My Tandem Inspiration

Somewhere between Sun Valley, ID and Galena Summit
on a chilly September Idaho morning in the year 2000.

Most of us learned how to ride a bicycle while we were quite young.  Can you recall the exhilaration of mastering that skill and finding that one of the doors to independence had finally been opened to you?  I vividly remember being seven years old, and that particular year found Christmas day to be a foggy, bleak looking affair.

After opening what amounted to be a few pretty decent presents, my father asked me to go out to the garage and bring something back in for him.  I plodded out to the garage, opened the door and… wow!  There before me sat the most beautiful piece of machinery any kid in the early 60’s could ever hope to possess: a shiny, brand new, never-been-touched, Schwinn Stingray!

Into the misty morning I rode, free at last from the shackles that forced me to walk everywhere I wished to go!  It was a bitterly cold morning, but I didn’t care; I would ride to all ends of the earth on my new steed – the adventures were only beginning!

Of course, as time went by the Stingray was replaced by a Schwinn Continental (a ten speed bike), which only opened the doors to travel even more.  I spent much of my free time pedaling somewhere, and loving every minute of it.  But inasmuch as I loved to pedal all over San Diego, this joy was replaced by an item that easily fits into any man’s wallet:  a driver’s license.

Well, so much for my early history.  When many young adults receive their driver’s license, they never look back at cycling.  For that matter, many of these people never engage in any kind of healthy activity again.  Yet there was something within me that still wanted to get out on a bike... along with a deeper secret that I had kept suppressed for many years.

I witnessed something in San Diego that planted a seed within my soul, and would ultimately change my life.  Many times while I was out riding, I would see an old couple go zipping by on a tandem – yes, that’s right – a bicycle-built-for-two.  These two looked like they were in their mid-sixties, and while their faces showed the wear of age, their bodies looked pretty lean and muscular, at least compared to most of the old folks that I knew.

For as much as I loved to pedal around the greater San Diego area, these two must have loved to do so equally, because it seemed that I saw them everywhere.  And I knew that someday I wanted to be just like them.  Unbeknownst to that husband-and-wife tandem team, they were my tandem cycling mentors, and I owe them a huge debt of thanks.

Fast forward to the year 2015: I’ve been riding a tandem with my wife, Valerie, for the past twenty-four years.  Short rides, long rides, part of the California coast, part of England, part of France.  We love to get out and actually go places!

We’ve ridden in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Nevada, Montana, Florida and British Columbia.  We’ve pedaled on Market Street in San Francisco, from the Embarcadero to a “shortcut” know as “the wiggle” – a series of right and left turns that leads you from the city to Golden Gate Park with the least amount of effort and elevation gain.  We’ve also cycled from Fisherman’s Wharf and grunted our way to the Pacific Ocean via some hilly roads in the Presidio – nowhere near as easy as riding “the wiggle”!

We’ve had some great rides in the past, and we’re looking forward to many outstanding rides in the future, until we just can’t ride any more.  There’s one ride I wish we could take that will, sadly, always remain just a dream.  It’s just not possible except in my dreams.  Oh, but if I could take that ride, I’d go today!  Valerie and I would be pedaling as fast as we could, when the countryside around us would begin to blur and then fade away as we reemerged into the familiar scenery that was late 1960’s San Diego.

Up ahead of us a short distance is an elderly couple on a tandem, and although it takes us a little while we’re finally able to pull up along side of them.  I look over at the captain and stoker of more years than I’ll ever know and shout, “You guys are incredible!  There’s a great café just down this road a few miles – if you’re not in too big a hurry, could we stop there and buy you lunch?”

Perhaps if Heaven has a bike path, I’ll still have a chance to properly thank my unsuspecting mentors.