Cyclist who bonded with his father over biking spends summer riding through the Swiss Alps after his cancer-stricken dad said he regretted not doing it before his death

A cyclist who bonded with his father over biking spent the summer riding through the grueling summits of the Swiss Alps as a tribute to the man who never got to fulfill that goal before he died of cancer.

James Jung, a journalist and branded content strategist from New Hampshire, is the son of Josef Jung, an Austrian-born ski instructor who moved to the United States after meeting an American woman in his native country.

Josef went on to become a ski school director at Waterville Valley in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

‘Over the years he became something of a small-town celebrity, a silver-haired, six-foot-four Austrian skimeister who shamelessly yodeled while showboating underneath the chairlift, a man whose attention was vied for by all the tourists and wealthy weekenders,’ James wrote about his dad in Bicycling.

James Jung , a journalist and branded content strategist from New Hampshire, is the son of Josef Jung , an Austrian-born ski instructor who moved to the United States after meeting an American woman in his native country

Josef Jung was the director of a skiing school in Waterville Valley, tucked in New Hampshire’s White Mountains

James Jung is seen above as a youngster taking part in a cycling race. He inherited a love of cycling from his dad

He added: ‘It was on the bike, however, that I liked Dad best; on the bike I didn’t have to share him with anyone.’

During their rides together, Josef would tell James about the bike rides that he took as a youngster through Switzerland.

‘He talked about the endless switchbacks he and his fellow farm boy friends raced down and the mountain huts in whose darkened dining rooms they fueled up; the climbs they crushed; the cars whose drivers had “no chance” to keep up with them on a twisty descent; the postbuses they sometimes grabbed for a free tow home,’ James writes.

As a teen, James was ‘bitten by the racing bug.’ On weekends, he and his parents would ‘ping-pong around New England’ to take part in cycling races.

Just before Josef died of cancer, he regretted not being able to cycle through passes of the Swiss Alps. This motivated James to do just that this past summer in tribute to his father

The mutual love of cycling cemented the bond between father and son, but then real life intruded.

James grew up, went to college, and became an adult. His smoking, boozing, and overall lifestyle eventually motivated him to return to biking.

‘In New York I started working in magazines, drank too much, bummed cigarettes, had a vague and romantic idea of myself as a novelist who just hadn’t found the time to write a book yet,’ he writes.

‘It wasn’t until I lost my job in the final year of my 20s that I began biking in Central Park as a way to lose weight.’

James once again caught the cycling bug, but his renewed love for bicycling was tempered by the news that Josef was diagnosed with cancer.

‘He still rode his bike, still laughed that big honking laugh of his, and still came to all my races, handing me bottles and cheering me on from the feed zone,’ James writes.

‘Sometimes I felt foolish for being a guy in his 30s who went to bike races with his father, but mostly I was just thankful for the time together.’

'There are so many passes I never got to ride,' Josef told his son before his death. The above image shows the Swiss Alps

As Josef’s condition deteriorated, it became clear that James did not have much time left to share with his father.

‘Dad died on a cold Tuesday afternoon in late November, two days shy of Thanksgiving,’ James writes.

‘I sat next to him, holding his thick-fingered farmer’s hand, one that had gone bony and limp.

‘I watched and whispered to him as he drew his last raspy breaths in the rented hospital bed my mother had put in the TV room of the small ranch house she’d shared with him for 19 years.’

Just before his death, however, the two still bonded.

‘Despite the cancer having rapidly metastasized to his lungs, skin, and bones, rendering the bones so weak that he broke his right arm simply by trying to lift a bedsheet, Dad’s spirits remained high, and we often talked of cycling,’ James writes.

‘We watched the World Championships Road Race from Yorkshire on my laptop, and joked about how Dad was now a doper due to all the blood transfusions he’d received.’

James then describes showing his father photos of a recent cycling ride he made through Switzerland, where he lives with his wife.

One of the most challenging trails for James was the Fluela Pass, where fierce wind conditions stopped his ascent to the summit

‘We spent what felt like hours huddled over my phone’s small screen to look at photos I’d taken on a recent ride up the Klausenpass,’ James writes.

‘Dad flicked back and forth between his favorites, marveling at the green pastures and yellow-needled larches, the blue-white glacier and the rushing waterfalls - all that enchanted topography of the country he considered his spiritual home.

‘He shook his head, half in awe, half in disappointment.

‘“There are so many passes I never got to ride,” he said.’

When the COVID-19 pandemic set in and his family’s return to America had been delayed, James decided that he could pay tribute to his father by riding the passes that he never managed to ride before his death.

He writes that he started a grueling training regimen to get himself back into shape.

‘There were numerous setbacks - bonks, back spasms, a humiliating train ride home when I couldn’t complete my first outdoor 60-mile ride,’ James writes.

‘But by summer I was lean and fit, with a threshold that hovered around 350 watts.

‘When I caught my reflection, I felt as if I’d excavated some younger version of myself from the nearly 40-year-old man in front of me.’

James managed to scale the Susten Pass and its 7,415-foot summit

James scaled the 7,415ft high Susten Pass. While doing so, he felt as if his father was watching him the whole time.

‘ I wondered if the young version of my father that I’d imagined would somehow recognize me, feel the bond of the bike between us,’ he writes.

‘It was an absurd notion, yet I couldn’t shake it.’

James also rode the 7,100ft Grimsel Pass, the tough trail that crosses the Bernese Alps.

He writes: ‘My summer became a series of mountain passes, each more addictive and punishing than the last.

‘In July, I weaved up the double-digit pitches of the Grosse Scheidegg, using its tight hairpins to sneak glances back at the Eiger, a mountain my father mythologized but never saw in person.

‘A week later, in the mostly abandoned town of Gletsch, I lit a votive candle for Dad in a chapel at the foot of the melting Rhône glacier, and then crawled up the rocky flanks of the torturous Nufenenpass, wondering what would burn out first, the candle or me.’

He also managed to scale the 23-mile Julier Pass.

Perhaps the most challenging was the Albula-Flüela loop, which was ‘a return to the ride that destroyed me last year on the day that I was to realize my father’s death was imminent.’

But the intense time commitment needed to traverse these passes was taking a toll on James’ marriage. His wife, who was pregnant with their second child, wondered about the future.

‘“What’s this all about?” my wife wanted to know when I got home that night.

‘She talked about the novel I was neglecting, the family I’d been ignoring, the baby we were expecting.

‘She looked into my gaunt face like she didn’t recognize me.

‘I couldn’t answer her any better than I could my mother, who’d scolded me over email for gallivanting around on these crazy rides.

‘My son seemed to share their opinion.

‘He looked at me the next morning wide-eyed and said in surprise, “Daddy, you came back.”’

Through his journey, James writes, his father’s spirit lingered. But he then realized that crossing the grueling terrain was less about his dad and more about himself.

The Furka Pass is a 7,969 ft high mountain pass that James managed to scale successfully

As James ascended the Fluela Pass, he realized his cycling journey was about to end.

The inclement weather conditions were just too much.

He writes: ‘I went too hard over the Albula, practically sprinting up each of its stair steppers, and when I reached the Engadin Valley I was greeted by a block headwind that sapped all of my remaining energy.

‘I weaved from side to side, lurching up the Flüela’s opening six switchbacks, the steepest part of the climb, and I felt no stronger, no different than I had nearly a year ago.

‘The wind grew fiercer along the river, and I cursed it as I hit the tree line and then pedaled squares up the last four switchbacks toward the summit.

‘I kissed the ground at the top, mimicking what my father did anytime we drove over this same road en route to his home, but I was merely going through the motions, adhering to some self-imposed ritual in which I no longer believed.’

Two days later, his second child was born. It was boy. James and his wife named him Josef, after his father.

While cradling his son in his arms one night, James thought back on his journey of self-discovery.

‘What a thrill it is, I thought, to move through this world, of our own volition, at high speed, even though we know where we are ultimately headed, he writes.

‘What a thrill it is to feel what my father felt, to love what he loved, to touch that ineffable thing he touched, and in so doing to somehow be able to still touch him too.’