Life Lessons and a Shiny Blue Bike

For some reason, ever since I first laid eyes on a 1983 Stumpjumper at Paul's Cycle, I’ve felt an odd connection to mountain bikes - which is funny, because to a pre-teen boy just recovering from the release of Return of the Jedi, they were weren’t supposed to be cool.

See, all the kids in the neighborhood I grew up in rode our cobbed together bikes every day because they were the best way to get from place to place or face off in an impromptu race. We never really thought about it as a sport. It’s just what kids did in the early 80's.

I grew up in an English-speaking suburb of Montreal, in a two bedroom house insulated with balled-up newspaper when my parents bought it in 1969. It was a fairly typical home for the area – nobody was rich, but everyone managed to get by. Over the years though, my parents updated the place with an ambitious extension, two extra bedrooms, and a garage, while somehow providing for four kids on just one salary.

Through all of it, though, they never let us feel like money was tight. Since having a family of my own, I can't help but admire them for what they were able to accomplish with what they had. In fact, I’m in complete awe with how they confronted their financial reality and all the crazy curveballs the family threw at them, while seamlessly maintaining a loving, supportive atmosphere for children to grow up in, and know nothing but happiness.

But somehow, despite their best efforts, I just knew that shiny blue $1100 Stumpjumper at the shop in the village was simply beyond my reach.

It’s not like we were poor, though. There were just some luxuries that we had to do without – Millenum Falcon playsets, Tuuk blade Micron skates, downhill skis – but through it all, my parents managed to use our financial reality to leach us a massive life lesson.

From an early age, we were taught that if there was something we really wanted, like a shiny new mountain bike for instance, nobody was going to just give it to us. We had to figure out a way to earn it – shoveling snowy driveways, mowing lawns, bagpiping at weddings, whatever – if it was important to us, we had to work hard to make it happen.

So, half-way through the summer my brother got his first summer job - firing black-powder muskets for tourists at age 15, (I’d have to wait an additional year to get the gig, as they determined 14 was too young to handle gunpowder and flintlock muskets…) I finally did it. After weeks of working my ass off doing any chore for anyone in the neighborhood, I finally raised the $225 plus tax that it took to become the proud owner of a shiny new 12-speed Raleigh Portage – It was no Stumpjumper, but to a 14-year-old kid enjoying true freedom for the first time, it didn’t matter.

I finally had my mountain bike after three long years of dreaming and wishing, and it took me on the first real rides of my life – rides that would ultimately allow me to race and perform all over Canada and the US, and meet so many great friends along the way. Bikes even led me to the girl of my dreams and our little boy who loves to ride.

So yay bikes and amazing parents! Thanks for teaching me the value of hard work!

And, just for the record, I’m sure no therapist in the world would ever look at my collection of 30+ vintage mountain bikes, including one shiny-new looking early Stumpjumper, as any kind of attempt to compensate for any residual childhood feelings – it’s just a fun, healthy hobby … really …