In Constant Flux

Remember that life-changing experience I told you about?  Remember?  This one?  Well, I can't say the entire experience has completely ended, but enough has happened that I feel I can adequately tell the story.

So, without putting it off any further, I present it to you now.

Right after I go get a sandwich or something.  Hold on.

Okay.  Here we go.

About two months ago, or so, it was Thursday.  Thursday is an important day.  It's the day where I rearrange everything going on that day so I can hang out with my family.  (Let me translate:  hang out with family = free lunch)  So you see, Thursday is a very important day.

We all meet at Grandma's place.  She only lives a mile or so from where we live.  I had planned on just riding my bike over there.  I can get there in about 4 minutes on my bike.  I timed it once.  Anyways, I pulled my bike out and learned that I had a flat tire (I'll have you know it was the first flat tire I had had in nearly 600 miles).  I had ridden with Whitey on Saturday and apparently there were some goat-heads on the path we took.  And of course, I had no spare.  So, I jumped in the Honda Pilot and headed to Grandma's.  The car choice will be important later in the story.  Be patient.

Let me tell you something about "cyclists."  We all like to look at other "cyclist's" gear.  I don't think it is out of envy or that we want to think our stuff is better, we just like to see what everyone else uses.  At least that is what I do.  So, on my way to Grandma's, I see a guy on a bike way ahead of me.  I didn't speed or anything, but at a red light, I caught up to him.

He was riding a Scott bike.  Black and yellow.  Very nice.  

But something seemed wrong.  He unclipped both feet from the pedals and his body was shaking violently.  He clumsily walked his bike to the sidewalk.  I was concerned.  I turned on my emergency flashers and got out to see if he was okay.  All he could tell me was "cold."  I asked him if I could give him a ride.  He said no and held up two fingers.  I asked if that meant he was only two blocks from home, and he nodded.  Up to this point, I just assumed he didn't speak much English.

The light turned green and he took off.  I was still worried, so I decided I would follow him to make sure he made it home safe.  It might seem a bit creepy, but I've been in situations like this before and it would have made me feel better.  He made it a couple of blocks and he stopped again.  He was still trembling.  I pulled up behind him and when he saw me, he just shrugged.  I got out and grabbed his bike and loaded it into the back of the Pilot.  (This is the part in the story where the car choice is important)

While I was grabbing his bike, one of these beauties rode by.  I'm not sure if this counts as "gear" that I could check out as a "cyclist", but I did anyways.

And yes, it had all-terrain tires.

He climbed in and I turned on the heater.

Then he told me the life-changing part.  The part that made me realize how truly pathetic I am.  The part that will cause introspection for the rest of my life.

He said "stroke."  He was a stroke survivor.  He was cold for two reasons.  First is that the entire right side of his body was essentially paralyzed and had a hard time regulating temperature.  Second is because he had just ridden up and down Emigration Canyon.


A little math:  paralyzed right side=one good leg for pedaling.  Ergo, he rode up Emigration Canyon with one leg.  I am still amazed.  And I feel completely and utterly weak.

He gave me directions to his house.  I unloaded his bike, met his two dogs Fred and Rex and went on my way.  On the way back to Grandma's, I realized I never even asked his name.

So, I stalked him.  Just a little.  I wrote him a note with my email and phone number to make sure he was okay and to introduce myself.  I left in on his door and hoped I would hear from him.

The next morning I had an email from his wife.  We'll say her name is Becky.  She said thank you and suggested her husband, we'll call him Dave, and I go ride together sometime.

So, the planning craziness began.  At that time, the only time I really had available was Wednesday mornings.  He usually had that time free as well, so it shouldn't have been a problem.  But then spring in Utah hit.  Weekends were nice, Wednesdays were always cold and wet.  For weeks on end.

Finally, yesterday, May 5th, we made it happen.  We rode about 20 miles from his house to the mouth of Big Cottonwood Canyon and back.  It was fun.  I learned a little bit more about him and his story.  He used to race downhill mountain bikes.  Yeah, the crazy ones.  He used to win, too.  He showed me his medals.

Then, 4 years ago, he had a stroke.  For several days, the doctors were certain he would die.  He didn't.  Now he rides a road bike.  No small feat after such a thing.

And how was the ride?  I'll put it quite simply:

He whooped my butt.  With one leg.  I need to train.  A lot.

His bike has been rigged so he can use it.  All of the shifters are on the left side.  He has no rear brake because his right hand can't squeeze.  He attaches his right hand to the bike with velcro to keep it slipping off the handlebars.

I will forever be thankful to him.  He has truly opened my eyes and allowed me to see the human potential.  He is much stronger than I think I will ever be, but it gives me something to strive towards.  I hope we ride again soon.

He is certainly a hero to many who know him, including me.