Riding a bike, however, was something very different for him. He was into cycling like a fish is into swimming. It was just simply something he did, no clubs, no newspaper articles, and no matter what. I remember him riding his bike to and from work (6 mile round-trip) year round, in Colorado! He has owned countless bikes over his multiple decades of riding.
I would get his old bikes after he rode them into the ground. I would then disassemble, paint , and rebuild them to make my own road bike. However, since moving to Washington 20 years ago I no longer got his old bikes.
Well, a few days ago I received the last bike he ever rode, a Specialized Allez Elite.
Technically not the last bike he owned. A few years back he retired the SAE and dropped some serious cash on an all carbon-fiber bike, which he rode despite being almost completely blind from macular degeneration and his body riddled with cancer. How he managed that, I'm still not sure. There came a time when even his strong-will could not keep him balanced on the bike. He reluctantly traded it in on a three-wheeled recumbent, which he rode nearly to his last day.
This bike, the SAE, now standing proudly in my garage, represents the return to the old system: he rides, gives to me, and I rebuild into something of my own. That's what he wanted, that's why he gave it to me. The problem is that my sentimentality (which I have very little of) has bubbled to the surface, much to my surprise. I am contemplating the notion of hanging it in my garage next to my coffee roasting station and above two other cycling tokens that he left me: his ever-worn red Specialized cap and his Scottish Royal Coat of Arms inspired cycling jersey.
I wore the jersey for five rides (for his five sons) and then retired it forever. I can't bring myself to wear the hat, not sure why. But now that I have his bike I'm not sure I can ride it either; let alone dismantle, repaint and rebuild.
For now I think I will let it rest, peacefully.
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