"He Stride the Earth Like a Mighty Colossus..."

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When I was a young boy, my father, the person I looked up to the most in the world, told me, "If you're gonna do something, do it right, or don't do it at all." And at eight years old, I had no idea that would become my fate; a self-imposed code I would struggle to live by, well beyond his watchful eyes.

Under my father's high school yearbook picture, it said, "He stride the earth like a mighty colossus." I looked at it frequently, in awe, believing every word.

It first occurred during the winter months, when I prepared for the upcoming football season by lifting weights. I began challenging myself to lift more during each consecutive workout and never settling. He said hard work would make me a better football player, and at that point in my life, that's all I wanted to be. 

He stood on the sidelines at games, watching every play. And on the ride home, even after leading the team in tackles, scoring touchdowns, and winning, he criticized even the smallest of mistakes I made, never allowing me to celebrate and enjoy the win, fearful I'd become complacent. 

Later in my adult life as a plumber, a career choice that disappointed him, I always installed my piping systems level, plumb, and uniformly pitched, hangers spaced to code, piping hung with the lettering on PVC drainage piping facing the same direction throughout the system. I kept trying to do everything right, like he taught me…

Even now, at age 69, I ride my bicycle solo on local roads as if I'm trying to win the Tour de France, taking unnecessary risks through dangerous intersections, just for the chance of setting a personal best. I'm only content when my efforts reach my preset goals. Anything short of that is failure in my eyes, just as it would be in his.

Over the years, during my adult life, my father and I frequently stopped talking for long periods of time. At the time of his death, it had been nine years since we last spoke. I can't remember him ever saying he was proud of me or that he loved me. It's that disappointment that shaped my life and caused me discontent, frustration, and ultimately, great sadness…

I know I should be the ultimate judge of my own accomplishments, but having been groomed by my father to be better than everyone else, I've never been easy on myself. And I've never heaped praise on myself even when I should have, because he never did. 

Even after his passing, he's always with me, watching and judging my efforts, and ultimately, my performance.

I've resigned to the fact that I will never reach personal fulfillment, or as my Professor at Bridgewater State College described it back in 1976, Self-Actualization. Dr. Huber frequently boasted of his own Self-Actualization to the point of being annoying. When he falsely flunked my term paper, even after admitting his mistake, one that he couldn't correct, and one that put me on academic probation, he maintained his self-actualized status. His mistake, despite its impact on my future, did little to alter his high opinion of himself, his self-esteem.

What's so difficult for me to comprehend is that many people whose successes pale in comparison to mine are happier and more content with their efforts than me. Makes me wonder if we aren't better off lowering the bar and setting easier, more attainable goals…

I never understood why I remained locked into my Father's unreasonable expectations so many years later, but I am, and there's little chance of stopping now. Trying to please him became a lifetime commitment, even when he wasn't around, even after he passed away.

When Burt Reynolds passed away in 2018, I recalled an interview back in the late 70s-early 80s, maybe on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, where he was a frequent guest host, in which he cited an old southern saying: "You're a man when your father says you are…" I can't imagine a more horrible fate than waiting for your father's approval to become a man, which, in my case, never came.

It was during the spring of 2018, after I logged some training miles on the Schwinn, that I switched bikes and pumped up the Vittoria Zaffiro Pro tires to 145 psi, hoping the maximum pressure would provide me with a slight speed advantage, albeit a less comfortable ride, a compromise I was more than willing to make. The chain was clean and lubed, another advantage I never overlook. The bike I'm getting ready to ride is a new-to-me 2004 Trek 5500 that was reconditioned by a bicycle mechanic in Studio City, California, and auctioned on eBay. I purchased it on Thanksgiving Day in 2017 for $649 shipped, while at my niece's house, on my cell phone, in between dinner and dessert, and without anyone else's knowledge. I had looked at hundreds of used bikes, growing tired of riding the same old bicycles for 21 years. Not that my bikes weren't good, but it was time to upgrade my ride and renew my commitment to speed and the sport of competitive cycling.

For me, this bike checked all the boxes. It's a lightweight, sub-18-pound bike (54cm) with a race-proven OCLV carbon fiber frame. The same frame Lance Armstrong rode before the doping scandal got him banned and stripped of the seven yellow jerseys he won consecutively from 1999 to 2005 in the Tour de France. 

This particular bike had been upgraded with an aero carbon fork, modern Shimano wheels, and 10 speeds in the back. With a drivetrain mix of Shimano Dura Ace and 105, and Campagnolo brakes, its components weren't lacking. I knew a personal best was looming…

This bike wasn't selling only because it had the now-outdated and unpopular downtube shifters, the bicycle equivalent of a standard shift car. Most young cyclists were no longer interested in that type of shifter. STI shifting, which combines braking and shifting into a single bar-mounted lever, had already become standard equipment on most new road and gravel bicycles. So, I may have been the only one interested in this bike.

I still enjoy standard-shift cars. And down-tube shifters, though challenging, never bothered me, and they never slowed me down either.

I proceeded with my pre-ride checks, including the brakes, which I never intend to use. There's an old cycling adage, "You brake, you lose," and I had every intention of shattering my personal best on this ride. Even indecisive squirrels who had a death wish and were on a collision course with my front wheel wouldn't get a pass. I was on a mission, move it or lose it… 

Susan was non-competitive, and she always tried to take the self-imposed pressure off me by suggesting I forget about setting a personal best and just enjoy the ride. But I always responded, "Unfortunately, for me, that's not an option…"

I reset my bar-mounted cycling computer to zero, pressed start, and headed out on a 21-mile time trial, determined to set a personal best on my new carbon fiber bike…

To be continued…