I am not really expecting anyone to read this, I am doing it more for myself. It’s pretty rough. I don’t plan on editing or rereading, just letting my thoughts and emotions flow. I have wanted to write about my dad for a while now, but haven’t been able to fully take on the emotion of doing it. What a better time to remember him than on his birthday. People have frequently asked me, “And you still ride your bike?” after hearing about my dad’s accident. It’s hard to describe to someone how much closer I feel to my dad when I am on my bike. This is my attempt to share some of those feelings about something we both shared together – the bike.
I would have never dreamed that when I was younger that I would someday grow up to be passionate and competitive about riding a bike. I still remember some of those early days on the bike. My dad started riding bikes when my Uncle Daren moved back from Ohio. With his return to Utah came a new passion for cycling. My dad was never one to be outdone, particularly by his younger brother, so he bought his first road bike. It was a pink Schwinn. It was no wonder my first thought of the sport was that it was pretty girly – spandex! Pink bike! I remember taking it out of the garage and using the curb to get my leg over the bar. I had to stretch on tip toes to reach the pedals. On every down stroke my bottom would collide with the top tube. It was exhilarating to look down at the computer and see I could reach speeds of 14 or 15 miles per hour.
Things changed as I got older though, other sports started to take precedence. Somehow while I was in high school, my dad talked me into going on a 50 mile bike ride to Brigham City. Twenty-five miles there and 25 miles back. I’m pretty sure the conversation went something like this:
Doug: Don’t be a wuss!
Me: I’m not a wuss.
Doug: You’re going to let your old man beat you on a bike? Aren’t you some big, bad football player?
Me: Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not wearing spandex.
And I didn’t. I got out on the tandem with my basketball shorts on. I was too cool for that tight stuff.
Luckily, Adam was on the front to help pull me along. Riding out to Brigham on the old highway I thought to myself, “this isn’t too bad!” We were flying down the road at around 28 miles per hour. It was a beautiful fall day and I was really enjoying myself. Then we hit the 25 mile turn around spot. I quickly realized as the wind hit me straight in the face why we were going so fast – tailwind, which was now, a headwind. We limped back into Ogden going 12 miles per hour, using all of my strength to hold on. Adam pretty much dragged my butt home. I was complaining and swearing never to ride a bike again. Doug would look over at me, smile with that gleam in his eye and give me his profound advice, “You have to earn it, Bub! Enjoy the suffering.” Enjoy the suffering? Are you crazy.
Needless to say I didn’t get what he was talking about. And it took me a few years before I ever got back onto another road bike again.
My ideas about cycling started to change when I discovered a love for the mountains and hiking. Doug and I would frequently walk/jog up over Indian Trail. It was amazing to look out over the Ogden valley and have that time with my dad. Just he and I talking about life and finding our own pathway through it. This was a difficult time for me and I found peace being up in the mountains. During this time Doug convinced me to try riding again, but on a mountain bike. Heck, you could wear baggy shorts! I cherish that time we had to be up in the mountains together. Doug always had a way of listening and giving advice, without being authoritative or condescending. He would simply tell you a story or get you to come up with the answer on your own. Also, it was the quietness that surrounded you as you could think take in the beauty around you. I miss those times.
It wasn’t an easy decision to move away from home, and it wasn’t easy telling my dad. He and I were always close and he took it as a surprise to hear we were moving to Eugene, Oregon. We had been there before for track meets and fell in love with the area. Doug liked the idea of frequently visiting Track Town USA. Shortly after moving to Eugene my mountain bike was stolen. On the first night I put it outside. I even used two locks. I went without a bike that first summer but found I really missed being on the bike. I talked my dad into letting me have his old Specialized Allez because he hadn’t been riding for a while due to shoulder pain when he rode. It was a new world to be out on the road. I quickly got to know the back roads of Eugene and found myself excited to discover the new beauty in an unknown area.
My weekly calls to my dad describing my rides got him excited again about the possibility of riding, so he got himself a bike. But the pain didn’t go away. Fortunately for me that meant he had a bike to sell. I bought my first real road bike from my dad. It was the Specialized Tarmac, fit with zebra print to match the flamboyant style of Mario Cipollini. It didn’t take many phone conversations for my dad to realize I had fallen in love with cycling and that he wanted to have that connection again. Naturally, he got another bike. Once Doug had something on his mind, it was good as done. He was a pretty stubborn man at times. Very driven.
I miss the phone calls with my dad. Hearing every exaggerated detail of a race. Telling me how he was training specifically for cross. How he was trying a new diet. Mostly I listened. Listened to a man I love share a passion that brought us together. Good old honest Lance was right, it isn’t about the bike, it was about a connection between me and my dad. When I would ride alone I would push myself up that hill because I knew in the back of my mind Doug was there saying, “Quit slacking and go harder.” He drove me to push myself. This drive lead me to push myself outside of cycling as well. It was on the bike that I felt a closeness to him. It was my time to listen to him. Listen to myself. Listen to everything around me. Even though we were miles apart, I still felt that closeness to him when I rode.
Through the years I looked forward to my dad visiting so that I could show him how much better it was to ride in Eugene and how he was missing out living in Utah. For months I would tell him about a ride we had to do when he came to visit. Our favorite was Wolf Creek. It is an old logging road that winds around the outskirts of town through a densely populated pine forest. It’s beautiful to say the least. He loved it. Every visit we had to do that ride together. Doug couldn’t do a casual ride. It was always an all-out race! I would push him until I made him crack up a hill. When he would get to the top I’d say some smartalic comment, “You’re getting too old for this pop!” To which he would reply, “Nice ride, Bub. But if I was your age I would have finished two minutes ahead of you.” He took pride in knowing that I could whoop him. He was so competitive and hated to lose, but I knew deep down he was proud of me.
I don’t remember much about the day or phone call I received telling me my dad was in an accident. I do remember thinking that my dad was a fighter and everything would turn out ok. Unfortunately, his race was done. I am grateful I was able to spend some time with him before he passed on. While he was lying in his hospital bed I would talk and talk. It was different. Usually I was the one listening. I still remember how his face lit up when I talked about our riding adventures. Doug fought a hard fight, but his time to hang up his bike had come.
So why do I continue to ride my bike? Because my bike is my dad and represents the time I had with him. I can’t give that up. It would be like giving up on my dad. I feel a closeness to him. And he is, forever drafting behind me as I continue on with the race. You are missed old man! But you carry on in me. Happy birthday pop!
Lotoja is today. Lotoja is a bitter sweet word for me now. I have many fond years of riding with my dad and family on the 204 mile trek. I always looked forward to the challenge and training of the ride. Doug always impressed me with how strong of a rider he was. He was an inspiration to me and many. Doing the race for so many years, bumps in the road were bound to happen: broken bikes, bonking, injuries, and sickness. No one would have expected what happened last year, it had never happened in the 30+ years of Lotoja. I don't want to dwell on that experience today, it was a very painful time for me. There is one memory of Lotoja that stands out to me and showed my dad's pure grit and determination.
We had just started our White Rim ride. It was 13 miles on the dirt rode to get to the paved rode to get to our drop in trail. We were waiting for some friends of Daren and Tanner. Everyone is happy and excited for the day.
Daren at the top of Ledger switch back taking us into the pit of no return.
About 80 miles in I got the squirts so bad every mile I'm having to stop and do some business. If I drank anything I immediately got the cramping and would have to go again. I just was so dehydrated I couldn't go on. Adam Tanner and Daren went ahead with the idea to drive down and get me. I layed in the dirt for 45 minutes and finally I was able to force one of Adams Cokes down and I started to ride again. I was thinking they were all doing great and would soon be back for me, but as I rode on I couldn't see how a vehicle could even get here. I kept on and start to feel some better and my computer was showing 99 miles, but it looked like there was no way out. I was alone and thinking did I make a wrong turn. Then I saw Adam up the road walking with his bike. I got up to him and I thought he was a dead man walking. They had all been having as bad a physical problems as me, and Adam had run out of water 10 miles ago and was heaving up often. Daren and Tanner had left Adam to continue but they were hurting as well. We continued up the road and could see a fork and then could see the switch backs out. This is Adam and I at the bottom thinking we are going to die, or wishing we could. I'm pooing and Adams throwing up, we were a great pair. There is no way we are getting up the switch backs, so we are just going to wait for Daren. Just then a vehicle comes up the fork heading up so I waved them down and they gave me a ride to the top. When I walked to our cars, Daren and Tanner were laying on the dirt like they had died. They had just gotten to the top and didn't know how they were going to be able to come get us. They had had a rough time as well stopping every mile or so and trying to recover enough to go on. The last few miles had soft sand that you just couldn't ride through. It was so hot and windy and hard to get through we all about gave up, but we had no options, so on we all went.
Flat surfaces weren't to bad, and this smile had left by the time I finished. The curved parts of the frame were just plain hard to do.
Once I got it all sanded then I masked all the openings and end pieces.
Then I started with the fork to practice. I got the paint from a custom auto body shop and some pointers as well. This is the masking and layering technique to get the design I wanted. I didn't want to just have one color, which would have been alot easier.
I decided it was time to get organized in my bike shop. I built this unit and it really has been nicer to work in. Rode outside today and it was nice. Winter is slowly moving on. Ride Safe.
Happy birthday Brady! 33 years old, husband, father, educator, life's good. You make a father proud. Ride safe. Doug