Ride the Wind. Chapter 4.

Commuting by bicycle gave me a whole new perspective on my surroundings. As I rode along the streets of Toronto, especially in the downtown area, I marveled at how much I had missed when I took the same routes by car. A car shields you from so much. The smells. The noise. The people. I drank in this new world.

A few months after my initial modifications, I saved enough money to purchase my first clipless pedal system. I waited impatiently as the technician mounted a pair of Shimano SPD pedals onto my bike's crank arms. To pass the time, I walked around in my new Shimano SPD cleated shoes. Their soles were quite stiff but this offered a level of support I had not experienced in my regular walking shoes. The SPD design, with the cleat recessed into the sole of the shoe, also granted me the freedom to walk around as if I was wearing a normal shoe.

Part of the advantage of a clipless pedal system is in the cleat to pedal connection. In a traditional pedal system, even with the aid of toe clips, the power transferred to the pedal by a rider is at peak efficiency during the downward pedal stroke. Inversely, 50% of the power exerted through a spin cycle is lost during the upward pedal stroke. Essentially you are wasting half your exerted energy and this contributes to unnecessary fatigue.

Another part of the advantage of a clipless pedal system is the greater integration of the shoe into equation. A traditional shoe to pedal system only sees power being transferred through the frontal area of the shoe. The whole shoe, in a clipless pedal system, becomes part of the pedaling cycle. So not only is power transferred efficiently but more of it is transferred as well while using this system.

However, there is a slight learning curve involved in using such a system because the cyclist is effectively “glued” to the bike. Entry and exit into the clamping system can prove tricky at first and newbies have been known to fall over when learning how to use it. This was not something you wanted to do on concrete while riding a bike worth more than your college car!

Luckily I picked up on the whole “clipping in” technique soon after my new pedals were installed. The next day I was confident enough to bike to work and I reveled in the advantages of the system. I really felt like I now had an advantage with outright acceleration and climbing.

(On to chapter 5.)

Ride the Wind. Chapter 3.

The small bike store we visited was owned by an Indian family. I was impressed by how much of a family affair it was where even mama “G” worked the register. She knew her stuff too and repeatedly blew me away with her knowledge of the Shimano, SRAM, and Thompson lines. She also knew exactly how to tempt me with new parts for my bike. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

One of the store policies was free test rides of any bike in the store. I was tempted to take out a thoroughbred like a Specialized S Works Tarmac. But much like I won’t drive a brand new BMW, I decided not too. I believe you shouldn’t drive or ride something you can’t own yet. (Funny that rule should apply to women too…) I realized that I needed to focus on my needs and consulted with a one of the sales associates about commuting. He directed me to a 2005 Specialized Sirrus Sport which he said was probably the best bet for my needs.


A hybrid, which combines characteristics of both mountain bikes and road bikes, the Sirrus was the first real crossover bike ever introduced to the market in the late 90s. The Sirrus combines the speed and agility of a road bike with the comfort, strength, and maneuverability of a mountain bike. An extra bonus on the Sirrus Sport was that it utilized a disc brake system that allowed full stopping power in all weather conditions. In short the Sirrus was built for commuting. It was love at first sight for me.

My addiction was back and within two weeks I was the proud owner of a Sirrus Sport and I began riding the 20 km to work almost immediately. Although I would often get a ride from girlfriend for the ride home, I would also frequently do the trip on my bike. I worked nightshift at the time and riding home at 2 am through the cool spring and summer night was exhilarating.

Since I was working, I was able to modify the bike at will. This was an aspect of cycling I did not get to experience in Fresno. Back then I was pretty much limited to things I could convince my parents to buy for me.

The first modifications I made to the Sirrus were minor, and in my eyes, essential. These included the installation of a Cateye trip computer that kept track of my speed, trip length, and total mileage. I also flipped my stem to make my riding stance more aggressive. (This was suggested to me by my friendly bike store family.) Finally I added on bar ends to my handlebars to give me more grip positions.

I was totally geeking out!

(More modifications in Chapter 4.)

Ride The Wind. Chapter 2.

I abandoned cycling when my family and I moved to Toronto in the winter of 1991. I had tried for a month to adjust to riding in the winter season by taking exploratory rides around our new home. But after a crash on a road covered in black ice, that left my bike scarred and my knees bleeding, I limped back home and threw my bike into the basement.

I was angry and frustrated over more than just the crash. I blamed my father for ripping me away from my friends and my sport. I vowed never to ride again out of spite. I nearly kept that vow. It would be years before I rode again and it would take one man’s amazing story to trigger a return to what I loved.

In his best selling book: Its Not About the Bike, My Journey Back to Life, Lance Armstrong relates the story about his trial with cancer and how he was able to comeback to begin a string of 7 Tour De France wins. When I read this book in 2004, nearly 13 years after I abandoned the bike, I was inspired by the read. It dawned on me that Lance had started cycling around the same time I did and he too had been inspired by Greg Lemond.

I began reconnecting to cycling by surfing through bicycle manufacturing websites. I was astounded by the advancements made in bicycle technology over the years by companies like Trek and Specialized. I was particularly fascinated by disc brake technology, which had been borrowed from motorcycles, and was mainly implemented on mountain bikes with great success. I began toying with the idea of returning to cycling.

Events began to move rapidly towards that end when I nearly totaled my Nissan Sentra by running into a light pole on another icy road. (Seems the crossroads in my life are slick.) Upon calling my insurance company, I was shocked to find out that my policy had been cancelled just 2 hours before the accident. (Later I would find out that this was due to a misunderstanding regarding underwriting.) The car could be fixed, but no Toronto based insurance company would sign me on. I resigned myself to taking public transportation.

The novelty of the using the TTC, considered by many to be one of the best public systems in the world, soon wore off and I began to think about my alternatives. When my co-worker Phillip Lindo and I randomly decided to visit a small bike store during our day off, I found my answer.

Stay tuned for Chapter 3.

Ride The Wind. Chapter 1.

My love of cycling started at the age of 14 and coincided with the epic 1989 Tour De France win of American icon Greg Lemond. While Greg had been the first American to win the Tour in 1986, his 1989 performance garnered much more attention. This was largely due to his recovery from a near fatal hunting accident a year earlier, and his dramatic battle with Frenchman Laurent Fignon over the yellow jersey. His efforts culminated in an impassioned battle during the final day’s time trial in which he recovered from a 50 second time deficit to win the race with 8 seconds to spare.

Greg Lemond ushered in a new era of cycling where technology played a greater role in a cyclist’s ability to perform. During the final time trial of the 1989 Tour, Greg would utilize a low profile bike frame equipped with a controversial set of Scott triathlete aero clip-on bars, a full rear disc, and a large 52 by 12 gear ratio setup, to power himself to a record average speed of 54.5 km/h. (To put this record in perspective, one need only compare this to Levi Leipheimer’s win during the 2007 Tour De France's final time trial. He rode a state of the art Trek Equinox time trial bike, made out of boron/carbon fiber, with an average speed of only 53 km/h. Greg Lemond's time trial bike was 10lbs heavier and made out of steel.) Design cues from Greg’s setup are still visible in the bikes used by today’s champions including Lance Armstrong and Alberto Contador.


(Greg Lemond's 1989 time trial bike repainted for the 1990 season.)

(Levi Leipheimer's Trek Equinox in 2008 Team Astana Colours.)

My first bike, a steel Systema Scene, was manufactured by a small Japanese company and equipped with Suntour components. I had begged for a bike from my parents for a few months and had given up hope of ever getting one. One afternoon my father and younger sister arrived at my friends house to pick me up in my Dad's truck. When we arrived home I glanced into the rear cab and there sat the bright red Systema. I was elated!

I still remember how it felt to swing my leg over the down tube, slip my feet into the clip pedals, stand on my brake hoods, and churn my legs into a frenzy. The bike responded like no other bike I had ridden before and I was off and flying. I was instantly addicted to that sensation. I have not recovered from it since.

After a relatively minor crash a few weeks later, I swapped out the standard tires for a pair of Schwinn performance slicks. I also added the 1990 reworked model of Greg’s Scott clip-on bars and a Schwinn Paramount Gel saddle. I was so skinny back in those days that I wore a sweatshirt to fill out my Team Reebok (on long term loan from my good friend Shem Aguila) acing kit which was already a size small. By today's standards, my cycling helmet was way to big and the 6 vents it had did little to keep my head cool.

I enjoyed cycling around Madera and Fresno California. In those days, there were long stretches of road with very little development surrounding them. A cyclist's dream. I could feel my legs getting stronger the more hours I spent in the saddle. I was not necessarily training to race but just enjoying the sensation of speed but my young body responded to the pressure and my lungs began to develop.

One day towards the end of the summer of 1990, I found myself in an informal race with another cyclist: Darryl Abriol. I must confess that I didn't like him very much. So when we sped up in and passed me as we made our way around the 5 mile circuit in Woodward Park, (a popular summer veune in Fresno) I gave chase.

I had never raced before and Darryl set a mad pace. However all the hours I spent in the saddle started to pay off and even though he was ahead of me, I was able to keep up. Finally we reached the final mile of the course which led up a steep hill. I rose out of the saddle and began to desperately climb. My lungs burned, and my feet ached but I kept pushing myself onward.

I beat him.

Time seemed to move slower in those days but this chapter of my cycling story finally began to end when my Dad recieved a call to pastor in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. No matter how much my sister and I begged, he would not relent and we finally resigned ourselves to the inevitable.

The story continues in Chapter 2.

Motorsport Memories

When the boxes that housed my meager possessions finally arrived from Ontario last week I was thrilled. Christmas day had arrived and it was time to open presents. In one box I found a Corgi die cast car that my mom had given me many years ago. I was really happy to find it because I thought it might have been misplaced during the move. The car is a BMW M1.

The M1 coupe was hand-built between 1978 and 1981 under the Motorsport (M) division of BMW as a special system intended for racing. Originally, BMW commissioned Lamborghini to work out the details of the car's chassis, assemble prototypes and manufacture the vehicles, but Lamborghini's financial position meant that BMW reassumed control over the project in April 1978, after seven prototypes were built. Only 456 production M1s were built, making it one of BMW's rarest models. The spirit of the M1 lived on in the first-generation M5, as both models shared the same (though slightly modified) engines.

Though the car never saw a great deal of racing success, the M1 is remembered as a refined and civilized super car in the true BMW tradition, built with great handling and trademark excellent build quality.

My Corgi model has significant value to me because it represents my mom’s attempt to give me something special for Christmas during the days when we didn’t have much money. We had only been in the U.S. for a little bit and were living in trailer park in the middle of grapevines that characterize Central California. I saw first hand the life of migrant workers and some of my friends came from these nomadic families.


At that time my fascination with radio controlled (R.C.) cars was born. I wanted a model that had the full function of forward/backward and left/right. I remember getting the J.C. Penney annual catalog and spending hours looking over the many models that were offered in the toy section. Somehow I knew that my parents could not afford such an extravagance but it didn’t stop me from dreaming and talking about my dream. My mom took in every word.

I don’t think she knew that I understood that I probably wouldn’t get anything for Christmas. But what I didn’t understand was that my mom wanted to do her best to make sure Christmas felt special. So to my surprise, she handed me a small box on Christmas morning and I found the red M1 inside. I was touched. Even as a young child I felt the significance of the effort behind the gift.

Years later I would get my R.C. car and even further down the road my parents would assist me in owning 2 real cars. But those vehicles are long gone and yet the M1 is still with me (except for the Nissan which my Dad drives now). It survived our migration to Canada, my years in university, and sat on my desk in Toronto during the last 5 years.

As a designer and artist I have an acute sensitivity to symbols and icons. The M1 represents my connection to my family. When I find myself in unfamiliar territory I find it comforting to have it around. It reminds me that hard times will pass and that there is a foundation in my life that I can lean on. As I contemplate the possibility of having children in my future, it shows me that it is the effort that you put into raising a child that truly matters. You don’t have to be perfect as a parent, but if you do your best, your kids will remember.

I still remember.

p.s. Early this year BMW designed a concept car to pay tribute to the M1 legacy. Here it is:

Jammin' with The People

I thoroughly enjoyed being at Foothills Camp yesterday for the annual Native Outreach Summit that was organized by the Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA). ADRA Canada’s vision is a world without poverty. They are heavily involved in relief work around the globe and are visibly present in many of the world’s disaster areas. At this summit their focus was to educate us on the history, cultural characteristics, and needs of the Aboriginal people of North America.

The history of the Aboriginal people of North America is truly devastating. The world often looks to the Jewish Holocaust as being one of man’s darkest hour but Native people of this continent, have been suffering from a similar form of genocide since the 1800s. This is a people who have been stripped of all human dignity, self worth, and both individual and national identity over the centuries. The measures, by which the Canadian government took care of the “Indian Problem” during the early years, were simply wrong and yet it is only now that they are trying to rectify their mistakes.

However, there are leaders within the Native American community, who have made it their personal battle to preserve their culture, heal the wounds within themselves, embrace and forgive their tormentors, and educate their brothers and sisters to build a brighter future for Aboriginals. Several members at the summit presented beautiful aspects of their culture and patiently took question from the curious audience that served to enlighten us on many of their issues.

I met a native elder named Ruby while eating supper. She had impressed me with her story that she related to all present earlier in the day. She was a survivor of the residential school system used to forcibly integrate Native children into North American society by removing them from their homes and putting them into military style schools that made it their mandate to strip them of their culture and lifestyle. These children were beaten if they were even to speak in their Native language and were often sexually molested by their teachers.




Ruby also spoke on the years of therapy she had gone through to learn how to deal with her inner demons and also how she had worked hard on learning how to forgive. She candidly reflected on her fear of intimacy especially that which was expressed physically. Later I was surprised when she sat beside me at the supper table and I wasn’t sure how things would go. But soon we were laughing and sharing stories about her 11 grandchildren as well as sharing irreverent Native humor. I remember thinking there was such wisdom in her smile and the words she carefully spoke.

I brought my saxophone out and I was soon jamming with a group of cowboys playing Country and Bluegrass hymns. I learned that jazz riffs work well with the twangy quality of their music. I was gratified when a few of the Native elders approached me and praised me for "my skill with the horn." Ruby sat silently taking it all in with stoic grin on her face that apparently meant she was enjoying herself. Denise, married to one of the cowboy guitar players, was amazing on the bass guitar. I stood beside her as she set the groove for the rest of us.

In the the end I learned that the value of community runs deep within the Native cultures. Music was one of the avenues through which the bond between brother and sister was strengthened. Anyone was welcome to play and by playing you joined the family.

It felt good to be one with "The People".

The Godfather Lives

Most of you have read the note regarding the “incident” with my Dad’s ER visit this past week. I am happy to report that he appears to be back to his old self and as his Facebook status says, is going “full steam ahead.” There is still a battery of medical tests that he will be put through over the next few days, but my family and I are very grateful that he has not experienced any further chest pains or difficulty breathing.

While we were being driven to the hospital my mind wandered to last week Thursday when my Dad and I “slacked off” for the evening and watched The Godfather, (which was posted on 66stage.com) on my laptop. It was the first time that my Dad had watched the film and it had been a while since I had seen the film the whole way through. Marlon Brando’s performance as Mafia boss Vito Corleone forms the foundation of this family epic.

As we neared the end of the film, I could see my father moved by a particular scene where the aging Vito is advising his son Michael (played by a very young Al Pacino) soon after the “strings” of power have been given to him. Vito’s presence of mind is deteriorating and he struggles to offer words of wisdom to his sympathetic son. He laments the fact that Michael has to now carry the burden that used to be his and he wishes that he had done more to prevent it.

“There just wasn’t enough time,” the elder Corleone says with deep regret in his voice.

My Dad remained silent throughout the scene but I could tell he was lost in thought. I wondered if he was recalling a moment we had shared a year ago in my sister’s basement apartment. His visits to Toronto tended to be focused on spending time with his grand son so I often did not get a lot of one on one time with him. But this particular evening it was just him and I.

Quietly he began to tell me intimate things about his life. Regarding his actions as a young man, the years he had served the church, and even as my father, these confessions were full of self reflection and remorse. But this was not the sort of remorse that destroys a man, rather remorse that was born of wisdom gained through trial and the falling from grace that comes with error. The vulnerability he allowed me to be a part of that night made me feel awkward because it was difficult to see how human my father was. And yet his humanity also comforted me because it showed me that life wasn't about regretting mistakes but learning from them. Furthermore, trying to live a better life in the next moment is what defines a good life.

Time is a trickster. I truly believe it is not as linear as we engineer it to be. Moments that mean the most, disappear in the next blink of an eye. We often do not fully realize the impact they leave till they are long gone. However, it is not as if we can hold on to these moments. They come, go, and are beyond our locus of control. As we grow, we can only hope to savor them to the fullest when they are here.

I am grateful that the possibility for more moments spent with my Dad has been granted to me. I am not ready to let him go. I only hope that nothing blinds me or blocks me from appreciating the time we have.

"We'll get there [Dad]. We'll get there."