Why Am I Doing This?

As far back as I can remember I've always loved cycling. I can remember my first bike too, a Schwinn Orange Crate. My parents gave it to me for Christmas in the early 70's. Without training wheels. So I learned to keep it upright and rode it every day to school in Lafayette CA. I rode everywhere and got my first taste of two-wheeled freedom while riding along Upper Happy Valley Road where we lived.

Later on , and as an adult I started using cycling for fitness, and then during the past 10 years or so, it’s become a great vehicle for socializing. Most of my friendships now revolve around cycling. Those friends of mine that don't cycle always get a gentle nudge from me to get on a bike and ride! But life is seldom a smoothly scripted narrative, and what is written below is a very brief timeline of events that literally rocked my world – in the negative sense - and have caused me to be where I am today, in recovery. This is the abbreviated version, but I’d be more than happy to share the full story with you if you have time for a very long bike ride sometime. Meanwhile, here goes:

March 1982

Months earlier (October or November), I had run away from home to escape what had become an untenable relationship with my parents. I was sixteen, and had been rebelling against my father in particular for several years. My dad had great difficulty relating to kids. He had lost his father to pneumonia during the pre-antibiotic days, so he really never had a role model growing up. In fact he started working at 12 years old in order to help with the family's finances. I've always admired that about my dad.

My brother Rick, who had been more of a father figure to me (he was 16 years older than me), told me that I could come live with him and his wife Nancy. In retrospect, it was so amazing that she, as a newly married woman, would be OK with letting a rebellious 16 year old come to live in their home.

I'll never forget that. Just after moving into my brother's converted garage he slowly became ill. At first it seemed like a bad cold, but things got progressively worse. He was juggled from doctor to doctor within their health care program. After several rounds of antibiotics and no signs of improvement, he was finally given the health care provider's blessing to go to a lung specialist. The good news is that they finally diagnosed his ailment quickly, but the bad news was that the ailment was so far along that it required immediate surgery.

After a very invasive lung surgery to remove the infection in the lining of his lungs, he seemed to be recovering well. He was even up and walking around the halls, albeit tied to several IVs and such. After visiting him as much as possible, I would leave during the time when they'd give him his medications since he'd basically sleep afterwards. They did this every 6 hours if I remember correctly.

It was early evening when I left him to go home for dinner. He was upbeat and watching a basketball game on TV. All indications were that he was on his way to a full recovery. I wasn't home for more than 10 minutes before the phone rang. It was the hospital. They told me that my brother's heart had stopped and that we should get back to the hospital quickly! My mother, who had traveled up to be there for Rick's surgery, my sister-in-law and I were wrecked by the news. None of us could drive, so a next-door neighbor (Thanks Joey T.!) drove us to the hospital.

When we arrived we didn't even know if he was still alive. He was. They had revived his heart and moved him into the ICU. By the time that I saw him next he was attached to every machine in the room. It was truly an awful sight, but he was alive. It was now late in the evening and I had called my dad, and my other brother Bob who then drove to the hospital to join us. Bob had been estranged from Rick for many, many years, so it must have been a tremendous shock for him to see Rick tethered to tubes and wires. My dad couldn't find a flight until the next morning, so he had to wait things out alone in San Diego.

Just after midnight we heard the alarm go off. I think that they call it "code blue." We heard my brother's doctor being paged over a loudspeaker. My Brother Bob and I snuck down the outer corridor to see what was going on. When we got to Rick's room the drapes were open and we could see a whole team of people working on him. Bob and I held each other as we watched them trying desperately to revive him. I think that we both began sobbing at the sight.

They got the paddles out and tried time and again to jump start his heart. One of the staff closed the drapes and that was the last time that I saw my brother Rick. Rick was 32 years of age. He was the most influential person in my life. To this day I draw from things that he taught me when I was just a kid. He left behind his wife Nancy, his two year old son Scott, and his six month old daughter Maggie, ....and me.

Instead of moving back home to be with my parents, I moved out on my own. It was the beginning of a long journey to becoming a responsible adult, and it wasn't an easy one. Now I'm going to jump past a lot of good stuff, like college, playing tennis, and starting my own business with a couple of friends, etc.

July 2002

After commuting to San Francisco almost every day for two years, and being as fit as I'd been at any time in my life, I was struck by an SBC Global utility truck while riding to San Francisco. I was lucky that I wasn't killed as the truck hit me as hard as a flapper in a pinball machine and hurled me 20 feet through the air.

The next thing that I remember is trying to breathe while figuring out how to disentangle myself from my broken bike. It actually took some time. Once that I could breathe again, and was free from the bike and my backpack, I did the requisite “systems check” that one learns to do after years of riding. I looked around at my legs and found lots of road rash, a burn mark on my shin from the truck’s tire digging in (If my leg had been extended at impact I’m certain that I would have lost my leg.). I checked my helmet to see if I had broken it. Then I looked down at my left arm which was already getting stiff. Uh oh! Mission Control, we have a problem… Beyond the severe road rash on my left arm, there was a swelling that only comes from broken bones. I did the old ‘if you can move it, it’s not broken’ even though I know full well that’s just an old wives tale, and I paid the painful price of trying to extend my arm.

So I did the next logical thing and called my good friend Fred from my cell (I was obviously in shock because what I really needed was an ambulance. Ironically, in 2007, or 2008, Fred did the same thing after being hit by a car while doing a ride. I'm so glad that he wasn't killed.) and asked him if he could pick me up as I couldn’t reach my wife "N".

Fred got his co-worker Jason to come pick me up at the scene. I guess that I thought that I was just going to go home to lick my wounds, so I eased myself into the truck with Jason. He looked at my arm and smiled, which implied that he knew that there was a much bigger problem on hand, and that I was not just going home. Fast forward 10 hours as I was rolled into the OR at Marin General Hospital, and even though I was tranquilized, it was quite disturbing to look at the surgeon's workbench – which looked more like shop class! There were more power tools laid out for the surgery than a car mechanic would need to wrestle a recalcitrant car back to order. Uugh!

Anesthesia and surgery, and then just a couple of hours later I was coming to with a “new” elbow that was fortified with Titanium hardware. Two months later I was back on the bike, but more than just a little car-shy, if you know what I mean. As a side note, I want to thank my good friend, and de facto Brother, Mel, for his love and support during this time. Making me breakfast in the Sierras, giving me his old bike to build, and not putting up with any whining. Thanks! And also big thanks to Freddy and Jason at WTB for helping out while I was spun from being hit and deep in shock. They got me help PRONTO! I’m lucky to have such good people as friends.

August 2004

In August of 2004 I was spending a few days with my parents at their favorite spot,
Blue Lake Springs. It's a little community near Arnold, CA. We'd been going there since I was 4 years old (which adds up to 40 years) and accumulated a treasure trove of many great memories from vacations spent there.

While there, I was still struggling to get back to the fitness level that I’d had prior to my accident. I was just getting back on the bike regularly, but still wasn’t even close to 100%. I had numbness in several of my fingers from nerve damage in my elbow, and my work had made it difficult for me to ride consistently. That said I was still trying to get out for rides as I especially loved riding in the Sierras in the Bear Valley area.

I hung out up there with my parents and took these photos. The next day I left for home not knowing that was the last time that I’d see my Mother alive. She passed away quietly while napping in the car while on the drive home to San Diego with my Father at the wheel. She always had tremendous style, and went out in the best way imaginable.

I remember that last hug and kiss on the cheek that she gave me. I guess that when we say goodbye to our loved ones we should always realize that it may truly be “goodbye.” Immediately following my Mother’s passing I began taking care of my Father. My Mother had basically been the stereotypical wife from back in the day when roles were different than they are today. She had taken care of the house, us kids, and my Dad as far back as I can remember.

I knew that my Dad would need a lot of help, but I didn’t know exactly what that was going to mean for me. So I started traveling down to his home regularly. I was there one week out of every month at a minimum. Of course there were all the “little emergencies” that happened along the way that required my attention, but I didn’t mind, he was after all my Father.

One week it would be his car breaking down. The next week, it would be a leak in a toilet, and the little emergencies simply never seemed to stop. Each time that I was there I would play handyman and fix as many things as I could. I’d include my Dad in everything that I was doing. If I was working on something related to my business he’d sit with me and watch. If I was fixing his faucet, he’d stand there and watch. He was so lonely that I never wanted to exclude him from what I was doing, even when what I really wanted was some privacy.

I took a spare bike down to his San Diego home, along with an entire duplicate of all of my riding gear - which quickly proved to be the best thing that I could have done for myself. I never knew if I’d be flying down, or driving, so knowing that I had what I needed to ride was a relief. I mostly rode a mountain bike while I was there, although sometimes when I would drive down, I’d take my road bike.

I frequented this cool little park called San Dieguito State Park. It has great trails, and lots of amazing flora and fauna. From rattlesnakes to coyotes, and everything in between, they’re all there. It was great because I could sneak out for a quick ride here and there when not doing things for my Dad. I’d typically go when he was napping. This park will have a fond place in my heart forever as without it I don’t know what I would have done.

In retrospect, this period of time was such a whirlwind of activity and crisis, if I hadn’t had my bike to ride in order to regain some level of sanity, I probably would have folded and called it a day!

November 2004

As these things happen, a family tradition was born when I started hosting Thanksgiving for my family since about 1991. Looking backwards in time, the first one that I hosted was right after my brother Bob and my de facto sister-in-law Susie (his partner of 40 some years) became victims of the Berkeley Fire.

So as usual, this year I planned Thanksgiving, and this time it looked like we would do it at my Dad’s house in San Diego so that he didn’t need to travel. I picked up my nephew and niece in San Francisco and off we went to San Diego. Three people, with my two elderly dogs, and a bunch of stuff packed into my car, made the journey to Rancho Bernardo in San Diego.

Somewhere along the way, and during the last half of the journey, my dog Mick had, unbeknownst to us, begun having seizures. He was 13 years old and I’d had him since he was a pup of 6 weeks. I found him unconscious in the back when we opened the deck lid in San Diego.

After a very painful 24 hours, and after "N" flew in from San Francisco, we had to put him down on Thanksgiving Day. I held him as they injected the serum and I remember him going limp in my arms. I was devastated, just devastated. I can’t remember how long I held him as I cried not just for him, but for all of the losses; My Brother Rick in 1982, my Mom, and now my buddy Mick. Mick and I literally grew up together, and I owe my becoming a man to him as he taught me how to be responsible.

I know that it’s hard for some to understand how people can become so attached to our four-legged friends, but we do. He was more than a good buddy. He was the quintessential man’s best friend. As is always the case, I felt like he died well before his time, but no one could really diagnose his problem. He was a fit 13 year old dog – and he will always live on in my heart.

October 2006

That wasn’t the only doggie dilemma in my life, because for at least 5 years (since 2001) we had been nursing our little girl dog, Lune, after she had first become diabetic, and then went blind as a result. Then somewhere along the way she developed cancer. She was given 6 months to live, and due to her strength, and our care, she lived another 2 or 3 years. She was such a sweet girl. She didn’t start that way, but in the end she was the very best. We rearranged our lives around her.

After 5 years of giving her two shots of insulin a day at nearly the exact same time each day, and after teaching her voice commands so that I could take her on hikes, she finally succumbed to her cancer. It was such a terrible day when we knew that her final day had come.

I will never forget the little dance and bark that she'd do when she was happy. Her feet would hop off of the floor each time that she barked. Just like we have done for all of our dogs, we had a unique “voice” for her. I wish that I could a) remember how do it, and b) share it with all of you.

December 2006

After my Dad’s Doctor examined him in August of 2006, she mailed a letter to the DMV and asked to have his driver’s license pulled. That triggered numerous events for me that included getting him packed up and ready to move. Then I started to renovate his house in order to be sold. It was no fun discovering all the “issues” that older houses offer up when everything has been taken out of them. It was truly  a daunting task to coordinate while trying to manage everything else in my life.

After spending five weeks there, and taking several trips back and forth to the Bay Area (for those of you that don’t know CA, it’s about a 500 mile trip each way), I finally helped my Dad into the minivan that we had rented and I drove him up to his new home which was about two blocks from mine. We were really quite fortunate in finding my Father a place to live.

My wife "N" and I had moved about 6 months earlier to a property that has cottages, apartments, and a house, in hope that one of the other units would open up when we needed to find my Dad a new home. The writing was on the wall, and we knew that he was going to need a lot of care in the future, and I wanted to have him close to me.

As things turned out, we found him a place right next door to te Whole Foods Market. It was a great apartment on the ground floor with a small patio where he could sit and watch people walk by. He really loved it in spite of his not truly wanting to leave San Diego. It was very sweet when he asked me if "N" and I would come live with him in San Diego. I wish that I could have done that for him, but there was no way that we could, so this was the next best thing for him.

After a few short months, and just when I really felt like he was settled in, my Father fell ill. He was diagnosed with cancer and 10 days later he passed away on Christmas Eve. Just as with my Mother, he passed away seemingly without pain, and very, very quickly. During his last years with us, and after my Mom had passed away, my Dad became my good friend. It took 42 years for us to become buddies, but man, do I ever feel lucky to have had that time with him! I never would have actually gotten to know him without having had the opportunity to care for him. I feel so fortunate to have been there with him during this time, and I’m grateful to have been able to be there for him.

2002 - 2008

As you can imagine, by now I was feeling completely beaten down from one death after another, and one problem after problem. And as is usually the case, I never really had been able to take the proper time for myself to grieve for my losses. I just kept soldiering on, always performing the basics in order to keep our household up and running, and safe and sound.

Interlaced with everything else that was going on since 2002, I began to suspect a problem brewing with my wife. It’s really tough to pinpoint when one thing becomes another, especially when the changes can be so subtle. As best I can tell, right around 2002 I began to suspect that "N" was showing signs of being an alcoholic.

By 2006 and 2007 she had become a full-blown alcoholic but defied the typical stereotype and amazed me by still going to work and school, and even making the Dean’s Honor roll! The slow death of a person that you love isn’t what anyone should be subjected to. I didn’t realize until she went into rehab just how much pain and sorrow her alcoholism had been causing me. On top of everything else that had happened it’s a wonder that I survived this. After all that I been through over the last few years I found that I’d gradually lost my resilience and strength, and I finally realized that I too was slowly being dragged down. I was regularly feeling depressed. I had lost all interest in cycling, hiking, and socializing, and was becoming more and more reclusive. My situation was slowly causing me to lose my way – and in the process, lose myself.

December 2008

I dropped "N" off at a rehab facility in Marin on December 1st, 2008. I was amazed at the overwhelming feelings that I experienced when I came home that day. At first, the crushing weight of all that had happened over the years didn’t just slide off my back – it came barreling down on me. I became even more depressed than I’d ever been before and am certain that I had a taste of what people with real depression go through. It was everything that I had heard about over the years, and I found myself in a really, really dark place. I now have a true compassion and understanding for those that suffer from clinical depression.

After shaking my head a number of times, and trying to figure out which way is up, I started trying to think about what I used to do when I was truly happy. So I started doing an inventory of activities that made me happy. Frankly, it was really hard to even remember what made me happy. I was that far lost from all of the situations to which I’d been succumbed and forced to endure.

Then one day I started to ride my bike again. Cycling was always a constant that I knew made me really happy so that’s what I turned to. Slowly other things started coming back. The long hikes with my dogs. The beautiful walks on the beach. The friendships that I’d long ago let fall by the wayside, and the list goes on. When in the middle of such mayhem, you don’t realize just how bad things have become.

June 2009

So, bringing my story to today, I’m back to doing the things that make me happy, but I know that my journey to full recovery from all of the events that have taken place in my life has just begun, and that the end point is still quite a way from where I am now. I guess I’m maybe at 75% of my former self – but I know that I need to keep moving forward and never stop working on pulling myself back up to a healthy and happy place. There are many people to thank for helping me during some really dark times. But I think that I’ll wait until I’m at full strength before listing all of those that have been there for me, and for forgiving me for not being able to be there for them. I’m on my way - wish me luck. ;-)