Who hasn't joked when a guy in an oversized pickup truck goes by blasting black smoke and rattling store windows, "he's obviously compensating for something", isn't he? Well maybe he is or perhaps he's just a big kid, but then again, could it be that he's compensating for his immaturity, is that what drives the truck? My dad used to say "if you need to prove you're a real man, you're probably not". He always had the best sayings. He was a man who felt no need to prove himself, he was clearly living his own definition of how a man should act. That's just how he rolled, he never drove a truck. My dad was 45 when I was born, I only knew him as an old man. Aging can be a test of a mans metal, both mentally and physically. It's so easy to say "I can't do that anymore because I'm too old", but what if you never accepted the notion that you are supposed to slow down because of the numbers on your birth certificate. What if you fought aging everyday like it's a disease that's trying to bring you to your knees. I recently did some big rides on my mountain bike in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. I rode Mount Sutton and Bromont; both destinations were a test of my fitness just days before my 62nd birthday. Age wasn't going to stop me, I still have what it takes you know! On my very first climb up Sutton I met a group of friendly old guys who were more to than happy to talk to me in English. They were on the top of the mountain getting ready to ride the aptly named trail "Grand Seduction". I'm confident in saying that they were interested in engaging me in conversation because they, like me, were sporting some debonair grey hair. I'm very self assured in my riding, I'm pretty good for an old guy you know, so.. being the rooster that I am, I asked them which way to the trail with the black rating. They were happy to point me in the right direction with some sound advice on which trail lines to avoid. With the business of where I'm from and what I wanted to ride dealt with, the one guy in the back said "so the important question," he said with his great French Canadian accent, " how old are you? "Well I'm turning 62 in a few days". The quiet man with the gray locks then announced the ages of all his pals, "he is 65, that guy there is 64 and that other fellow is 63 and me, I'm 65", he said with pride. We all agreed that it was the biking that had keep us young and gave us the ability to keep doing what is supposed to be a young man's thing. A group of younger standing nearby were listening: those dudes were smiling. I wondered, are they laughing at the crazy old guys or did they see us as an example of what their future could be. I announced that I was going to go find that trail with the black rating. The quiet one said with a tone that seemed concerning "goodbye". It wasn't the word but his tone that caught me off guard. I laughed and said " I don't like the finality in the way you said that". There was laughter and then he said, "I suppose I should say, have a good ride". There was more laughter as I rolled off to meet my fate. Did you know that the trail ratings in Quebec are not the same as they are in Ontario. Turns out a black rating in Quebec is more like as double black diamond in Ontario, who knew? I survived that first run down the hill with my old manhood intact. I was on my second climb up Mount Sutton and was growing somewhat tired of the arduous climb however I was patting myself on the back. "Just watch me go, not bad for an ole dude" I bragged to myself because I was passing everyone going up the hill, well not everyone. He must have been about 25 years and his body fat percentage was likely around 3 percent. Being a much younger and smaller man than me, his power to weight ratio was considerably better than mine. He passed me as though he had a motor, but he didn't, I checked his bike as he rode by. "Yeah well, I'm an ole dude, he's a young guy", I thought to myself. I got to the top and rode "Grand Seduction" The trail is in itself an epic ride that required the use of all my skills. A blue trail in Quebec, a black diamond by my provinces standards. That young kid who passed me was long forgotten by the time I got to the bottom of the hill. Strength and manhood are supposed to be synonymous aren't they? It was my third climb up the hill and there he was again, I really don't like that guy. But he quickly passed me and went out of view, very quickly because I was on my third climb, each one lasting about 30 minutes. I happily passed so many other riders who were much younger than me. Some of those riders were a quarter of my age, others were half my age and even a few 10 year old's in the mix. I passed them all, all except that one guy who I hate. There was another rider who was ahead of me further up the hill passing lots of people on route to the top. Ah, someone to compete with I thought. "I got to catch this guy". Eventually I closed the gap on the rider who was steaming up the hill faster than most, well except for me and that guy I hate. I spent a lot of energy to close the gap so I decided to stay on his wheel and catch my breath before I passed with a victory known only to me. "On your left" I proudly beckoned. She made room and I passed, Whoa wait, what, it's a woman! I looked into her eyes as I passed and seen the face of a woman who was beaming with energy and pride. She was likely 70 years old but only the wrinkles in her face showed the passing of time. She showed no sign of aging when we both passed a woman who was in her early thirties. I rolled up the hill and she slowly fell behind me and I lost sight of her. I wonder if she had to prove her manhood. I guess not right, she's a woman after all. I wondered who she was in life, what was her story and what drove her to keep going. Such an inspiration to everyone she passed on that 8km billy goat climb over rocks, roots, drops and loose ground. "Maybe she was an emergency responder, maybe even a firefighter" I thought, "or perhaps she was a stay at home mom and now someone's granny". Maybe she was strong and brave, like a real man. I'll never know. I was at the bottom of the hill contemplating another trip up. I had a few ounces of water and half of an energy bar which I finished off quickly. A man who I would later know as Jerome spoke to me in French. "I'm sorry sir I don't speak French" I responded, Jerome was quick to switch to English. He wanted to get to the top of the hill but didn't know which trail to take. "I'll take you up if you like". With his agreement, my commitment to climb another 900 feet of vertical, was set. Our friendship only lasted about an hour but I got a pretty good profile of this old guy, he was 50. The engineer was camping nearby with his family who didn't participate in the sport of crazy people. He lived a comfortable life in Montreal with his wife the architect. Jerome was a cyclist but the belly showed he had not been putting on as many miles as he was putting on pounds. The climb to the top was slower than my first three rounds but I wasn't complaining, I was happy to have an excuse to go slower. Jerome however, was giving it his all. He asked me on one occasion if we were near the top. I said yes even though we still had another 200 vertical feet to climb. I advised poor old Jerome that the downhill run would be worth all the effort. When we got to the top he thanked me for pushing him to keep going. His tired eyes showed me that he had completely expended all of his energy, he was spent. "So how old are you" he asked. "62" I mumbled. At the top of the mountain Jerome paused to look at the map on his phone and said he would like to descend down "Grand Seduction". Having been there and done that I said "that would trail is a lot harder than you might think"., so I convinced him to take the flow trail down the hill. We rode down that beautifully made trail, flying like two geezers with wings. I stopped half way down to allow my friend to catch his breath. The worn down tired eyes were gone, he was beaming with joy. We started out again and then Jerome said " I'm going to get a better bike, I forgot what I was missing and these new flow trails are soo much fun". We arrived at the bottom of the hill. "62" he said, "I guess I got a good twelve years to catch up to you" he joked. I helped my new friend find his way back to the campground where his company was surely waiting by now, "I have a story to tell over dinner" were his parting thoughts. I went back to my truck, I was spent. I wonder if Jerome bought that new bike.. I wonder if he knows that aging is something you shouldn't resign yourself to, but on the other hand I hope he doesn't need to prove he's still got it, you know, like a real man and all that stuff.
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January 2024
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