SEPTEMBER/2011 – When I was in junior high, I spend a large number of my weekends hiking in the Angeles Forest with my dad and one of his childhood friends. On these jaunts, my early-teenage self was usually clad in tight black Levis, Vision Street Wear high-tops, an Iron Maiden t-shirt and a Guns ‘n Roses jean jacket. Not exactly prime hiking gear, but if I ever made it to the top of a waterfall and there was a cute, teenaged rocker chick on the other side, well, then I was covered.
At the time, my dad and his friend were in
their early 30s. Looking back, I now realize how young my dad was at the
time. He was 17 when I was born. At 17, I was trying to find places to
jump my BMX bike, working after school for barely over minimum wage at a
local newspaper and trying to save up for a bass guitar. I can’t even
imagine being a father back then.
My dad’s friend Zorlack Snappington (name changed to protect the innocent, etc.) was one of the early mountain biking pioneers and at the time was competing in races on a custom Nishiki Alien hand-built by the guy that designed the frame.
I remember the first time he casually
mentioned this in conversation and having my mind blown. When I was a
teen, it seemed like my dad and Zorlack were a million years old.
Watching them climb mountains and traverse boulders made me nervous. I
guess that I thought their spines were going to explode and their
wrinkles were going to get caught on a tree branch. Or worst, they would
just crumble to dust and blow away and my teenage self would be stuck
eating yucca roots and living like a caveman out in the forest.
“How could an old geezer like Zorlack possibly ride mountain bikes, much
less race them?!,” I thought at the time.
Fast forward 20-plus years and I’m in my mid 30s. I mountain bike as often as I can (which is not as often as I would like). Mountain biking is one of the simplest joys in my life. It simultaneously puts me in a Zen-like state while bringing me back to my glory days of practicing freestyle BMX in the parking lots and alleys of La Crescenta, CA.
Watching (my dad and his
friend) climb mountains and traverse boulders
made me nervous. I guess that I thought
their spines were going to
explode and their wrinkles
were going to get caught on
a tree branch. Or
worst, they
would just crumble to dust
and blow away and my
teenage self
would be
stuck eating yucca roots
and living like a caveman
out in the
forest.
There’s something magical about bombing down a hill or conquering a
tough climb that turns a bad day into an awesome day and an awesome day
into chocolate milk, high-fives and karate chops.
I wonder what my teenage self would think of
me now. Would he worry that I’m one pedal away from turning to dust?
Would he try to roll me up in bubble wrap to ensure that he lives to be
a ripe-old age (which is approximately 40 years old in the mind of a
teenage boy)? Would he be appalled that my iPod contains but one Iron
Maid album (7th Son), yet is saturated with brooding indie rock?
The irony is that I’m in the best shape of my entire life (minus a
brief period in the early ‘90s when I was crazy fit). I could beat my teenage
self in a foot race. I could out climb him. I could beat him so badly at
every sport that it would make him hang up his Guns ‘n Roses jean jacket
forever in shame (which would be a good thing … that was a terrible,
terrible era for me fashion-wise).
It makes me wonder what my daughter is going to think of me when she’s a
teen and I’m in my late 40s/early 50s. If the teenage version of me
thought that 30-something-year-olds were akin to Methuselah, what is she
going to think of me? Am I going to look to her like an animated mummy
from King Tut’s tomb? When I do something active, will she be reminded
of the scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when the grandfather
jumps out of bed and dances around to prove that he’s up to joining
Charlie in his adventures? Maybe it’s time for me to invest in one of
Michael Jackson’s hyperbaric chambers to keep myself looking young. Or,
I could always pull out the old tight black Levi’s, Vision Street Wear
high-tops, Iron Maiden t-shirt and Guns ‘n Roses jean jacket. That’s
bound to me appear younger, right?
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