Ride Captain Ride

My Dad asked, "Boys, are you ready for our next conquest?" Rolling our eyes, Terry and I looked at each other like "Oh no, what's Dad into now?"

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The spring of 1974 saw the Mother of all bike rides when Dad planned a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles. You'd think it was all downhill going North to South, but I can assure you it wasn't. In a grueling six day trek with my brother, Dad and Uncle, we journeyed through fog, rain, heat and freeze to accomplish the heady goal set before us. The highlight of our trip was the third day when we surpassed the elusive "Century". At that time a hundred miles in one day was a lofty ideal set aside for only the most serious of cyclists.

The first two days of the trip were somewhat uneventful if you don't count Terry's traffic stopping flip over the handle bars when he slammed on his front brakes. When I saw that he was alright, I teased him about getting style points from the judges for a beautifully executed "Sukahara" in the pike position dive. Dad chimed in, "Just do it over a pool next time."

The 100 mile segment started in Monterey and would end in Cambria, just outside of San Simeon and the Hearst Castle. Early that morning heading into Big Sur, my hands began to freeze around the handle bars. It was the first time I remember my fingers turning a shade of purple, while my eyes were peeled on Uncle Dan's back tire, cutting through the "tule" fog.

Just as we left Big Sur, the sun started to dry out our fog misted attire and I thought the worst was behind us until we faced the Santa Lucia Mountain Range along the coast. You know the grade is steep when you have to leave your bike seat and stand on the pedal in the lowest gear you have, to travel at a speed slower than walking. This went on for hours until we finally came down into the flat coastal lowlands outside of San Simeon.

Terry and I knew this leg of the trip was longer than most but I think our Dad purposely didn't tell us that we were going for a hundred miles that day. Psychologically, probably a good call. Dad said, "Hey guys, if we just go a few more miles, we will have ridden a century. What do you say we gor for it?" I knew we were staying in San Simeon and you can imagine my momentary disappointment when we were asked to go another 15 miles past my hot shower and cold drink to Cambria.

Although it would be years before I would join my Dad again in his passion for fitness, I'm glad he pushed us beyond what we thought we were capable of doing. It was a valuable lesson of exceeding the self imposed limits we place on ourselves and it taught me to stick to a goal and see it out to the end. Later that night in the hotel room relaxing with my cold drink, watching the Dodgers and Braves, I felt a bond of accomplishment with Hank Aaron as he touched all four in surpassing Babe Ruth in career home runs.

Dad was the first Humanist I ever loved.

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The captain of his own ship, Dad always seemed to be searching for some truth the American mainstream somehow overlooked. Have you ever known someone who enjoyed finding a new artist, song or a good book before it became popular? They pride themselves on introducing you to a new concept or thing, versus you bringing it to them. After years of various New Age authors, Krishnamurti and other eastern philosophers frequenting his bookshelves, I've often wondered if he had been born in India with his personality, would he end up becoming a Christian just to be different.

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"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field." Matthew 13:44

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Now in his seventies, Dad is more open to discussing faith and belief in God. My prayers have been and always will be that he buys that field with the treasure of the Gospel buried in it.

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It just needs to be his idea and not mine.