To the Man Who Gave Me Everything

I remember the conversation vividly. We were talking over dinner about the prospect of a grueling pedal day. In response to my teenage carping about how hard it would be, my dad told me, “You may not believe me now, but someday you will appreciate the suffering.”

As a teenager who knew everything, the idea was ludicrous. Why would I ever want to prolong the least enjoyable part of riding? Little did I know that he would be proven infuriatingly right in the long run, but like convincing anyone of anything, it took a little bit of time.

My dad was integral in getting me into riding bikes. My obsession started at a young age. Dad and I would watch Lance in the Tour de France and then head outside where he found the patience to watch me pedal around for hours pretending to be Robbie McEwen.

As the years went by, Dad continued tactically investing in a mountain biking son. He slowly introduced me to his grueling singletrack trails that were rough enough to somehow make a mile feel like five, all while putting with my youthful complaints.

My mountain biking obsession was a slow build. Though I always liked to ride, it took a back seat to school and other sports through my teenage years. It wasn't until the summer after my first year of college that our riding relationship truly flourished. Invigorated after joining my school’s bike racing team, I came home and began to ride every day. Suddenly, we were riding together frequently, even though we disagreed on the best trails, bar ends on modern bikes, two-way trails, how to build a corner, the morality of illegal trails, and so so much more. I even put on spandex and go on road rides with him, a true betrayal to my younger self.

I began to appreciate riding more. The rough singletrack off-camber climbs became an enjoyable challenge. I found myself wanting to go on longer pedal days. My dad’s long-term play worked out and he found himself a riding partner.

I am lucky to have a great relationship with my father. Even though we live across the country from one another, bikes still bring us together in a special way.

We connect in many ways, but nothing means more to me than when we shoot the breeze about bikes or trail projects or Chris Blevins on the phone. Our ambling bike talk goes on for so long that my mom has learned to leave the room when the conversation steers that way, which given how few other interests I have, happens quickly. When he comes to visit, we forgo the activities normal people do with their parents and ride our bikes every day.

Mountain biking has been the most important driver in my life. It is how I met most of my friends and it is the axis around which I plan my life’s biggest decisions. When I look back and how I got to where I am today, the credit can go to one person.

Dad bought me my first couple of bikes. Dad instilled the values of hard work and grit on the bike. Dad inspired me to go to his alma mater where I met so many lifelong riding friends. He supported me in my dirtbag journey to move west to ride bikes and he inspired me to build trails.

On one of his recent visits, my friends and I had the bright idea to drag him up a mountain in the middle of an atmospheric river to show off our trail project we were finishing up. As we walked our trail, the rain came down harder and harder, soaking through our rain gear. My buddies and I argued about line choice for so long that Dad had to ride down the fire road instead of our planned route. When I apologized for making him come out for nothing besides a hypothermia scare, he told me something that stuck with me to this day.

My dad said that seeing me in my element with my friends on our trail made everything worth it. Getting to sit in on my escapades and seeing the life I have built with my friends meant more to him than any ride in the world. Coming from someone who inspired me to get on my bike and follow my dreams, that comment meant everything.

I feel incredibly blessed to have a dad who is proud of me for building a life before a career. He wants to see me happy more than anything, and for that I will be forever grateful. Though I don’t have a nest egg to buy him an S-Works this year, I hope being his lifelong riding buddy will be a good consolation prize for him.

Geography will prevent me from riding with my dad this Father’s Day, but he is in my mind whenever I swing a leg over my bike. To all the fathers and children out there who share a special bond over their love of mountain bikes, keep them in mind when you head out on a ride. The memories you create riding together will last a lifetime.