Below is a lengthy post describing a brief encounter more than twenty years ago with a man who offered a simple bit of advice. I never forgot his words. Remembering them has helped me at various times in my life when his message was just what I needed to hear.
Recently I read the following email message in a bicycling-related forum.
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"The Legend", John Sinibaldi, passed away in his sleep today January 10, 2006 at 10:40 am. He was 92 years old, and had a short battle with lung cancer. Luckily he was not in any pain, and died peacefully with his family by his side.
John's legacy as a cyclist will not soon be forgotten, as few if any cyclists will ever achieve what he did. National champion 18 times. Olympian in 1932 and 1936. United States Bicycling Hall of Fame inductee in 1997. National record holder. His cycling career spanned an amazing 77 years, all of it on top of the national amateur picture.
He won his first national level race in 1928; his last national championship was this year at the USA Cycling Masters National Road Championships. A conservative estimate puts his lifetime mileage at well over a half-million miles.
However, his cycling legacy extends far beyond his own accomplishments. John spent the better part of the past 30 years promoting cycling as a sport, encouraging new cyclists to participate and helping all cyclists realize their potential. For over seven decades John was an informal ambassador for our sport, and he always rejoiced when someone new arrived for a group ride for the first time.
John had a long and productive life, and both lived and died with great dignity.
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As I read I realized that John Sinibaldi's story was familiar to me. I had read about him before, decades before. I did know this man but I had met him. It was a memorable meeting. I could recall every detail of the encounter, except for his name. I had forgotten it years earlier. With deep-felt emotion I wrote the following reply to the email forum:
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About twenty-five years ago I bought my first real bicycle. Oh, I had ridden as a kid but then polio and a degenerative bone disease left me too fragile and too fearful to attempt strenuous physical activity. It wasn't until my mid-thirties that I became bold enough to try anything as adventurous as flying over asphalt hunkered down on dropped handlebars. My doctor had advised me to get some exercise. "Try a bicycle" he said. "I don't think it will bother your hip."
I bought a bike. I puttered around the neighborhood. It was a half-hearted effort and I was sure that when the novelty wore off I would hang the bike in the garage to collect dust.
But then, I read an article in the paper one day about a local senior citizen who had been a champion racer in the 1930s and still rode every day to stay healthy. I was impressed. My bicycle no longer seemed like a child's toy. I started riding every day and I got stronger. I kept a clipping of that newspaper article taped to the garage wall. It was my motivation.
One Saturday morning I rode to the part of town where this gentleman lived, determined to meet him. I wanted to tell him how his story had encouraged me to ride and to thank him for the inspiration to reach beyond the limits of my self-confidence. After circling the neighborhood for two hours I met up with him at an intersection and rode beside him for several blocks. He accepted my compliments and thanks with gracious humility and he told me this when I asked him to share with me the "secret" of his stamina.
"If you want to do something for the rest of your life," he said "just do it every day." I thanked him. And with that he wished me a good ride, stood in his pedals and disappeared down the street.
Many years passed. I rode for a few more years until my hip prevented me from saddling up. I moved from Florida to North Carolina and then to Pennsylvania. The news clipping got lost in the moving and I forgot the name of the old man on the bicycle but I never forgot his advice. Often I wished that bicycling was something that I might have done for the rest of my life but I was not able to bicycle for even one day.
Then, in my late fifties, my old bum hip was replaced with a titanium implant. "Can I bicycle again?" I asked the surgeon. Sure, he said, I don't see why not.
So, after I learned to walk again, I started to ride. I taped a sign over my work bench in the garage. "If You Want To Do Something For The Rest Of Your Life Just Do It Every Day." I ride every day now and often I think of that old Florida cyclist who must certainly have died many years earlier. I wondered, had he managed to ride every day? I wished I could have thanked him again for this second round of inspiration.
Now I can. I again know his name. Thank you Mr. Sinibaldi. I have never forgotten your words. I am riding every day. I know now with certainty it is possible that I can ride for the rest of my life.
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I wrote that description of our meeting and its effect upon me as a tribute to the man who had kindled in me a life-long passion for cycling. Unexpectedly, I received the following email a few days later from his son:
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You will never know how touched we were by your email. Nobody down here had any idea about what you've gone through, or that a short conversation with my father could have changed someone's life. I am so glad you shared this with the bicycling forum (and then that Ken forwarded it to me).
Can I ask a huge favor? Would you submit your letter, exactly as it is, to the St. Petersburg Times? Seeing it printed in the paper would mean so much to so many folks down here who knew and loved my father. Or, you can give me permission by email to do so.
Again, thanks for sharing, and we wish you a lifetime of cycling happiness!
John, Jr.__________________________________________________________________________
I was deeply touched and replied:
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I never knew your father. Our only encounter was the one I described. But our meeting that day and the few words of encouragement he offered me had an impact on my life that he could never have imagined.
My faith in God was slow to develop and only now, at 60 years old, am I coming to appreciate how subtly His hand guided my life. Looking back over the decades I begin to see how seemingly random events and chance encounters have steered me to where I am now. I am just where I need to be. And it is nothing short of a miracle that I have made it here.
Meeting your father was one of those encounters. The message he gave to me, which seemed at the time almost silly in its simplicity, has echoed in my head and my heart at various times when it seemed chaos might engulf me. It has helped me to understand that order and stability could be restored in my life by practicing simple acts daily and establishing healthy routines.
Perhaps God puts people in our lives just when we need them. I am sure that has been true at times in my life. I suspect that your father was one of those people. I will think of him often as I crank out the miles on my road bike, and I hope I can do that for the rest of my time here.
Thank you for contacting me and letting me know that my words offered some comfort to his family. I hope that you will continue to find comfort in your circle of family and friends and in your faith.
I asked my own son to proof read my post to the bicycling forum before I sent it. He said "Dad, you should also email that to the St. Petersburg Times." So I did, just minutes after I emailed it to the forum. If you check with the Times and they are unaware of my email, you are welcome to pass it along to them.
May God bless you and your family.
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John Jr. wrote again:
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Thank you again. I hope you don't mind, but I chose to read your email at the eulogy (out of about 300). I thought it captured perfectly how my father touched folks - even though that was never his intention. All he ever wanted people to do was to enjoy life, ride their bikes, and treasure their loved ones.
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This morning in church our pastor spoke of possibilities, among them the possiblity that our actions can affect the lives of others in positive and unexpected ways. His message completed a circle of understanding in me. What goes around comes around, all things are connected, there are no coincidences. One man shares openly and honestly with another, influencing in a positive way with just the words his listener needs to hear. Decades later that same listener unknowingly encounters the first man's descendents and shares his own words which are just those that need to be heard. Coincidence? Perhaps.
