I've spent my entire life as a fan of the California Anaheim Los Angeles Angels major league baseball team, so it was only natural that I pass this unconditional and inexplicable love on to my son.
I started planting the seed at an age when Dash was barely able to utter "Mama," let alone "2002 World Series Champions." Every time I had him on his changing table, I'd say "Vladimir. Guerrero." Repeatedly. It got to the point where all I'd say was, "Vladimir ...?" and Dash would respond with, "Guh-way-woh."
In addition to knowing the name of my favorite player, Dash was also familiar with the Angels' color scheme, which might be related to the fact that we hooked him up with an Angels bib, t-shirts, hats and anything else Angels-related. So one day after Liz painted her toenails red, Dash called them "Guerrero toes," and the name stuck. Every time we take a trip to Angels Stadium, Liz puts on her Guerrero toes as a good-luck charm (they haven't lost a game that we've gone to).
After Saturday night's heartbreaking (and frustrating) loss to the Yankees in Game 2 of the ALCS, I decided it was time to take things to a new level. Ya know, because my actions have a direct impact on the team's performance (don't they?). Needless to say, Dash was a little confused on Sunday when he looked at my feet and saw this:
As you all (all 4 of you) know, I only started riding regularly about 4 months ago. With my job being 40 miles away and family obligations, realistically the only available hours for me to ride are at night. I always wear a helmet, I have two bike lights (front and back) and my cycling shoes have reflective material on them. Whenever possible, I ride on dedicated bike paths, in the bike lane or the sidewalk in the absence of a bike lane.
And despite all my precautions and preparations, I ride with a little bit of fear. I only ride routes that I'm familiar with and aren't heavily traveled, but I know all it takes is one car. Or in the case of the Santa Clarita Valley, one monster truck.
So I felt a sense of obligation when I heard about a Memorial Ride of Silence for Joe Novotny, a local cyclist who was killed by a drunk driver this past summer while riding along a popular cycling route here in the SCV. I don't know any other cyclists in town and I had no idea how many would show up, but I arrived at the designated sign-in area at 7:30 this morning. And I saw cyclists. A lot of them. My guess is around 200, but other estimates put it closer to 300. And I'm pretty sure most of us had never met Joe Novotny.
I always thought of cycling as a solitary sport for loners or those who don't like to be part of a team. Today I was both surprised and humbled by the turnout, and it became very clear to me that cycling is not a solitary endeavor by any means. It is, in fact, a tight knit community that rallies around its comrades. And today that community rode in unison -- for 12 miles in complete silence -- to honor the memory of a fallen member.
Today I became part of a community, humbled by its commitment to its sport and moved by its dedication to its members.
