Skip to main content

2018 Birthday Ride

It’s called a Metric Century, we call it this years birthday ride. Distance: 62.5 miles, ride time 5 hrs. 19 minutes 12 seconds, average speed 11.7 mph.

I’m fairly certain that I will never shoot my age in Golf, swim the English Channel, or for that matter ride the Race Across America. However, since my 50th birthday my self-proclaimed yearly goal is to complete a bicycle ride, in one day, at least my age in miles, on or near my birthday. This year,  August 16, 2018, this olé boy has completed 62 trips around the Sun on this home we call Earth. That’s really hard to believe.

With the advent of Facebook, Twitter, and other social media outlets I’ve been able to shout from the mountaintop my proposed goal to all who will listen. Even to those who could care less. This serves two purposes; first, to sustain a foundational fitness level as I get older.

Dr. Dennis Waitley reminds us that our bodies are, “Our transportation vehicle to the future.” Cycling provides an exercise regiment and long-range goals to keep me healthy and motivated. Two, it challenges me to live up to my time commitments in daily activities and relationships. Busy, irregular work schedules make it difficult sometimes almost impossible to maintain a fitness program. But come what may, I’m devoted to cycling. I’ve been a distance bicyclist since about 15 years old.

The fact is, it’s not the ride that’s difficult (provided you properly train). The real challenge is - to Do What You Say you will do.

It’s a disarming thought, always do what you say you’ll do—simple yet profound. Show the world your commitment to integrity. More importantly, it is how you demonstrate dedication to yourself, your family, friends, and your community.

Believe me, after a full weeks work at Home Depot pounding the concrete, I’m tired and sore. (My Fitbit records an average of 5-7 miles per day). Sore shoulders, stiff neck, stiff back, sore hips, and I’m certain I could have fabricated a host of other excuses.

As Socrates said, “Know thyself.”

Well, my cycling legs feel fine. Those other aches and pains, nothing a couple of Advil can’t handle.

Surprisingly, I began to realize just how much everyone listened to my birthday proclamation. Friends and family began sending me messages on Facebook, texts, and phone calls.

“Happy Birthday Patrick! Are you going to ride your age?” from a fellow rider and close friend.

“Happy Birthday Patrick. Start out easy, like to the mail box and back!"

“Go for it Patrick! Age is a number not a barrier . . . keep on keeping on.”

So, it’s Sunday morning, I’m up at 5:00 a.m. preparing for our ride; a good breakfast, a shower, stretching, check the air in the tires, clean the chain, and inspect the gears.

Now, what most people don’t realize is my best friend and wife, Lori, is right beside me all the way. She reminds me to eat something every hour, is our route planner, photographer, and cheerleader. With enthusiasm, she is up by six, has her coffee, breakfast, and is ready to hit the road by 7:00 a.m.

As we roll away from the house she says, “I must be a crazy wife to participate in a stunt like this.”

“What do you mean? We play golf, go hiking, and do all the training rides together.”

Of course, she insists on taking photos. Start time, rest breaks, food stops, and finishing times. This year finishing strong with a video of me huffing and puffing my way up the hill home.

Our last rest stop, lunch, the 55 mile mark, her comment to me was, “I get to stop in four miles - right? You ride home, get the truck, and come pick me up.”

“Just kidding, I just need to stretch my back, eat something, then I’ll be ready to go.” said Lori.

With the commitment of a trooper she rode ahead to take the attached video titled, Finishing Strong.

Well, the next few days we will both take some well deserved time-off. Next weekend we will start preparing for next year’s ride.

The lesson learned - always Do What You Say. No matter how silly and insignificant what you declare may come across at the time, people do remember. And most of all, it is how you demonstrate dedication to yourself.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

On the Fly–Taking Flight

In this special 500th episode,  On the Fly  is moving to a new home. Here’s why—and what’s staying the same. For a very long time (since April 2012),  On the Fly  has lived on  Blogger . Blogger has been a reliable host—dependable, quiet, and never complaining when I arrived late with another half-baked idea, a guitar riff, or a story that needed a little air. It faithfully archived my thoughts, my music, and more than a decade of curiosity. But the internet has changed. It’s louder now. Flashier. More insistent. Every thought is nudged to perform. Every sentence wants to be optimized, monetized, or interrupted by something that really wants your attention right this second. I’ve been craving the opposite. So today, On the Fly is moving to Substack . If you’ve been with me for a while, you know my quiet obsession: the A rt of Seeing . I’m interested in the moments we rush past—the Aversion Trap, the discipline hidden inside a guitarist’s daily practice, t...

Chasing 70

In this episode,  Chasing 70: A Respectful Negotiation with Gravity They say golf is a game of misses. If that’s true, my first round of the year at Rancho Carlsbad was a masterclass in missing efficiently . After a four-month hiatus—during which my golf clubs quietly evolved into a self-sustaining garage ecosystem—Lori and I returned to our local par-three proving ground. Rancho Carlsbad is a par-54, just 1,983 yards long. That sounds forgiving until it exposes every weakness you’ve been politely ignoring during the off-season. I finished with a 78. In most contexts, 78 is respectable. On a par-54, it means I spent a fair amount of time “getting my steps in.” But here’s the real motivation: I turn 70 this August. As a core principle of my Great Un-Working Lifestyle, I’m putting it in writing: I want to shoot my age by my birthday. The Bald-Headed Man Course Around here, we have a nickname for Rancho Carlsbad. We call it the Bald-Headed Man Course. First, because there are no woods...