Lucky is the cyclist who has a parent cyclist. Early mentoring about the pain cave, guidance gluing on tires, these are worthwhile lessons a parent could lecture a child on. If one has to listen to a parental lecture, better it be about Eddy Merckx and how you are no Eddy Merckx than balancing your checking account. For the rest of us, our parents maybe helped in the purchase of our first bike to get us out of the house, then we were on our own N+1 quest, making our mistakes as we went along. @davidbeers is lucky, his father is a cyclist.
Yours in Cycling, Gianni
The first one was on Christmas Day, 1960. I got on the bike in the driveway and he gave me a push, no training wheels. I just rode down the street, until it was time to turn around. Since I couldn’t turn, I fell off. After that I never fell off until I was 13.
My Dad had a really cool racing bike called a Lentin Clubman. It had dropped bars with no bar tape, and he rode it with the leather saddle perched way up, on account of his long legs. One day I tried to ride it, without asking. I was flying down Old Chester Road before I realized that my hands were too small to reach the brake levers. My Dad appeared out of nowhere to stop me at the crest of the big hill. Smashed right into his chest; It must have hurt but he didn’t let on.
I had a 3-speed English bike called a Dunelt. It was a Raleigh knock-off with upright bars. I wanted a racing bike, a 10-speed. My Dad helped me get a real compromise: dropped bars and a derailleur kit to make it into a 9-speed. I put a lot of miles on that bike. The second time I fell off a bike was on the Dunelt, when I ran into a parked car. My thighs smacked the trunk so hard I couldn’t walk for a week.
My Dad taught me to tie a bow tie without a mirror. He used to ride his Clubman to work in downtown Washington; he had a rack on the back and he would lash his briefcase to it. On our way to the bus stop, we would see him cruise by, bow tie undone and flapping. I asked him once, if he tied it at the office. No, he explained with great amusement, the goal is this: First, to ride into the tunnel under Scott Circle, no hands, with the tie flapping, and then to emerge from the tunnel into the sunshine of K Street, no hands, straightening it.
Like all boys we wanted new, cool bikes, but we never got the one in the shop window. My Dad was always finding another route. For him the cleverness of the find was as important as the components were to me. It’s the same with furniture, and sportcoats, and houses. He sought out the advice of a dope dealer who also was my first riding mentor. That led to the first great bike I rode. The Mercian: Columbus tubing, Cinelli bars, Shimano drivetrain because Campy was out of the question.
I won some races on the Mercian, and placed well enough in some others to be named “Best New Member” of the National Capital Velo Club, sponsored by Georgetown Cycle Sport. They spelled my name wrong on the award I got. My Dad framed it, and “Dave Banks” has a place on the basement wall, next to my brother’s Ambassador’s Cup running trophy.
One thing we had in common was our understanding of the pain of losing bikes to thieves. The Mercian, The Clubman, The Legnano, a pair of Supercourses, all disappeared and the sorrow was joined by bitterness. At least with the Mercian I had put enough into it by then, a lot of Campy, that an insurance claim was worthwhile. It paid thirty cents on the dollar, so I bought a Bianchi with much lesser parts and started over.
For my thirtieth birthday my Dad got his dealer to find me a used Colnago frame. A work of art by itself, I hung it on the wall for two years and just looked at it. Then I got a big bonus from a house I built, and I blew it all on a Campy Record Grouppo. I was going to keep the Bianchi for riding in the rain, but then I had a better idea. I gave it to my Dad; fanciest bike he ever rode.
For my fiftieth birthday my Dad got my long-time riding partner Clemson and my wife to get me another used Colnago, all dressed up with Campy Record. Now I have two, kind of like Ferraris: a very fast new one, and a sweet vintage one, both turn heads.
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Nice story!
My father taught me to ice skate, throw & catch, downhill ski, and plenty of other sports and how to work with my hands. A few years back we built up a commuter bike together, painted the frame, put parts on it, etc. He's a mechanical engineer and does all his own automobile work. At that point all I could do was swap a tube, so learning all of that was pretty darn cool.
My steel Tommasini - a gift allowed by my grandfather!
Hmm, stolen bikes in DC...I had one stolen when I was living on Lowell Street, NW. Two days later, on July 4th, I was riding around the city on another bike. Caught some fucker riding my stolen bike! He claimed he'd bought it used. Not sure if he was telling the truth but I told him to get the hell of my bike and far away from me. Pretty fun to tell a dude twice my size to fuck off. I think he knew I meant business.
Hope my Son reads this article.
Great story @davidbeers. My dad, while a great and wonderful guy, wasn't ever into sports (unless you consider hunting and fishing sports). However, he did notice me eyeing a "10speed" in the local hard wear/ sports store and it appeared next to the Christmas tree on Xmas morning. I put a zillion miles on it, using it to ride all over Mt Shasta City delivering papers, and going to various friends. And so began my lifelong on and off love of the sport.
Nice story @davidbeers! My father's bike ~1985.
When I first saw his steed I couldn't get my leg over the top tube. Tried riding through the triangle. When I grew a bit more and could ride it on the saddle, my father took me to the local velodrome and he rode a few laps in his trousers with the ends tucked in his socks. He was the fastest rider I've ever seen! I couldn't believe how lightening fast he was. He pulled up to the top of the fence and passed the Raleigh to me and said go for it. I went for it and just crossing the line of the first lap I was introduced to lactic acid! Never forget that day!
Dads are great. Which reminds me of my own dad story. Stop me if you've heard this one. As a kid, I would take things apart - sometimes by forceful means. At age 8, I decided to disassemble my 5-speed Schwinn Stingray by using a screwdriver, hammer and a gnarly set of pliers. My dad, an engineer, didn't yell at me. He just nodded. A few days later he bought me a bicycle repair manual. The Stingray never regained its former glory, but I learned. I still take my bikes apart, but when they are reassembled, they are fully Rule #65 compliant. I thank my dad for that.
I never got any cool bikes when I was a kid.
So, this Christmas when my 10 year old son asked for a road bike I was happy to oblige. This Scott Jr 24 was just the ticket. We had to swap out the seat post for something a little longer but the length is just perfect for him with a bit of room to grow in the stem.
Shimano Sora group set 8 speed with a 46/34T up front.
Dad's and bikes go together well- mine used to take us up the street to watch the racers come streaming down the mountain behind us, with sun glinting off shiny bits of their bikes. He used to impress me by riding epic all day marathons to get to grandparents houses while we drove with Mum. My first cool bike was inherited from him -a lightweight, no-name aluminium racing bike with shimano gear until it got stolen..
How the hell will anyone learn the rules with a lead photo like that? Come on people!
@sthilzy -badass, your violations will be ignored because the 1980's were a rule violation.
Thanks to Dad, I always had a bike. I never understood friends who didn't have a bike growing up. Riding a bike was life, not having a bike...is no life at all.
The freedom to go anywhere you wanted without having to wait until you had a driver's licence. The world you could explore on two wheels. These are the things opened for those of us who were shown the better path. Thank you Dad. Thanks for all the early bikes, and for the bike you helped me buy that set me on my own n+1 quest.
Great stuff. I look forward to riding with my boys as they grow up. Can't wait to get the first JR road bike.
My dad didn't ride but introduced me to skiing (among other things). He's a very smooth skier. When I was a senior in high school I went out to Colorado with some buddies for a few days and got to take his old Dynastar MV2s to ski on. He had finally replaced them the winter before; they were at least 15 years old. The next year he got me a new pair of Dynastars for Christmas.