Le Tour de Vie

For a very long time, I have been searching for a hobby. But not just a thing to do to pass the time. I have long wanted sort of a headquarters of a hobby. A frame for creating, discovering, testing myself and the world around me. I have been searching for a basecamp on my quest to daily prove that I am alive. I am searching for a complex activity that I can continue to do until I am, in fact, dead. I think I have found it, and probably no surprise to those of you who have read previous posts, in the bicycle.

I think I first became aware of this search the first time I saw the movie A River Runs Through It. You know, that Robert Redford directed and narrated film about a Presbyterian family in Montana and its focus on the developing relationship(s) between two brothers and their father. Fishing was their basecamp of life. Through it they proved to themselves and to each other that they had what it takes, they were alive and growing.

You may know that fly fishing is much more complex than just a way to catch fish. There are intricacies around the kind of fish to catch, the kind of water to fish, the type of fly to use and how to make it, the kind of rod to use. And by the way, a true fly fisherman NEVER fishes with a pole.

The problem with fly fishing is, well, I’m terrible at it. There something about seeing results that I crave about my hobby, and for whatever reason, the only kind of result I’ve accomplished during my few forays into the water is a wet dry fly. I’m not sure exactly why I have never caught a fish, but there are a host of problems I care not to resolve. Improving the length of my tippet, my ability to tie knots, my understanding of – “hey Nicki, what’s the word for the study of insects?” – entomology. They all seem more cumbersome than they are worth to me.

Cycling, however, similarly is more complex than I ever imagined before my first pedal stroke. Like there are different types of fish to catch, there are different reasons for riding the bike: Racing, touring, cruising, etc. Like there are different types of water to fish, there are different milieux for bikes: Tarmac, single track. Like there are rods fashioned from different materials, there are different materials for frames: Steel, aluminum, titanium, carbon fiber. And each material has its own romanticism associated with it. A bamboo rod is for the fishing conservative/purist/afficianado as the steel frame is for the cycling counterpart. Traditional, durable, smooth. Then there’s the graphite or whatever the newest material is for the fisherman that corresponds with the carbon-fiber cyclist – the more progressive set.

What I find most remarkable, however, about the similarities in these two disciplines is the pedestal on which the do-it-yourself set is placed. If you tie your own flies, you are revered among fishermen. If you build your own bike, you have instant respect within the cycling community. People come to you for advice. People follow your example.

While I have no interest in learning how to tie a dead-stone fly, I lust over bike catalogues and thirst for an understanding of how to change a bottom bracket. As of now, my bike maintenance/building ability extends just beyond cleaning/lubing my chain and changing a rear cassette. But I have set a goal for the near future – to convert my Dad’s 1999 LeMond Vegas City steel road bike into a fixie. It will require replacing the drive train to some extent, removing the derailleurs and replacing the freewheel hub with a fixed cog. The only brakes will be the strength of my quadriceps. Truly old-school.

Who knows where this will go? But eventually I’d like to race my road bike again. Maybe I’ll take up mountain biking. Maybe, when I get older I’ll calm down and prefer the longer, touring ride rather than the hammerhead, lung busters in which I now participate each Tuesday.

Whatever the case, it’s a hobby I’d like to pass down to my children, if we’re fortunate enough to have them. Just like in A River Runs Through It, the father passed down his passion to his sons. My Dad did the same, I think, with backpacking. For as long as I’ve known him, he has been fascinated with mountains, knowing their names and wondering if he has what it takes to get to the top. When he would take my brothers and me with him, he’d point out and name the ones he planned to conquer if he hadn’t already and the ones to which he hoped to take us.

In a few weeks, I’ll be going on another such trip with Dad. Both of us will be looking to discover if we have what it takes to stand atop 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, the tip of which represents the highest point in the lower 48 states. I see myself, as well as Nicki who also shares a love for being outside in high places, taking our children to various apexes. I think I’d like my distinct take on this passage to include time with my kids and allen wrenches, and maybe trips like this.

Whatever this hobby looks like in the future, I hope to improve upon Norman’s experience from the movie. I hope that I won’t be left to ride the big rides alone. I mean to make it so.