays there. The first Republican governor of modern times has established a populist persona for himself outside the state Capitol —- which Cagle may be attempting to emulate.

Immune to the Dukakis virus, Perdue has worn funny hats, even a bulbous, red clown nose. He's driven race cars, UPS trucks —- nearly anything that moves.

When 236 lawmakers gather in the Capitol each January, other governors have slept on a couch in the office to monitor dozens of hatching conspiracies. Perdue keeps himself at arm's length.

His trip to China this year was different only in the actual mileage the governor put between himself and the Legislature.

This has led Perdue's critics to call him disengaged. But the insulation is calculated. Despite several recent sessions of the Legislature that have been less than glorious, the governor has escaped blame —- and remains the most popular political figure in the state.

On the other hand, Cagle felt, for the first time as lieutenant governor, the sting of criticism when the Legislature collapsed in a heap over transportation, tax cuts and creation of a statewide trauma network.

If it takes a bicycle to put some distance between himself and squabbling at the Capitol, a tight pair of pants may be worth the risk.

jgalloway@ajc.com