tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18899086.post9087982470635077446..comments2023-10-07T07:28:55.729-04:00Comments on Dave Moulton's Bike Blog: Don Tate: CyclistDave Moultonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07556183205157714280noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18899086.post-52897144753312304832006-11-18T23:14:00.000-05:002006-11-18T23:14:00.000-05:00Well said Dave. I too was affected by the words of...Well said Dave. I too was affected by the words of Don’s wife, cycling being a “passion that carried with you”. <br />My wife Wendi’s grandfather, Albert “Allie” Krushel also knew of what you write. After a lifetime of riding and racing, when eventually he was too sick to ride (per the doctor’s orders), he’d wait till his wife and her girlfriend would leave the house, then sneak down to the basement where he had rollers set up (in those days they were huge wooden affairs). <br />Wendi’s Aunt describes how they pretended to leave one day, and heard a loud whirling noise in the basement. Upon creeping down the stairs they saw him balanced on those rollers, spinning away.<br />He wasn’t training for a race, being too old and now feeble to do so; so it was something else. It was a part of him, you either get it or you don’t.<br />I’m sure they then left to do some shopping, leaving him where he needed to be.<br />Albert Krushel took the bronze medal in the road race at the 1912 Stockholm Olympics, was friends with Jim Thorpe, raced the original six day Madison races at the Garden; but the memory of him riding on those rollers will always be with me, thanks to Wendi’s Aunt relating what isn’t written. <br /><br />He died not long after; apparently what many of us “know” never leaves.VintageSpinhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08730079500876575901noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18899086.post-65197207088693452452006-11-18T23:01:00.000-05:002006-11-18T23:01:00.000-05:00This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.VintageSpinhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08730079500876575901noreply@blogger.com