Dad Bod: C+

Words and illustration by Stephen Haynes

Lots of people look down their noses at students who gets C’s in school. There is a certain stink to getting a C that somehow says “you’re not cut out for this type of thing”. Why do we do this? Getting a C is essentially passing the course! The student is neither very good, nor very bad, but simply has a passable grasp on the subject. What’s wrong with that?

I know lots of people who, in their professional jobs are simply passable (myself included if I’m honest) and I think that’s ok. We expect greatness from every “professional” we encounter without considering their level of interest, natural ability, personal stress, accountability, maturity, self-respect and a host of other things that make us all infinitely unique.

If I’m paying someone to do my taxes or install a new furnace, I want the person to be proficient, but I’m not expecting the best. I can’t afford the best! Proficient will do. If I dodge an IRS tax audit and have hot air coming through the vents in the winter, then I’ve gotten what I paid for.

The reason I bring up the subject of passably proficient is that I see a lot of the same thinking in the parenting world, specifically, but certainly not limited to, fatherhood as I know it. I see myself as a solid C+ dad, maybe a B- working toward a firm footed B.

As such, keeping my kids alive is the first, and most important hurdle in my mind. Secondly, I must help feed and clothe them and make sure they are loved, which they are. Beyond that, children are fully poseable, infinitely influenceable vessels for whatever interests you both concoct along the way, including cycling.

Now as a dad working in the cycling industry, it is often thought that both my children are future badasses in some cycling discipline, and maybe they will be, who knows? For now though, they are so thoroughly sick of hearing about anything cycling related that getting them out for a quick mountain bike loop or even to hit up the local rails-to-trails is akin to force-feeding your dog a pill it really isn’t interested in taking.

So, my wife and I have plenty of bikes and bike stuff prominently placed in a high traffic area in the house with the hopes of piquing the kids interest via passive osmosis. Of course it’s all white noise to the kids. It may as well be flocked wall paper with kitschy little designs of dachshunds in tutu’s interspersed with filigree. In fact, the flocked wall paper might garner more attention.

As funny, sad or irritating as this luke-warm interest from my offspring sometimes is, I am reminded of my own enthusiasm. An enthusiasm that waxes and wanes sure as the moon, though less beautiful and with a less far-reaching impact. Sure, I like to ride my bike, but I don’t do it every day (or week, or month sometimes). I’m also thoroughly non-competitive, so while I may take part in the occasional regional race, it’s out of a sense of personal boundary pushing. I’m not delusional enough to think I could win anything.

Dad Bod C+

I love cycling, but I love other things equally as well, if not more; like drawing, painting, comics, music, movies… My high school self would actively ignore the (insert any subject) teacher to focus on whatever notebook masterpiece was taking shape. I see my kids ignoring my attempts to teach them the virtues of cycling as I once did my teachers, to focus on things they’re more interested in.

Of course, in most schools, there comes a time when a test must be taken to prove your knowledge of the subject and also to prove the proficiency of the teacher. This is where being a C+ student meets up with being a C+ dad. Like the inevitable test, I do, on occasion, make the kids strap on a helmet and go pedaling off into some relative unknown, whether they’ve been paying attention or not. Like a certain mohawk sporting teenager, sweating out an eleventh grade History exam, I nervously walk the line between blind confidence in some innate ability, and absolute terror.

The kids and I generally make it through the ride with minimal grumbling and a sense that we all did the best we could, equipped with the passably proficient skills we possess. For extra credit, we may stop for donuts on the way home and while that probably won’t improve our riding skills, it’ll leave the kids with a sweet memory of cycling which is all I want to impart on them anyway.



How We Roll: Urban Archeologist

This story first appeared in Bicycle Times #28.  

Words by Robert Brunberger

how I roll urban archeologist

There is much to note in bicycling about Baton Rouge. Many sights thrill. Others dishearten. Bicycling highlights each in ways less often seen from cars. Litter is as an unpleasant eyesore as roadkill. Too often am I greeted by cups and containers, food wrappers, and other assorted items too numerous to cite. Bungee cords are plentiful. Coins and bills less so. I once found $8.32 in scattered bills and change and on another occasion a rumpled five dollar bill peeking from the levee bike path grass.

Clothing items often appear, and a pair of pliers and a screwdriver now reside in my toolbox. I even recovered a junked but repairable bicycle, now my backup. Some finds are returnable. I reunited a lost dog with its owner as was the case with a wallet and keychain.

I feel like an urban archaeologist noting what others eat, drink, smoke, and use before discarding (or losing). Who are these folks for whom a rolled down car window is a mobile trash bin? How did they acquire a throwaway mentality? Does conspicuous consumption and materialism breed an instant waste disposal mindset? I struggle to understand.

I am the product of Great Depression and WWII-era parents who knew scarcity. They’d jump at loose change. They stretched hand-me-down clothes and intervals between haircuts. I know thrift stores, figuratively and literally. I know leftovers. Their values are hard to shake. Even bicycling seems a carryover from the ones once ridden in childhood.

Other bicycling finds puts litter to shame. They are aesthetic, and delight by striking a chord difficult to describe. These finds offer visual feasts, enable silent music to be heard, and stir where words fail.

There is grandeur to a flock of pelicans suddenly rising in a white cloud above the university or Capitol Lakes.

There is stunning beauty to a golden sunset sinking over the Mississippi River.

There is high drama in a gliding hawk’s arrow-like dive at an unsuspecting squirrel.

There is enchantment at the first hint of seasonal changes, as when buds appear or summer temperatures cool.

Thus are my bicycling finds a mixed bag.

What is deplorable is countered by what is captivating. Eyesores and eye openers go hand in hand and are never far apart. One, in fact, enhances the other. I bicycle before both, remaining the observant spectator. 

How do you roll?

Want to share a story about your bike and what makes it special? Send some details to [email protected] with the subject line “How I Roll.” We’ll publish some of our favorites online and in the magazine.

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