For a while, you were really obsessed with long distance biking. A year or two into your obsession, you switched over from a regular stand up bicycle to a recumbent. A recumbent bike basically looks like a small spaceship, and people who ride them usually look just a little bit crazy.
Add to this weird looking vehicle a tall orange flag, the same array of mirrors, flashing lights, and reflectors you always wanted me to use on my bike, and a middle-aged attorney dressed only in patterned neon bike clothes and, well, you sort of looked a little bit crazy too.
Sometimes you would come in from a bike ride in a mis-matched neon outfit so terrible we'd have to avert our eyes. You really took safety and visibility to a new level. Mom was horrified at the colors you chose, but you didn't care. You always had a massive grin on your face when you were on that bike, you absolutely loved it.
You used to do these riding trips up in Vermont, spending a few days with a group of strangers. You'd come home and talk about how nice everyone had been, tell us in detail about who everyone was and where they came from. And thinking about it now I am laughing, because I bet the very first time they saw you and your recumbent bicycle / spaceship, their initial thoughts were "okay, here's the crazy guy, there has to be one in every group." But of course, once they got past the bike no one could have disliked you (or thought you crazy).
You'd ride around town on your spaceship alien device, and occasionally a friend would say to me "I think I saw your... Dad? On some sort of weird... bicycle?" said skeptically, in a he-always-seemed-so-normal tone. Yup, that sounds about right. "What is that thing??" they would then ask.
Years later, when I got into biking, I could always count on you to listen to the details of my long rides. When I was training for my first century, I used to text you my distances and times after I'd finished a long ride, and you always told me I was doing great (despite the fact that I traveled at about half the speed you used to ride).
One time, I decided I needed to learn how to flat tires myself rather than relying on the kindness of strangers. I plopped my bike down on my living room floor, put the phone on speaker, and called you. Talk me through this, I begged. And, you did. It took somewhere between 2 and 55 times longer than it should have, but I changed that damn tire by the end of it, thanks to your infinite patience and excellent instructions.
You've told me several times about your favorite ride - a ride down in Maryland called the Seagull Century. One time you when you did the Seagull, you got caught up with a group of really fast riders, and you drafted behind them to keep up with their speed. Skipping all of the rest stops to stay with them, you couldn't believe how fast you were moving. You finished that ride in record time. Pretty cool, you said. (You always described things you liked as "pretty cool").
The other things you always noted about the Seagull were: the amount of time you had to book in advance to get a hotel nearby, the ocean breeze and the smell of the salty sea air, and lastly the group of sorority girls who got together to cheer for riders at mile 80. Ocean breezes are nice, but I'm pretty sure the sorority girl cheering section was the reason this was your favorite ride.
Seth, Jarret, and I are finally going to do the Seagull Century this year. Don't worry, I know, we'll book the hotel well in advance. I'm sure I'll think of you through all one hundred miles -- slow speed, flat tires and all.
Thanks for the inspiration, Dad.
a
Add to this weird looking vehicle a tall orange flag, the same array of mirrors, flashing lights, and reflectors you always wanted me to use on my bike, and a middle-aged attorney dressed only in patterned neon bike clothes and, well, you sort of looked a little bit crazy too.
Sometimes you would come in from a bike ride in a mis-matched neon outfit so terrible we'd have to avert our eyes. You really took safety and visibility to a new level. Mom was horrified at the colors you chose, but you didn't care. You always had a massive grin on your face when you were on that bike, you absolutely loved it.
You used to do these riding trips up in Vermont, spending a few days with a group of strangers. You'd come home and talk about how nice everyone had been, tell us in detail about who everyone was and where they came from. And thinking about it now I am laughing, because I bet the very first time they saw you and your recumbent bicycle / spaceship, their initial thoughts were "okay, here's the crazy guy, there has to be one in every group." But of course, once they got past the bike no one could have disliked you (or thought you crazy).
You'd ride around town on your spaceship alien device, and occasionally a friend would say to me "I think I saw your... Dad? On some sort of weird... bicycle?" said skeptically, in a he-always-seemed-so-normal tone. Yup, that sounds about right. "What is that thing??" they would then ask.
Years later, when I got into biking, I could always count on you to listen to the details of my long rides. When I was training for my first century, I used to text you my distances and times after I'd finished a long ride, and you always told me I was doing great (despite the fact that I traveled at about half the speed you used to ride).
One time, I decided I needed to learn how to flat tires myself rather than relying on the kindness of strangers. I plopped my bike down on my living room floor, put the phone on speaker, and called you. Talk me through this, I begged. And, you did. It took somewhere between 2 and 55 times longer than it should have, but I changed that damn tire by the end of it, thanks to your infinite patience and excellent instructions.
You've told me several times about your favorite ride - a ride down in Maryland called the Seagull Century. One time you when you did the Seagull, you got caught up with a group of really fast riders, and you drafted behind them to keep up with their speed. Skipping all of the rest stops to stay with them, you couldn't believe how fast you were moving. You finished that ride in record time. Pretty cool, you said. (You always described things you liked as "pretty cool").
The other things you always noted about the Seagull were: the amount of time you had to book in advance to get a hotel nearby, the ocean breeze and the smell of the salty sea air, and lastly the group of sorority girls who got together to cheer for riders at mile 80. Ocean breezes are nice, but I'm pretty sure the sorority girl cheering section was the reason this was your favorite ride.
Seth, Jarret, and I are finally going to do the Seagull Century this year. Don't worry, I know, we'll book the hotel well in advance. I'm sure I'll think of you through all one hundred miles -- slow speed, flat tires and all.
Thanks for the inspiration, Dad.
a
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