He has put in more than half a million miles on his bicycle, and more than 92 years on this earth. Yet sweet life lingers.
By JEFF KLINKENBERG, Times Staff Writer
Published December 4, 2005
ST. PETERSBURG - John Sinibaldi probably has pedaled his bicycle for the last time. But he may fool us all. He may summon the energy for a final ride.
Sometimes he stops sipping air from the oxygen tank in the living room and walks slowly into the garage and looks at his bike. While he is at it, he also looks at his other bike, the dusty one he rode in the Olympics in 1932 and 1936.
As he begins his 93rd year, his amazing body is finally failing. For the first time in his memory he is easily winded. "I just feel tired," he says sheepishly. It is not his nature to complain, so he adds, "But you know, I am stronger now than I was a few weeks ago."
On Dec. 18, friends are staging an "I Rode With the Legend" bicycle ride beginning at St. Petersburg's North Shore Pool parking lot at 8:30 a.m. The 20-mile excursion will follow his favorite route through the city and conclude with breakfast at his favorite restaurant, the Gold Coffee Shop, at 336 First Ave. N.
The old man fully intends to ride his own bike. If he feels weak, he might sit on the back of his son's tandem. Then again, he may just gamely wave as the younger cyclists take off.
After riding more than a half-million miles in eight decades, he became ill in September, a short time after winning his 18th national championship, in his age group, in Utah.
The Utah hills seemed higher than ever, but he finished. And then, on one of his daily rides with the St. Petersburg Bicycle Club days later, he felt weak as a newborn. Somebody had to drive him and his bike home.
Twice doctors have drained fluid from his lungs.
"I have had so many X-rays I'm radioactive," he says.
Prognosis: He's 92. Treatment won't help and it might hurt.
He has had a very good run.
The Grand Old Man
He likes to sit in his St. Petersburg living room and read as he listens to Schubert on the stereo. Lately he has been reading It's Not About the Bike by Lance Armstrong. Armstrong, whose book about his fight against cancer had a happy ending, is the most famous cyclist on Earth.
During Sinibaldi's heyday, cycling was a minor sport. But he was among the most dominant riders in North America.
In 1932, he made the Olympic team, though a stomach virus hurt his performance. In 1935, he set a national record, riding 62 miles in 2 hours, 25 minutes and 9 seconds - on a bicycle with one gear. In 1936, after Hitler walked past him into the Olympic Stadium in Berlin, Sinibaldi raced well and thought he had a chance to medal until the moment his wheel broke near the finish line.
The Olympics were canceled in 1940 and 1944. He tried out for the Olympic team in 1948 but wasn't fast enough. At 35 he was considered an antique.
Now he is known as The Legend and, as corny as it sounds, "The Grand Old Man of American Cycling." The grand old man doesn't look sick. He doesn't look like his last birthday was No. 92. His hair is more brown than gray. He needs no glasses to read, and when visitors speak up he hears just fine.
His skin is as brown and leathered as an old bicycle saddle. Good luck finding any flab. Until September he was riding his usual 150 miles a week. After his rides he often had the energy to cut 10 lawns in his neighborhood for 5 bucks each. Then he would tend his own garden.
He lives alone; Betty died in 2000 from complications of diabetes. Her voice is still on his answering machine. He cooks for himself using the fresh ingredients from his garden. He grows peanuts and makes his own peanut butter.
The Sinibaldi garden, like his cycling, is legendary. The backyard plot is 90 feet long and 50 feet deep.
Though he has not ridden his bike lately, he has somehow found the strength to work in the garden at least a little bit. His tomatoes are coming in. His Vidalia onions and garlic look robust.
The French essayist Montaigne once wrote: "I want Death to find me planting cabbages." John Sinibaldi has the seeds in the ground. He hopes to eat fresh cabbage come spring.
Spring, of course, is a long way off for a 92-year-old man with failing lungs. Winter is around the corner. He sits in his back yard under the pecan tree and looks at the garden in the fading light of day, and, perhaps, his life.
Over by the fig tree, the moist earth reveals something green.
The cabbages are on the way.
- Jeff Klinkenberg can be reached at 727 893-8727 or klink@sptimes.com
