Steampunk Jr.: Le fils grimpeur
If @steampunk can’t take much credit here I guess we can’t take any. We can take pleasure is seeing someone’s kid hauling ass on a bike, a Velominatus spawn, even better. We all came to cycling by different paths, seemingly few by our parents. It is impossible to outguess one’s children; they are clever little bastards. Hoping to get them interested in cycling one rides a fine line between possible acceptance and absolute rejection. Steamy seems to ridden that line rather well.
Your in Cycling, Gianni
I have some vested interest in youth, not least because mine is an ever-shrinking blip on my (non-existent) helmet mirror. La Vie Vélo tempts me into believing that I can resist the march of time even as that blip recedes even further. But I offer up the image above as proof of my investment in youth. This is my son: his room is untidy, his grades could be better, but he can ride. Il est le fils grimpeur. 60kg, 178cm, too much hair, and always at ease on the bike. I recall a light mountain bike ride with him and his sister, four or five years ago. His sister had a Schleckanical on a hill. After helping with the chain, I told her I would go ahead and get her brother to wait at the top of the climb. I raced off to catch him. After 30-40 seconds of hard effort, I realized that I wasn’t gaining on him. That was the first sign. He spent several years carving up the single track with the LBS’s Thursday night ride. Neighbours on the ride would drop by and ask me to keep him home: he was embarrassing them. A year after his sixteenth birthday, he still showed no interest in getting his drivers’ license. He had a bike, he reasoned. Who was I to disagree?
What I’m getting at is at the very heart of my reading of the ethos Velominatus. You can call it an “Anatomy of a Photo,” but I think this is also “Rule Irreverence.” I love the humour and the sage advice rolled into one within the Rules. I adhere to more of them than I break. And I break those few knowingly and/or impishly (I’m looking at you, Rule #50″”clearly conceived by some mannish-boy who couldn’t grow facial hair). But study them a little more carefully and their collective wisdom starts to fade. Rule #91 can be flat out dangerous. Rule #12 never works in whole numbers (I’m currently hovering around s-0.1). I won’t judge a rider by the colour of his/her bar tape or Rule #33 compliance. If you are on a bike and can demonstrate a little Rule #43, we can get along. But allow me to cogitate on Rule #11. Family comes first. It just does. A happy family frees the legs and the mind to ride better. Much like fitness, this requires time, work, and effort. Riding is not an escape from responsibilities. To me, it is a privilege, or a reward for having successfully navigated family tempests into safe harbours. And if you’re very lucky, a rejection of Rule #11 can serve to cultivate your own train. Our youngest, only six, has been riding on two wheels since she was three, and she can hammer. I see a 24-inch wheel Argon 18 in her near future. The whole family goes to school and work by bike. The marriage of family and bikes””and family on bikes””provides me not just with the pleasure I derive from riding, but also the pleasure of sharing this passion.
The picture above is Exhibit A in my case against Rule #11. This spring, le fils grimpeur bought himself a road bike. Basic stuff: a Specialized Secteur with a Tiagra group-san. His money, not mine. His decision, not at my behest. A deal presented itself and he jumped on it. And started pedaling. It’s a fine starting point. There’s that magical moment when the eyes light up and you realize just how fast and how far you can go. I saw that in him after his first few rides, but I also realized that Steampunk Jr. would be encroaching on my tarmac turf. As the Tour climbed the Tourmalet and finished at Hautacam, my son joined me on the weekly group ride out of our local café. The ride is moderate with some climbing. He sat in, but the pace didn’t faze him. I suspect the only reason he didn’t take to the front was out of respect for his elders and being new to the group. Among other qualities that extend well beyond the bicycle, he is kind, unassuming (to a fault), and respectful. On the climbs, he was always with the front group””barely winded as we crested the hills. And living in the big ring.
I’ve not coached or coaxed him bikewards. In teaching and in parenting, I’ve always been drawn to the Zen koan: “Someone showed it to me, but I found it by myself.” Here, too, with his interest in the bike: his discovery. The father cannot be the sensei. The Luke/Darth relationship was always awkward. But I’d like to think my rejection of Rule #11 had something to do with offering up la Vie Vélo as an appealing burden to my progeny. He rides for himself, not to impress his father. No adolescent rebellion has led him to reject the bicycle as the quintessential feature of Steampunkian patriarchy. He’s not an aspiring Velominatus, he doesn’t follow bike racing, his machine can be a mess, but he’ll learn. And he’s only getting stronger. Feel free to chastise him if you can find the breath while trying to hold his wheel. You’ll not find me in the annals of good parenting, and I don’t take any especial credit for any of this, but I must have done something right.
So, this: He’s only seventeen. He’s the gentlest young man in the world. He doesn’t race. But he can rip your legs off.
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I congratulate you sir on your parenting stewardship. If only there were more of us like you both, the world be a better place.
Envy.
I have so far failed with mine.
The eldest, also 17, was too into swimming even though I knew he would never make it to the top level. He had the skill and the physique but lacks the mental toughness to use failure as a way to improve. I tried (Merckx forgive me) to steer him to triathlon, thinking it would suit someone who was good at lots of things but not the best at anything, but he was afraid to leave his swimming comfort zone.
The second, now 14, has the potential to be like Steampunk's son. Very unassuming but built like a stick-insect on a diet. He's about 5'8"-5'9" now and 48kg. He does little exercise other than cricket but is quite fit. When he used to go to cycle club he would be totally non-competitive. When they would have an endurance race he usually won because the macho kids would hare off while Gabriel just tapped away. A born audaxer. Unfortunately he's had a couple of crashes which have put him off. Nothing bad, just bumps and scrapes, but it makes him more nervous and that only leads to more crashes. Currently trying to get him to do some running, having pointed out his similarity to the Kenyans he was watching in the Commonwealth Games recently.
I once had fond hopes of doing an epic ride with the boys for my 50th birthday in two years. I will still do an epic ride but I think my best bet is persuading the wife to drive support.
However, hopes are now pinned on the youngest, Lillian, who is 11. She is very active and often rides to school. She's about to go to secondary school which happens to be near Herne Hill Velodrome and the school has track cycling as an activity. She saw this and decided she wants to give it a go so I still may get one of my children to ride with me.
Your son has a smooth pedal stroke even in a static photo. My son is now 18 and is focused on hiking. I always see the cyclist in him, but will have to wait for him to come out.
I was given this as a gift for my soon-to-be-born wee one. I'm hoping I can steer him toward the path, but I suppose he'll do what he wants to do. If he turns out like his dad though, his mother may just go crazy.
"You'll not find me in the annals of good parenting" Au contraire, sounds like you're doing a bang-up job. Read your local paper and you'll find evidence of bad parents who are enshrined in the Annals of bad parenting. Keep up the good work and thanks for the post.
I got a water polo goal keeper, an origami/K-pop/J-pop expert and a rugby player - where did it all go right that's what I want to know?
Steampunk,
What a lovely piece, you are a indeed lucky and appreciative man.
My kids are grown and gone, but the message I would share with all new or soon to be parents is this: Each child will be who and what they will be. Give them opportunities to discover what that is and then rejoice in what they find.
Family only comes first if the family pedaled harder. I read this story with tears in my eyes, because my perspective is from the other side: I'm the stubborn son whose mother succeeded in introducing him to cycling.
I've been completely ignorant of sports for most of my life, and after my parents divorced, grew increasingly antagonistic towards my mum's newfound interest in fitness and eventually cycling. For my 18th, mum offered to replace my kid's bike which had just been stolen with "something nicer", which is how I ended up with an entry-level Trek.
It was faster and lighter than anything I knew, but I hated it because it was associated with a period of neglect of her parental duties. We eventually broke contact for two years during which I used it as my city bike, left it locked up on the worst streets in town, and eventually decided that in order to rid myself of the guilt, I'll sell it, give her the money back, and buy a commuter. I bought an old ten-speed, dressed it up as a fixed-gear commuter, and went to hand her back the bike.
We went to a bike shop, run by a friend of hers (and now a teammate of mine), yet instead of asking to sell it, she took my over to the clothes section. "Depreciation on this bike makes it not worth selling, so now that you have a commuter, you could at least give it one shot with proper pedals." - we bought a pair of shoes, pedals and shorts, all of them very basic, and went riding the next day. 40km in the local mountains, and I was heaving and suffering both up and down the hills. I lacked the restraint of someone more experienced and tried, and kept going all-out for 10 seconds, then come to a standstill and catch my breath.
I have a picture of myself, un fils grimpeur as you so nicely called it, on that first ride. A Rule 33 violator, like most of us were on our first ride, but also violating Rule 16 in my mother's Tour de Israel leader's jersey:
I said never again, but the seeds were planted. Closing the circle, I now live at the end of this climb. My relationship with my mum has never been closer, and as per Rule 4, It's All About The Bike.
What a wonderful piece. As a father of four I've spawned a party loving event manager, an ex-rock star, a skateboarder and the youngest prodigy I am attempting to steer away from Karate to be my pedal-wan...
And so the Rocky-esque montage plays in my head every day we search for his ideal first road steed. His Mountain Bike skills are excellent, and after riding out with his Dad and elder ex-rock star bro yesterday, now has a seat tube to even rival Franks after his much "I need this seat higher Dad" beckoning...
Great piece @Steampunk.