The Bike

It was an early spring Sunday of 2011 and I was getting on an airplane in Palm Springs, CA returning from a weekend with my wife, nice dinners, a smooth jazz concert at La Quinta Resort, drinks, shopping and more....and that morning I received a voice mail and the caller said, "this is the Calaveras County Sheriff's office...please call us back...it is about your mother." Calling them back, my mother had wandered off in the snow with her dog, Rocky, and got lost in her neighborhood. She lived in the Sierra foothills of California and it snows. She was a good distance away from home, her dementia was starting to root itself more prominently, and a scene unfurled between her and her husband and these poor people that my mom door knocked for help. God bless that young family because they came to her aid when she needed it most. That day, and not 30 minutes after I landed in Sacramento, my mother came into my custody by Adult Protective Services in a Costco parking lot. You would have thought we were trafficking this poor woman. She looked like she'd been living under a bridge.  Seething doesn't really begin to describe my emotion. When it comes to a man, there is only one woman in his life. And that's his mother. It doesn't mean I am not crazy about my wife and my daughters (because I am drop dead in love with them)...there is only one woman at the top. I said to my mom that day as she was scared and could not speak, "no one is going to get between me and you ever again. No one." And no one ever did.  If we back up another year, there was a family meeting with her doctor when her dementia was diagnosed, and her doctor hit the nail on the head. He said that it would progress fast, probably within a year before she would need extra care, and sure as the sun rises every day, it progressed. By the time she came to me, she could not speak audible words, other than "I love you." I swear to God. Such a God thing. "I love you" was clear as a bell...everything else was jibberish. And it was jibberish for two years until the wee hours of 2012 and the phone rang and I said to my wife, "this is THE call." And she had passed away. I was by her side with my beloved Aunt B, my mother's only sibling, and older sister, within 10 minutes and I kissed her cold forehead, told her I loved her, and would see her again one day. My Aunt and I walked over to the Circle K on the corner of Riley and Natoma and bought two giant coffees and stood in the cold, dark parking lot at 3:00AM like we were in a misty, dank Tarrantino movie, and I said "I can't believe she just died." My mom was 72. She was a baby to get the card she was given. I will NEVER forget when she was diagnosed in that family meeting and she said, "I know what I have and I will take it head on." And man did she ever take it head on like a bull. Never ever complained. Not even a fraction of a complaint the entire time.

You can imagine what this two years did to me. I, and my wife, and my brother, poured ourselves into caring for mom. It was taxing. It took an enormous toll on me physically and emotionally. I ballooned up to 230+ pounds, wasn't athletic, eating poorly, drinking too much, stressed to the max and more. I have a friend who I was doing some business with at the time in Granite Bay, a successful guy and he was a bike rider. I remember I would sit in his nice home office and I would think, "How do I dress and work and be successful like Don?" Nice house, nice car, wife, kids, business, etc. It was all clicking. I was super stressed and overwhelmed and running wasn't doing it for me. I said to Don in a meeting "I want to buy a road bike." He said, "Call Dan, he will take care of you." Dan (Dan Tebbs and his wife Dawn) owns Victory Velo Bike Shop in Auburn, CA. The best bike shop on the planet. I bought a Cervelo R3 off of the rack and started riding it. What has transpired over the last 10 years is a love of a sport and athletic pursuit I never even knew existed within me. It has changed my life and my relationships for the better 10-fold. In its purest sense, it rescued me from the loss of my mother and the pain and anguish over those two years. It transformed me into the person, in many ways, I am today. It certainly added many positive layers, created stimulating challenges and pursuits, introduced me to wonderful people on and off the bike, and so much more. The best part is EVERY time I am on the bike, I think of mom. EVERY TIME. She was a strong, quiet soul. She was a talented violinist. She took no bull from anyone. Over the last 10 years, Dan has taken care of me...and sold me a few nice bikes. Worth every red cent. I say to him these days with a smile, "This is all your fault." The best investment.

My message here is simply you never know what's right around the corner for you. I am the most accidental athlete on the planet. Two years ago I was in the hospital after suffering a stroke and then underwent open heart surgery to remove a tumor from my heart. The tumor gave me the stroke. A brain scan revealed that this larger stroke was actually my third.  The other two I did not even know occurred. Grateful to have experienced the last 24 months. The added bonus with fitness is it is a savings account when you get injured or land yourself in the hospital. The bounce-back factor is immense. Crazy fast, and strong, actually. The bike is a meaningful symbol for me. It has a story to becoming, beyond all of the stories I've written on them with friends and riders all over the place and our touring and racing adventures. I've ridden more than 30,000 miles on my bikes. The bike is my athletic true north. It is the place I home back to. It goes in waves these days but it is always there. I plan to ride more this month into the new year. I love you mom. I know you love this too for me AND you. I know you love that I found it, and that I enjoy it as much as I do. I will never ever ever forget you. Love you to the moon and back. Ride on!

- Paul