George Pohl, a Brief Tribute

George (and Nick).

This morning I found out that my old friend, George Pohl, whom I have written about in my “Self Portrait in Bicycles” post, has died.  Here is an excerpt from that post:

The Internet helped me discover the Italian Cycling Center, run by then 82-year-old Philadelphian, George Pohl. George looked not a day over 60, tall and thin, with many many miles in his impressive legs. Every summer for many years he would leave Philadelphia to run the cycling center from a small hotel in Borso del Grappa, tucked up against the Pre-Alps at the edge of the Venetian plains—the otherworldly Dolomites in the not far-off distance. Each day of our week there I would ride with George, while Nick set off with a younger, stronger group. And each day, George would destroy my ego, riding far out ahead of me, especially on the hills, circling back to see how I was doing, suggesting rests at cafes, churches or Villas/museums when he sensed I was faltering…George spoke multiple languages fluently and knew everything about the local history and had even met Hemingway as a boy living in Europe. Each day we’d set out for a 30-40 mile ride, and I would return exhausted, humbled and amazed that someone could possess so much knowledge and be so physically fit in his eighties. I was determined to keep riding (and learning).  

A typical road on one of my rides with George, castle in the distance.

While I don’t know his exact age, he was somewhere in his mid-90s, and had been riding, according to his Strava posts, as recently as this past winter. In one “kudos” I gave him, he responded that he had purchased an e-bike recently and was delighted to be able to continue riding as often as he could. He would frequently pass on things he had read about Hemingway to me, or scathing takes on our former president, and he was an invaluable help as I worked to convert my old, Italian steel bike to more modern gearing just last year. When he emailed, he always inquired about my son Nick, and he was delighted that Nick was working in the bike industry, designing bicycles and parts for Cannondale. 

Venetian villas and gardens, George’s bike.

I’m so fortunate to have gotten to know George a little. Capable of great kindness and support, he was also a famous curmudgeon, and when Nick and I attended his “Italian Cycling Center,” he insisted things be done his way (the right way). After a light breakfast, we’d go off on our long rides—me 30-45 miles or so, Nick 50+—then return to an incredible, late lunch. After the meal, George insisted we lay down and nap, that only in this way would our muscles best absorb the necessary nutrients from our midday meal. We could go on light rides in the afternoon if we chose, and then we were expected to eat a large dinner to fuel up for the next day’s ride. Each afternoon after lunch, George would take our dinner orders after consulting with the cook, getting tremendously annoyed if we hesitated or changed our minds after we had ordered. George was passionate about good food and how to best use it to maximize your cycling and health.

A typical lunch.

I grew fond of George quite quickly and spent most of my week there riding just with him through the beyond-words beauty of the north Venetian plains and undulating hills of the pre-Alps. We made frequent stops at small, Medieval churches, castles, and the sprawling Venetian villas built mostly between the 15th and 17th centuries. He was especially fond of those designed by Palladio and later buildings designed by Anton Scarpa, and he seemed to know something about nearly every building in every small town we rode through. One day we rode to the Brion Tomb, designed by Scarpa, and a hushed reverence came over George as he walked through the stark, concrete, modernist structures and stood looking out across a lily-pad thick square fountain pond toward the distant mountains. 

The Brion tomb.

When I made the decision to quit my teaching job last year at about this time—to relinquish a salary and regular contributions to my TIAA-CREF account and affordable healthcare…I often thought of George who lived his life doing things he loved, riding his Italian steel bicycle through the immense beauty of northern Italy, reading, learning, teaching others without compromise. I remember when I was there with him how jealous I was of his life, of being able to make a living even as he continued to learn and participate fully in something of such deep value to him. I continue to think of George as bank accounts run low, and I struggle for my writing to gain traction (for the publisher who has been looking at my book of fly fishing essays for months now to make up her mind one way or another). He reminds me of the simple, essential truths I overlooked for far too long but am grateful are now so central to my life: do what you love, what brings you joy—writing, riding, reading, playing guitar…and always learning. 

George in Che jersey on the Ponte Vecchio in Bassano del Grappa.

The center will be holding a tribute celebration for George on July 7th of this year in Borso del Grappa, and you can read some more about him and see more pictures here.

All photos by the author. 

---

Please share my writing on your own social media accounts and with friends, family:

And, as always, upgrading to a paid subscription or buying me a coffee will be greatly appreciated.