Mr. Muscles, Clearing Every Hurdle to Success
Meet Jeff Walden, All-Around Amazing Person and Nice Guy
Jeff Walden was not always a muscle-bound man with the body of Adonis. Once, he was just a little kid growing up in N.J. with a brand new 10-speed bike, out on a ride.
Growing up in Jersey
His story began in East Orange, N.J., then a rapidly growing suburban town.
When he was eight, his dad took him fishing off Montauk, way out on the east end of Long Island. He surprised everyone on the boat by hooking a whopper and winning the top prize for the catch of the day, $75. His dad used it to buy him his first bicycle.
He went for a ride on his first 10-speed bike, a green English Racer, as they called them in the ‘60s, heading towards Bloomfield, the town to the north of East Orange.
Near the Bloomfield city line, a car stopped next to him at a light. A white man with brown hair and a mustache jumped out of the car and knocked him off the bike. The man then grabbed Jeff’s bike, tossed it in the back of his car, and drove off.
I asked Jeff what the man said to him, but to my surprise, he went silent. Too painful a memory? I’ll have to wing it. If you’ll indulge me, I imagine the scene this way.
***
A Bad Day for a Good Kid
It was the late ‘60s. American communities were still largely segregated. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 had passed years earlier. In 1968, Congress passed the Fair Housing Act to eliminate housing discrimination, ensuring Black people access to housing.
It was a time of great social change and upheaval. In the great “flight,” whites left the cities in droves, fleeing to the suburbs, not remaining in integrated neighborhoods.
I am proud that my parents did not sell our house and move us away from our friends.
Many, if not most, whites were still openly racist. This was the setting Jeff rode into.
Again, I tried to ask Jeff to tell me more about his traumatic experience that day.
Me: Jeff, can you tell me how you felt that day? What emotions did you experience?
Jeff:…
(What was I thinking? I could almost hear Jeff’s man brain, repeating the words: Feelings? Emotions? Why is Carl asking me this question? Does… not… compute…)
I had forgotten that, like me and many men our age, Jeff might struggle to discuss his emotions with other men. Ask us about sports and cars, but for God’s sake, not feelings!
My own dear Dad had just two emotions. Okay, and not so good.
***
So what really transpired that day?
Since Bloomfield was majority white at the time, and whites often reacted viciously to “encroachment” on “their” space, it’s possible the man said a bad word to Jeff.
The “N” word, perhaps. A word so ugly that we still struggle with it even 50 years later.
It’s speculation, but in my opinion, a grown man who would knock a small child off his bike and steal it was not a nice person. He was likely a mean, nasty son of a bitch.
Jeff probably felt many things that day: shocked, puzzled, hurt, and offended. Maybe he realized for the first time in his life how hateful White folks could be to Blacks.
Personally, I feel ashamed of the racial ugliness many Whites harbor even to this day.
***
The Long Walk Home
Other people probably saw what happened, but no one stopped to ask if he was OK.
Jeff, lying on the ground, in tears, unable to stop the man from stealing his bike, watched as the man got back in the car, hit the gas, and drove off with his first bike.
Dirty, scraped up, and devastated, Jeff picked himself up and began the long walk home on a fall afternoon. When he got home, he told his father what had happened.
Jeff waited for a response, hoping his father would replace the bike. After hearing about the incident, his father looked angry, but just shook his head sadly, and said,
“Sorry, son, I can’t afford to buy you another bike.”
A harsh reality for an eight-year-old kid.
***
Bouncing Back
Many kids would have given up at that point, but even though he was just eight, Jeff decided right then that he would figure out a way to replace the stolen bike. On the way home from school one day, he found a bike frame in the trash and carried it home. It needed wheels.
A friend of his had a set of wheels, for which Jeff traded him Hot Wheels cars. Then, only eight, but possessing precocious mechanical skills, he borrowed his dad’s tools and mounted the wheels on the frame.
Jeff said, “Just like that,” he had a bike again.
Jeff added, “In those days, all you needed was an adjustable wrench and some elbow grease to work on a bike. Once I learned ‘righty tighty, lefty loosie,’ I was good to go!”
***
We Meet – Almost
It was 2012 when I first spotted Jeff Walden on a bike ride with a cycling group called the Potomac Pedalers. The rides began in H.S. parking lots. Grown men dressed in brightly-colored Lycra outfits parked their cars and rode bikes for hours in suburban Maryland, north of the beltway. On that particular ride, there were about 30 or 40 white guys, mostly with scrawny arms and spindly upper bodies, like me, but unusually large leg muscles.
There was Jeff, a bodybuilder, African-American. He stood out. Most of us felt almost undressed in our Lycra. Our children asked, “Are you going out in public like that?”
Used to striking poses in a Speedo, Jeff may have been the only one who felt overdressed.
Jeff was a strong rider who hung with the front of the pack, the strong riders, while I was a middle-of-the-pack kind of rider. When the rides ended, everybody immediately packed up their bikes, jumped in their cars, and drove off. “Got things to do. Bye!”
A slower rider, I arrived in time to see them drive off. Hey. Where did everybody go?
I wouldn’t get to meet Jeff personally until many years later, when, looking for a more sociable cycling experience, we both joined an African-American cycling group, the District Cycling Collective. Here, there was more banter and more joking around.
On the DCC rides and other cycling events, I talked to Jeff and learned about his story.
***
Born Fast
Jeff told me, “As a kid, I was always fast,” which led him to try out for the H.S. track team. His speed and agility led him to become a winning high hurdler as well as a long jumper. His track coach told the hurdlers that “air time is wasted time.” After clearing each hurdle, Jeff tried to get his feet back on the ground as quickly as he could and keep moving fast.
Such was his success in H.S. track that he won a full track scholarship to Rider College in Lawrenceville, N.J., where he competed against some of the best athletes in the country.
***
Married Life
Jeff met his wife, Tracy, in January 1993 and married her in July of that year. “When you know, you know!” Jeff said.
She was a psychologist with the Air Force. Her re-assignments every few years led them to move all over the country, allowing Jeff, over time, to shed his N.J. accent. No longer did he say, “Bowl” instead of “Ball” or “Cawfee” instead of “coffee.”
***
Adulting
Several years after college, and after getting out of track and field, Jeff had become less active and put on weight. His brother-in-law, a muscular ex-Marine, approached him poolside and said, “Hey, look, you’re getting fat (Ha-ha-ha)! I could harpoon you!”
Everybody laughed. Jeff laughed too, for the sake of appearances, but not on the inside.
That crack stung his pride as a competitive athlete. He told his brother-in-law, “OK, man, you got me this time, but next time you see me, I will be back in shape.” No kidding!
For Jeff, it was a turning point.
***
Clanging and Banging Down at the Gym
He joined the local gym in Willingboro, N.J. In those days, gyms still featured old-school metal free weights that slipped onto thick metal barbells. The air was thick with sweat. The benches were grimy. No one worried about germs then. Germs just made you stronger.
Not like post-COVID gyms, with everyone wiping down machines after every use.
Guys dropped heavy barbells after tough lifts. “BAM” resounded when they hit the floor.
Jeff loved it.
As an athlete, he fit right in with the other guys, making friends. Unlike most gym members, however, Jeff applied himself assiduously, working out on the weights 5 days a week.
Little did Jeff know he had ‘fast-twitch” muscle fibers that allow weight-lifters to bulk up.
His body began to transform. He quickly added inches to his chest, arms, and legs, at an age when most men were adding inches to their waistlines. So rapid was his progress that the other gym members told him, “Hey, you should enter the gym’s bodybuilding contest.”
For most new sports, you have to buy lots of new gear to wear. The only thing Jeff needed for bodybuilding was less clothes. He went out and bought himself a Speedo.
One of the great things about bodybuilding is that you get to pose in your underwear in public, and no one calls the police. But Jeff is very modest about his looks. I never heard him talk about doing it to attract attention from women, like bodybuilders do on beaches.
I, on the other hand, have often wondered what it would be like to have muscles and attract female attention. I still don’t know. Women often tell me my dog is cute.
Gee, thanks.
He Chose a Pose
He won the gym’s bodybuilding contest on his first try, which led him to decide that bodybuilding would be the next phase of his lifelong athletic evolution. He reinvented himself.
Meet “Mr. Muscles,” a nickname I made up for this article, but which I think fits him.
Over the next 20 years, Jeff competed in over 50 bodybuilding shows, including National and World Championships, where he finished 2nd and 3rd in his weight class, respectively. He also won state titles in Colorado, Utah, and California.
You might think I envy Jeff, but I don’t, because Jeff and I are exactly alike, except that we have nothing in common. He was a great athlete, and I wasn’t; he built up a massive physique, and I didn’t.
We are Twins, like Arnold and Danny DeVito. You guessed it: I’m Danny.
The Wheel Goes Full-Circle
About 10 years into his body-building period, around age 40, running began to bother his knees. He decided to shift to cycling for his cardio. Still a lifelong fan of cycling, Jeff purchased a steel racing bike on Craigslist and joined a cycling club.
Despite being in great shape and well-muscled, it rankled that when they got to big hills, the other top guys pulled away from him. They reached the top before him.
After a few rides, he couldn’t stand it. ‘How come,” he asked them, “despite being in great shape, I can’t keep up with you guys on the climbs?” They responded, “We have lightweight carbon-fiber bikes and you have a ‘lead sled!’” A heavy, metal bike.
Jeff marched into a bike shop, looking for a high-end carbon bike, which weighs about 20% less than steel. When he saw the price tag, he almost had a heart attack. Jeff had grown up in a family where money did not grow on trees and had learned to be frugal.
It was a life lesson he never forgot. Folks who grow up without money learn the hard way. ‘No WAY!” Jeff said to himself while smiling at the shop owner. “Just looking.”
When he got home, that little eight-year-old boy inside him said, “We are going to build our own bike. We’re not going to pay someone else thousands of dollars to do it.”
It took him months to find a frame builder in Asia who would sell him a single carbon-fiber frame at a reasonable price. He sent the money off; about a month later, the frame came.
When Jeff made up his mind to do something, no matter how hard it was, he persisted. Once he got the frame, he built the bike from scratch. No problem.
***
The Return of a Champion
Soon, he arrived at a PP ride on an amazing, sleek, high-end carbon bike that turned the heads of the other guys. When the first big hill climb started, Jeff shot to the front, staying in first all the way up the hill.
Finally, Jeff, a true competitor, was back in first place, out in front, where he belonged!
After the ride, one of the guys asked him, “Where did you buy that bike?” Jeff said, “I didn’t buy it, I built it.” The rider’s eyes got big. “Wow!” He asked Jeff, “Do you want to sell it?”
This was right after Jeff spent two months building it from scratch. Jeff said no.
At a subsequent ride, the man pestered him. ‘Really, how much do you want for the bike?”
Jeff thought for a moment and, just for the hell of it, quoted him an outrageous price, “$3,000.” At that time, $3,000 was still a lot of money, even for a carbon bike.
The man said nothing, but he then walked over to his car, got out his checkbook, wrote out a check for $3,000, and handed it to Jeff. Stunned, Jeff took the check, and the man took the bike.
Only then did Jeff remember that he had ridden to the start of the ride. He had to walk home. Shades of that day as an eight-year-old…but with a lot more money.
***
Nothing is Faster than a Zephyrus!
Fast-forward again. In the years that followed, Jeff kept building Zephyrus bikes, and other riders kept asking to buy them. It did not take long for a light bulb to go on. “ Hey, I could make a little money with this bike-building business,” he thought to himself. And he did.
First, Jeff needed to come up with a catchy brand name for his bikes. He considered using his last name, but it didn’t sound cool.
Who wants to ride a ‘Walden?”
Jeff discovered the name ‘Zephyrus,’ the God of the West Wind from Greek mythology (think winged helmet). The logo looked and sounded cool. The rest was history! He built a bike shop at his house. Over time, he developed his new bike business.
Now, several bike dealers in the D.C. area carry the Zephyrus brand, and Jeff has built a loyal following for custom-made, high-end carbon bikes, bearing his Zephyrus logo.
***
Jeff retired a year ago from his well-paying job at the US Treasury and continues to ride. Now that he and other riders are in their 60s, they call it the “AARP ride.”
Jeff is a great example of how people can reinvent themselves throughout their lives.
***
The Little Kid Gives Back
He may be getting older, but Jeff never slows down. And he never forgot how it felt when he got his first 10-speed bike. A generous person, he wanted other kids to feel that.
To give back to the community, Jeff started an annual award for disadvantaged young cyclists that he calls the Zephyrus Youth Initiative. Members of local bike clubs help him identify young cyclists with potential who can’t afford a high-end bike. Fellow riders donate cash or high-quality components, and Jeff builds a high-end bike to donate to a young rider who has the drive and potential to one day become a competitive cyclist.
Jeff told me, “The look on their faces when they receive a high-end racing bike is amazing. I just love to see their eyes light up.”
Be Jeff! (But maybe skip the Speedo)
Not every kid from East Orange, New Jersey, can reinvent himself this successfully, but Jeff is proof that it can be done if you are determined, persistent, and focused.
The good news is, you don’t necessarily have to pose in a Speedo to be a champion.
We all have to clear hurdles that are placed in our way from time to time, by accident, or intentionally, as in the case of hundreds of thousands of federal employees who were fired by the Trump Administration in 2025, and who are now struggling to find new jobs.
Not everyone is as successful as Jeff at everything they do. I am a shining example of a person who is not successful at anything, except, perhaps, recognizing the truly outstanding people I meet in life, and persuading them to let me interview them.
If you feel discouraged by your situation, if life has knocked you down and stolen your bike, please remember the inspiring story of Jeff. Dig deep, be determined, and persist.
See you at the top of the hill.
Very inspiring story, Carl. I would argue that you're successful at many things, but I'll tell you about them personally sometime.