I’ve never had cancer and the most I have ridden my bike at once is 200 miles.
There are plenty of people more qualified than me on both counts to make the following comparison but I haven’t seen it.
Rather than look any more I will build this allegory myself.
Prologue
On June 20th I rode in the 2010 Livestrong Challenge. It is inspiring, period. At the start/finish line thousands of names are listed on every surface; on bikes, backs, arms, walls, signs, tires, cars – It isn’t easy to forget the reason we congregate but I can’t help but ponder why, at my core, I ride. It seems selfish but – I unthinkingly, just like to ride.
I started out early, had some good home-brew coffee, my staple toasted peanut butter sandwich and rode the 16 miles to the start, my prologue.
A fine morning if not gorgeous, it was a little crisp, with just a hint of pending moisture in the air. Warm enough that I only needed my Team Fatty jersey and one thin layer beneath. On the off-chance that the weatherman lied, and at the last minute, I had hastily taped a thin jacket underneath my seat.
Prediction – 20% chance of precipitation, highs in the mid 60’s. I could deal.
TheStart
I had plenty of time, which turned into almost no time, while I searched endlessly for a porta-potty to start the ride off right – things happened quickly after that. I found a place in line, ensured my gear was in place, endured the blaring speaker (again), and we were off.
At first I was content to “hasten slowly” through downtown with the rest of the pack. I started well off the front, but on 5th street, under the Monorail, we suddenly had four lanes and a hard riding fellow to my left took the far side and I jumped, with a few others, into passing gear. We bombed through town, passing most of the pack, careened down the hill into the International District and entered the freeway at a really good clip. Things were starting off well. I was optimistic.
TheFreeway
Onto the freeway I found a short thin line of bikes doing my desired speed and latched on tightly. I passed them on the downhill and they caught me again on the uphill, this time they were about three times bigger. I grabbed on again. I had a lot of good company. Strangely, this crossing has got to be my favorite, albeit least scenic, part of the ride. It is wide open – five lanes across – utterly devoid of cars and eerily full of conversation echoing through the tunnel. It is futuristic.
TheIsland
Last year I lost contact on my Lightning Thunderbolt once we got onto Mercer Island. It wouldn’t happen this year. My Silvio is a much faster bike, I am a stronger rider and I found I could stay neck and neck with the strong roadies on any hill on the island.
Naturally, in the pack, I coasted and rode the brakes on the downhills and flats. We were cruising right along at about 24 mph and I recognized that there was a lot of downhill around the back of the island so I released the brake, pulled out of line, and took off around the front of our seven man group. As I passed I told the guy on the vintage 10 speed who was pulling the pack
Grab my wheel on this downhill!
I heard a muffled “OK” and I continued to pull away.
I didn’t want to completely leave this group so I slowed up and let him catch on. Then I motored the pack the rest of the way around the island (Hi Fed!) and right on past the first stop. I was feeling excellent.
At the big uphill before the twisties I was passed by two racers wearing UW kits. In the twisties I got ‘stuck’ behind some slightly slower riders but didn’t try hard to pass I lazily found a way through and tried half-heartedly to make contact with the UW racers and the 7 man group I towed down the hill. I never caught them.
AloneTheFirstTime
At the blueberry marsh the course turned left (happy I didn’t have to fight that bumpy boardwalk through the marsh) into Bellevue and then over to Coal Creek. I was still keeping an amazing pace, over 20mph, by myself but I didn’t have any real help until I found another small group to ride (silently) with. I thought:
This is positively easy!
My plan was to refuel at the 2nd, 4th, 6th, and maybe 7th stop if I was tired.
The 2nd stop was in Newcastle somewhere…aaaaand…I just passed it.
No matter, no going backwards now, not when I feel this good. I still had water and plenty of goodies.
Now I’m on the hill up into Newport and since I have lots of work to do to keep up with these bombers on the hills I thought that it was about time I refueled from my own goodie bag. I nearly inhaled my home-made granola, literally – I didn’t realize I was breathing THAT hard – and completely lost contact with the climbers.
Encouragement
Alone again, I could set my own pace, and while it wasn’t slow my confidence was flagging. It was through the hairpins on the backside of Newcastle when one of the motorcycle SAG vehicles caught up with me and through his helmet he shouted encouragement
MAN! YOU ARE HAULIN BUTT!
Thanks.
YOU ARE NEAR THE LEADERS UP HERE! AND YOU ARE DEFINITELY THE FIRST RECUMBENT OUT ON THIS COURSE BY A LOOOONG WAY!
Allright! [breath] Cool.
NICE BIKE
Thanks,
KEEP IT UP!
Okay!
That gave me an amazing shot in the arm and I just kept right on motoring. I started to have the inklings of this post, and the individual metaphors that are here, on that hairpin road with the motorcycle.
I wasn’t aware at that time just how many more would follow, and how many had already passed.
I found another fellow on May Valley Road and together we bridged up with a third. We had a small conversation at the light when he asked me about my bike then I lost him in the confusion at the next stop, the 3rd stop, at mile 37. At this point the 20% chance of rain, was in full swing and I was cheering out-loud – I eat hard rain for breakfast!
I was warm enough, had some water, gummy-bear sugar, a coupla PBJ sandwiches and I was off. Couldn’t afford to dilly-dally when, as I was told, I was really only 8-10 minutes behind the leaders.
Not that I expected to catch them mind you but if I could stay close I would be proving my abilities and that of my bike. My average speed was 19.5 mph.
TigerMountain
I was caught at the turn up Tiger Mountain by two thinny guys in Livestrong gear. (They were dang near skinny but they had good muscle…so…they were thinny). They totally dusted me up that climb but I was outwardly fine with it. I wasn’t cramping here like I did last year but inwardly I wished I could stay with the climbers – I pushed harder.
I didn’t have long to wait for the cramping to commence.
The climb was pretty miserable because I pushed too hard but I wasn’t passed by anyone else. I pushed so hard that I was totally alone for the duration of the climb. Couldn’t catch the thinny guys but wasn’t allowing anyone to catch me either. Nobody in front, nobody in back. The slippery descent back into Issaquah was the same. When I turned towards the Issaquah highlands, and since I stopped at #3, I skipped stop #4. It was then that I felt a twitching in my thigh.
CrampingMyStyle
I took a stretch break at the bottom of the hill to be “pro-active” with my developing cramps but it was already too late. I struggled up the hill, was passed by several riders and then cruised down the backside onto Samammish Parkway with Marymoor in my sights – I knew the rest stop there would bring more fluid and PBJ sandwiches.
I was flagging, it was brutally cold, windy, rainy, and dreary. I was passed again by those two thinny guys and I grabbed their wheel.
I don’t remember being so happy to take muddy water in the face (no fender on that one) for the sake of a slipstream before.
Setback
I thanked them for the pull when we got to Marymoor – but the stop wasn’t here?
It’s always here…it was here last time…there it was, nope, wrong cancer event.
That mini roller-coaster pretty much shot my drive all to hell. After the extreme push with the Thinny guys my cramps came on in force and on the far side of Marymoor I was forced to stop.
My inner quad muscles were completely siezed up. I could look down at them and what once was a mountain now was a valley. Except for the lack of a scar you might think the muscles were lost to some sort of industrial accident.
I called TheMommy and told her I was getting close – but I was alone, hurting, and wasn’t paying attention too much attention to myself – out of ignorance or denial, or both, I lied. I only had an eye for my goal and none for the present.
My average speed had dropped to 18 and I was getting cold. I was out of water and both sides of my legs were cramping (hamstrings and quads) and still there was The Hill. A SAG vehicle offered support, some water, and some encouragement but short of getting a ride home there was nothing they could do for me. They drove on.
I got going again and made it one mile to the 5th stop. I honestly don’t recall much except there was a sani-can, some fluid, some sugar, and lots of shivering. I was freezing so I had to keep moving but my legs were cramping so I couldn’t – but I did. I saw Steve Peterson (a fellow Team Fatty member and team Seattle coordinator) at this stop and he was cold too.
I dove back into the wind on the road and this time the going was tough. It took three miles of high-cadence pedaling to get warmed up and by that time my neck muscles were seized up from the intense shivering. Progress was slowed to a mere 16mph.
TheSteep
I was determined to attack The Hill. I did it alone…and it bit back. I cramped early and the gearing, even with my compact groupset, doesn’t allow me to spin the cranks like I needed that day. Then I made a critical mistake; feeling like I must have still another lower gear I upshifted – this time the lever did a BIG jump all the way in. I stopped. It was already maxed so this action, pushing hard in desperation like I did, broke the shifter.
So I walked, and I walked fast I had plenty of energy and it kept me warm despite the rain. I declined several requests for help from course “medics”. And at the top of the hill I tried to ride again in my stuck gear – again the cramps. This time I kneeled down deep in the muddy grass and stretched them generously. Amazingly the pain went away and I was able to finish my walk to the top of the hill. During my coasting descent to Lakemont I realized that I could downshift but not upshift. I ended up with a middle cog and forced myself not to touch that shifter again. There weren’t many hills left. I should be fine.
TwoSpeeds
On my new two-speed recumbent I found that I had just enough low-end to get up the remaining hills and just enough top-end to make decent time on the flats.
I quickly spun out on downhills.
I got to the Newcastle stop and after such a long descent I was less than warm, much less.
By the time I stopped, the rain hadn’t. It was a steady 20%, all day, and the wind was it’s first cousin. But this stop had hot drinks – warm tea, warm gatorade, and space blankets! Glorious space blankets.
I stopped long enough to shiver-start my GPS tracker for The Mermaids, get warm drinks in me, and finally thought to grab my spare jacket from under my seat. It was dry in it’s bag, and probably saved me from freezing the last 25 miles.
Alone
This whole time I am riding alone, with my thoughts, and thinking about how miserable some of my choices had been. Yet I was pushing on. At Newcastle I switched into “survival mode”. No longer did I care that I wasn’t keeping up, no longer did I care that my shifter was broken, no longer did I care that my hands were cold, no longer did I care…anything.
I briefly considered calling TheMommy to tell her I would just meet her at home but then I remembered my singular purpose ‘Get to the end’ and immediately after that a better and happier purpose – two Mermaids cheering for me at the finish line.
I left the Renton stop with renewed energy and enthusiasm (and more warm gatorade) and I careened down Rainier Ave at my former pace.
All that liquid had to go somewhere and a fair amount of it went into the bathroom in Seward Park. That delay, it turns out, was enough for Steve Peterson to catch and pass me. I caught him again at Colman Park and it was good to share the ride with a familiar, yet new, face.
We struggled up the hills into Seattle together and rehashed our recent experience. My cramps were still lurking close but not biting hard and I enjoyed his company.
Together
We made our way through town together, using the excellent Livestrong markings until we arrived at Seattle Center. About eight of us by that time, with a motorcycle SAG vehicle, took an unmarked wrong turn and ended up on the east side of the Center. I then led the group around the Center to the place where I thought I knew we should enter (hoping against hope it was set up the same as last year) and we finished together. The Mermaids were there, The Mommy was there, and finally I rested.
TheAllegory
Sometimes you ride alone and sometimes with friends. Sometimes you ride with strangers, still other times with family. There are tailwinds and flat spots, easy straights and slippery descents, and then there are the hills.
There is rain and more rain and more rain and still more rain and sometimes you shiver and press on in a towering wind. Your muscles cramp while your brain says go and your equipment fails yet you power on.
There was that support motorcyclist that told me early on that I was doing great, really movin’, and near the front. The encouragement felt good and it helped.
There were those two thinny strangers in the rain, on the rolling hills after a number of miles alone. They came around my left side and I matched their speed to take advantage of their draft. For the next 8 miles they stayed with me, or I with them, un-speaking support cranking along and pulling me along to the next stop. The unspoken camaraderie in the face of dismal circumstances felt good and it helped.
There were the volunteers, the non-competitors, in the SAG wagon that gave me water when I needed it and the medic on the tandem that repeatedly offered me a dry coat.
I was warm then but 20 minutes later I absolutely needed that space blanket and hot tea to take away the shakes. Knowing the support was there felt good and it helped.
There is a fear of the unknown pothole, the misted over glasses, the sound of an approaching car, the sidewind, and the slippery paint stripe in what looks like a clear and easy stretch.
Every ride has these struggles but they are chosen.
TheChoice
The only difference I see is choice, if it exists. I choose to ride my bike through the rain, up the steep, into the wind, over the potholes, and through the cramps.
I’ve never had cancer but I know some folks that do – and they don’t get to choose that battle.
Still they power on with a strength and a tenacity that exceeds a bike ride by magnitudes unmeasurable.
I choose to ride and power on in their honor and for them.
LiveStrong
blief 
