Dear
friends,
Twenty-eight
is a nice numberÉ I have long since been
disappointed that this event still exists. Cancer is not going away soon, and
it will test the endurance of my legs and our hearts.
For those who have better things to
occupy their time, here is a summary in 2 paragraphs:
The weekend could not have been better! Read the rest of the story below or at http://www.kowaleski.org/PMC2013/story.html , see the pictures at http://www.kowaleski.org/PMC2013/index.html
and see the video of the start in Sturbridge, Saturday morning 5:30AM, at http://youtu.be/0dl9RAf5agY .
As of August 8th, you and I have crossed $9000
for the year, thank you very much!
SaturdayÕs ride for me was 7.5 hrs on the
saddle, 9:11 in transit including water stops and lunch. Sunday was just over 6 hours in transit
with 5:10 on the saddle. It was
good speed for me on both days.
Also as of Aug. 8th, the whole event sits at $28M of the $38M
goal. Stats for the weekend were 5534
registered riders, 33% female, 20 % first time riders, average age was 45, all
representing 38 states and 7 different countries. Estimated total cycled miles exceeded
800K miles; 12 riders were hospitalized and all were released with 1 being
readmitted. There were over 2700
volunteers.
I offer my heartfelt thanks as you all make this event
possible.
For those who are curious and
have some time:
Friday
night is the registration and kickoff dinner. Cowbells ring frequently as a sign of
rookie riders registering. Tom Erickson had bummed a ride and a bunk with me
this year as his logistics got complicated. On the plus side, this was the first
time in years that he had been there before Saturday morning. We registered, tagged our bikes and
posted them in the overnight corral and checked out the goings on. Mechanics were already busy fixing bikes
and the dinner folks were serving huge amounts of food. We found a table and
met a fellow rider, Greg, a veteran of several years and chat about why we do
this and the upcoming ride. He
mentions that he and his wife, Amy, will be riding together this year. And, oh, she just had chemo two weeks
agoÉ We run into Greg later and
meet Amy, with the positive attitude and sunshine smile. ItÕs hard to not be moved. We run into Chris Spear, whom I
convinced 25 years ago to ride the PMC.
Neither of us have missed it since, though
Allie, his daughter, was born on PMC weekend some 23? years
ago and there was something about a taxi and breaking speed limitsÉ His son had better timing. We chat with Danny, a photographer
working the PMC weekend. He
tells of PMC night at Fenway with the kids and the bikers and how incredibly
gracious the Red Sox Players were to both.
He
warns that he will be with the bagpiper just before lunch. We head home to try to get a few hours
of sleep before the long weekend.
We
rise at 3:00AM. We are in the car
by 4, hurtling through the dark through the back roads of Central Mass heading
back to Sturbridge. The start is
5:30. With a quasi-illegal
maneuver, we park, and head off to the bikes. Bill Derosier,
chauffer for the morning and for Sunday night, heads off with us. He has my camera and is taking stills as
we prep the bikes for the ride. His
plan is to get a vantage point for taking a video of the starting line as the
pack heads out. He was quite
successful; check out the pointer above.
Tom
and I are set up together in the ÔslowÕ lane. The start is preceded by the national anthem, sung by
noted opera singer Andrew Garland, a 16 year rider and of the upcoming Boston
Lyric Opera production of ÔThe
Magic FluteÕ. Wow. It is a bit overcast, about 58
degrees and a light westerly breeze.
We head east on Rt 20. At the first incline, I bid Tom
good-bye as it is too early for me to try to keep up.
There are police officers at about every intersection and will be for about the
first 15 or so miles. Their
presence is so constant that un-manned intersections just seem wrong. The folks along the side of the road are
a constancy both days. Signs indicating survivors are the most
moving. Everybody makes a lot of
noise. There are no lonely PMC
riders. Even the cars join the
spectacle.
At the first waterstop,
I met Andy. He told me that
his young daughter raised much of his minimum by telling people if they donated
enough money, she would get her dad to wear a tiara and tutu for the ride. True to his promise to his daughter and
the remarkable outcome of her fundraising, he rolled on fully dressed in his
commitment.
The stretch between Franklin and lunch
is the longest leg of the weekend, some 36 miles. It is made bearable by the wonderful
display on Cherry St. in Wrentham. There were 3 groups of live music, folks in
costume, banners across the road, on the road, and
people lining both sides of the street.
And Jeannie. Jeannie comes
out every year, rain or shine, heat or cold, in her clown attire. We recognize each other anymore as we
both go back a ways. Where else can
you do what you love and be applauded despite your mediocrity?
Lunch is a welcome sight. I run into Danny and Mary who say the
bagpiper did not show
up this year and they were shooting the lunch crowd. I turned the tables on
them is took their pix. In
the process of getting back on the bike, I met a Boston Globe photographer and
we got to chatting;
he asked about my experiences, took a picture and my name. I did not make the papers. I did
in '88; front page, even.
Exiting lunch, we face 40 more
miles. I kept waiting for the
Ôother shoeÕ to drop. So far we had
ideal overcast and temperatures, and, it seemed, a constant tailwind. Surely, this could not continue. A few miles into this leg, I start
a conversation with a woman named Mary. I go out of my way to talk to
first year riders and she was one.
We talked about why each of us started to do this, we talked of parents
and friends so afflicted, we talked some aspects of
our lives. She said she was
concerned about finishing and offered my wheel for
drafting. Turns out she grew up in
Holden, just next door to Princeton and was now living in Yarmouth. We distracted each other for the 12 or
so miles into the next waterstop such that we hardly
noticed it go by. Now only 20 to go. Maybe that 'shoe' won't drop.
I miss the cheerleaders. Those who have read these stories before
might recall the two ladies who over the years have dressed in costumes as
monkeys, political party mascots, baseball and basketball players, ladies godiva, etc.
They had decided to take a year off. We would not see them Saturday nor
Sunday atop Corn Hill. It is good
that they are okay but sad that they had a better offer. 8-)
The Mass Maritime Academy is a welcome
sight, although this year I felt good enough that I wished I could have knocked
off twenty miles of SundayÕs ride before quitting. Showers, food, drink, music, Perini Team
picture, reunion with Nancy Sheppard, Chris Spear, Jon GordonÉ drink, sleep,
sleep, sleepÉ 4:30AMÉÉ
If Saturday had been the perfect
weather for cycling, Sunday morning was the most beautiful. Blues, pinks, whites, greys all made for
a spectacular sunrise over the Cape Cod Canal. It seemed as if there were no ill
effects from the day before, but I found myself taking a long time to get
loose. About 2 miles from the MMA,
I reached the base of the first hill, the Bourne Bridge. The traffic sign proudly displayed
5:38AM, 59 degrees. I tried some
artsy shots while riding over the bridge and while slipping back down under but
none really were in focus. Off to
the canal path and we head northeast to the power station. Keep the legs moving before the rest of
the body wakes up and finds out we are pedaling. Today again the density of cyclists
is amazing. I donÕt remember being
in this type of crowd in years past. The density limits the strategy for the
first test of the day: the rolling
hills of the route 6 access road.
I usually use my ÔmomentumÕ downhill to ease the next uphill. Too many people
to do that this year.
At the Barnstable waterstop, I chatted with Oliver
who gave me a good referral to a knee guy, and told of his daughter working as
a nurse in the childrenÕs cancer ward and riding this year. I stumbled across Roger, Stew RobertÕs
friend, who I see every year on this; small world.
The section to Nickerson is where I
usually discover what IÕve got in the tank. It is Ôold Cape CodÕ with the saltbox
houses, cedar shake siding and salt marsh vistas. The good news is that it is about 7am
and the body still does not know that the legs are workingÉ. good so far. The Ocean Edge sea camp came out
in force again to cheer up. Their
theme was that everybody had foam whalesÉ
Somewhere in this stretch my heart monitor decided to stop working
right. It started showing heartbeat
rates more in keeping with my weight in pounds. Should have changed the battery
Friday. IÕm not going back to get
that data.
From Nickerson, there are only 40 miles
left. Onto the rail trail, off,
across route 6 and back onto rail trailÉ
along the beaches on the east shore and we head inland to
Wellfleet. They usually have
balloons strung above the road.
This year they had about 15 old jerseys to welcome us. Another mile and a sharp right up a hill
and we are greeted at the last waterstop. Twenty miles to
Provincetown. Only a couple
of hills, the stretch on rt
6 and the dunes of Race point keep us from the PTown
Inn.
I feel good when I get to rt 6 and that is usually the
difference between a slog home and a brisk ride. Even in a crowd, I manage to use that
momentum thing to keep me going.
Finishing, I feel strong. The end is made of mixed emotions. I am pleased to dismount but I will miss
the energy and camaraderie of shared purpose. Twenty-eight IS a big number.
The logistics of the ending at
Provincetown Inn are themselves interesting. The Mass. National Guard puts up
military shower tents in the street where you shower with 20 or 30 of your
closest friends while you are literally inches away from the public strolling
up and down the street. It is wall to wall people.
The Inn cannot handle the full crowd that will arrive so the PMC
encourages you to shower, eat, drink and get out. Tom, and Christine, his wife, who met us
at the finish, have carried on a tradition for all of
his 11 years where they go to a bistro on the main street in Provincetown for a
civilized lunch before taking the fast ferry to Boston. This is the 4th or 5th
year I have joined them. With a
couple of their other friends, we toasted a successful year of few
misadventures with a glass of wine and a wish for a world with less
cancer. Thanks for coming along.
Closer by the Mile
JK0013
John Kowaleski