I was bored and depressed and living in Los Angeles with its smog, half-sun and no rain for months. I was stuck in a dead end job and a lonely apartment with lots of acquaintances but not many friends. I went from 150 pounds to 175. I dreaded getting out of bed every morning. I was addicted to my pain medication after a surgery. I knew I had to change something but I didn’t know what or how.
One Saturday, as I sat on the couch watching TV, a large box showed up on my doorstep. It was from my Dad. There was a mountain bike inside. It was in a thousand pieces. There were no instructions. I sorta figured out how to put it all back together but with some unknown extra parts. Then I took it to the only trail I knew in the Santa Monica Mountains. It was an 11 mile loop with 900 feet of climbing. I was embarrassed by guys twice my age riding past me as I walked my bike, but I kept going. I was determined to improve. As I walked back to my car I vowed to return and try again. After five tries and three sessions of puking in the bushes I was able to reach the top of Dirt Mulholland without getting off the bike. I felt my life begin to change and it hasn’t stopped since. It may sound trivial to some, but the career goals that I have since achieved and most of the friendships I now cherish are because of the bike. And my Dad and I have become closer than ever because of our shared passion.
I don’t know if it was a father’s instinct or just good timing, but I’m forever indebted to him for sending that old bike when he did.
That's me in the black jacket and my dad next to me along with my brother Zack and sister-in-law Sonlla.
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