Preparation for any Pan Mass Challenge begins with the commitment in January to pay to the PMC-JimmyFund the minimum in fundraising regardless of my success at convincing folks such as yourselves that Dana Farber's research and clinic are worthy of your support. There it is; money on the table. The concomitant task is the physical preparation to move my mass through the space of 192 miles in a time that allows for eventual recovery. Yikes! Thus between January and the first weekend in August there comes fear and loathing, hope and euphoria, sadness and joy. As this work is something I and others can avoid, it can reasonably be asked why do we do it.
Recently I spent a glorious couple of hours chatting with a woman who had had cancer as a child as well as several bouts later in life. This person was so full of life and hope and energy and intelligence that, to paraphrase John Dunne, we would all be the less for her not to have won thus far. Yet without the Dana Farber and its Perini clinic 'our main' would be that much smaller.
So as Lance Armstrong once said: "It's not about the bike" but about what unites us as a greater community.
By July 23, the logistical plans for my 24th PMC looked to have gone right out the window. Lest I forget how fragile things can be, my buddy Walt, generally the epitome of health, came down with pneumonia. He has been the anchor of my PMC rides for years providing transport to the start and from the end and encouragement along the way. This year he needed to convalesce. He is doing well and on the road to recovery. So I raised a hand for help and my PMC family of friends came to my rescue. My buddy and supporter Paul let me stay at his home friday night, Ted and Karen added me to their caravan to Sturbridge and Tim, Tom and Christine saw that I got home in one piece. This is the kind of support the folks at Dana Farber need.
The capricious winds of fate or local politics required we all get up a half hour earlier on Saturday this year: the start was moved up to 5:30am. You may be familiar with my sentiment, borrowed from my friend Andy Seigel, that the PMC event is simply an exercise in sleep deprivation. Up at 345am, packed and riding to the Sturbridge Host on Rt20 by 435am, luggage truck, breakfast, portapotty, camera, argh! 15 minute fog delay..... In short, that was the only thing that went wrong all day. With the ride effectively a week earlier in the season, there was ample daylight to start if the temperature and humidity cooperated. Otherwise the temperature and humidity on the ride were ideal, perhaps the best conditions in 8 or 9 years. Slightly cool and overcast through about 1030am with a WNW breeze on and off. Temps never rose above the mid 80s on Saturday or Sunday. Sunday was almost too cool for the first 3 hours. It was the best weekend of the year. (My golfing buddies in VT on holiday concurred about the weather.)
All of the friday night NECN promotion about the PMC is tough to watch again each year. It seems to me as if it is preaching to the choir. Thanks to Paul, I watched from his home for a bit and then sacked out. What I did see was that Joe Andruzzi, traded from the Pats to Cleveland, contracted cancer and came back to the Dana Farber for treatment. To give something back he rode this year, on almost no training. And rode. And rode. This guy rode for 12 hours to Bourne. On one hill, as related to me by one of his teammates, his kneecap popped out so he stopped and popped it back in, and just kept going. This is the kind of guy you want on your side in this fight against cancer. Tough as nails.
The emotion of the ride washes over you as you set out on the ride. You get the sense that you have made a difference. Few but professional athletes can do something they love with crowds cheering them on. PMC crowds have become more creative and more numerous over the years as well. One such this year was the trumpeter in Charlton out there about 630am playing a set of tunes. I hope his lips survived.
Its twenty some miles to the first waterstop: about 1½ hours. It is a beehive of activity. You've gotta love those volunteers. We get the cheers, they do the dirty work. Bless them all.
Another twenty some more miles passes by. Did we just pass through Sutton? The hills up to Rt 16 are killers. Look at all the folks cheering in Hopedale. Before I know it, I'm starting to feel pretty comfortable, and I find myself rolling into the second waterstop in Franklin. I get my picture taken with a cute chick and a cow. <<see photos>
> Time to move on.The road to the lunch stop is a bit longer than the others. With the worst of the hills between twenty and forty, the stretch between Franklin and Carver is more like thirty miles and can more be described as rolling. As one who trains near the southern NH border, I would say it is pretty flat. It's a good time to chat with other riders, to stop and take some photos, to check out the scenery. There are a lot of riders but not a lot of riders of my size and so when I see one, I usually strike up a conversation. Even his last name sounded as if it hailed from a similar region on Eastern Europe. His name is Chuck and we crossed paths on the rode a couple of times on Saturday but I didn't see him thereafter. I nearly killed myself drafting his wheel. Turns out that although he is now in Ohio he is a Brooklyn native of about the same vintage as I +/- and started riding in support of a friend with cancer. The last time we chatted he told this cute story: "I'm riding along climbing this steep hill and I can see this lady who must be eighty or ninety encouraging riders on their ascent and I turn to her as I approach saying thank you for the support and commenting that 'the PMC definitely brings out the prettiest ladies.' As I passed, I was sure I could see her blush."
In years past, Cherry Street in Wrentham has been a highlight on the ride and this year they turned out again but I missed Jeanne in her clown costume and I hope she is well. <<see 2008 photos>
> After lunch we rode through fields and bogs of southeastern Mass. Every so often, there would be a bump or two but nothing long and steep to stop you in your tracks. From lunch to Bourne is only forty miles. There are 2 waterstops in between. Only two things to look forward to: Bourne and, most importantly, the 'Over The Hill' cheerleaders. They have been a fixture of the PMC for as long as I can remember. This year the ladies were out in their finest Leprechaun outfits. They were not where I expected them to be (mostly true of all leprechauns) so I had to circle back for a photo and in my oxygen depleted state sang a chorus of an Irish drinking song to them.
The last few miles are through Onset into Bourne. The roads are busy with lots of traffic lights and ruts and turns. It is good to remember that most of those riding the PMC are MASS drivers. Our detente with Onset and the other towns through which we pass requires us to be lawful drivers and good ambassadors of bicycling. So we roll through Onset gently trying to be good neighbors beyond our normal instincts. Not everybody is out on Saturday on a beautiful day to get 'hot and sweaty' on a bike. I think we all behaved well this year on both Saturday and Sunday.
Since our pace through Onset was leisurely, almost every rider I asked had the same experience: Somebody down by the southwest docks must have been grilling a boatload of steaks because for about a mile that was all we could smell. And that aroma made us all salivate. (Since it was a special year, we all hoped that Billy had decided to feed us steaks but alas it was not to be.)
The Mass Maritime Academy was a welcome site. No drama. No cramps. No broken equipment. Decent time. A certain feeling of euphoria. Grab a burger and drink. Climb the stairs to the dorm room. Search the facility for the missing mattress, shower,drink, dinner, drink, team picture, drink, socialize, drink, attempt to sleep. Drinking as you all know is only half of the process but I leave the rest to your imagination. (By the way, for you beer lovers out there, let me encourage you to ride the PMC as you can get all the free beer, this year Harpoon, in Sturbridge, Bourne and Ptown you can drink. <<n.b. This is not unlike all the ice cream you can eat after you get your tonsils removed.
>> )
Sleeping four to a dorm room is tough even when the temperature is right and nobody snores. Since there is always somebody who insists the door be closed, the temperature in the room hovers above 80 so you try to sleep sweating into your bedclothes. You might say you're a veteran of this, why not bring a fan? I do. It doesn't help. We went to bed at 8pm. I probably only really slept from 1230am to 4am. Better than nothing I guess. The sleeping arrangements are the big equalizer. Many prominent citizens, CEOs, celebs, pols, sleep with us in the dorms and share the experience in all its glory.
No alarm again this year but the room was up at 4am. Shower, dress, pack, breakfast, luggage truck, gotta find a porta-potty with toilet paper....ACKKK!! On the bike, coughing out the congestion from sleeping in a sauna, I attack (sort of) the first and best hill: the Bourne Bridge. We are special. The State doesn't, by plan, close down any part of the bridge for anybody else. Unfortunately, they haven't put in the tow rope in yet either. I am late enough in the morning to see the canal traffic clearly from the bridge. There are dozens of folks on the bridge cheering us along. The canal path is crowded but a nice flat pull to get loose until we get to Sandwich after which we climb to the Rt 6 access road heading east. These are the rollers. Up and Down and up and down.... Lose momentum and they are tough to climb. Peddle like mad down and you get up the other side without too much pain. <<I hope 'Tiny' Perini reads this.
>> Once past this, I know I can get home regardless. And I did. The first stop is Barnstable county courthouse. I stopped at the medical tent recognizing several of them to thank them for the help in 2008. They remembered me as well.
The second leg of our journey on Sunday is the image that comes to mind when you think of Cape Cod: the shady curving lanes, the saltbox cottages, the boats on the docks. I love this part. There were more folks out to support us here than any other year. Billy had made peace with the Barnstable folks and the citizens came out in droves. This segment ends at the waterstop in Nickerson State Park. They really pull out all the stops. They are the only waterstop with popsicles and a tunnel of balloons.
We jump onto the Cape Bike Trail. Thousands of riders on the trail represent the most danger as the park service doesn't restrict other traffic in either direction. There has certainly been some close calls and I wonder why they can't close it for a few hours. Once off the trail we head out to the ocean side of Truro to ride along the coast. With the strong tailwind this year, it felt like I had an extra motor hidden on the bike. Back away from the coast, under route six through old Truro Center we climb up and east where we again meet the 'Over The Hill Cheerleaders' in their traditional cheerleader outfits. These ladies, sisters from Leominster and the cape, are amazing. Checkout the pix at kowaleski.org. Up the hill past the cheerleaders, down a high speed turn up another hill, you find yourself at the intersection of route six. Helping you cross route six is one of Massachusetts' state police, inevitably annoying the heavy cape traffic. (The support of the Massachusetts Chiefs of Police Association gets us the support of the police in every town on the route. The ride would be much tougher and more dangerous without them helping.)
From the turn onto Route 6 to the turn off to race point, it was as if somebody else was pushing the bike along. I never left the large chainring and I never let my cadence drop below about 80rpm. Only one rider blew by me in that stretch. I felt strong. I turned the corner towards Race Point exhilarated. There I met Walt's daughter Cathy who lives nearby and did not ride this year, took pix, and got back on the saddle for the climbs on the Dunes and to the end of Provincetown.
This year 'Plan B' was to take the fast ferry to Boston. With help from fellow rider Tom and his wife Christine, I got my luggage, showered and we headed off towards the docks. Christine was generous enough to buy lunch and we told tales of our ride. (Bayside Betty's is a great place to have a civilized nosh. The food is very good and the view is outstanding.)
The only other glitch in 'Plan B' turned out that I had done my ticket wrong and the ferry had no room for the bike. I couldn't fold it up and stow it under my seat surreptitiously. So I prayed for 'Plan C' to work. In this case it was 'C' for Cathy and it would be generous to call it a plan, it was more a prayer. I called and was lucky to have her answer. Living so close she buzzed down to the dock and picked up the bike for me. The bike is still vacationing on Cape Cod with her as I write this.
The ferry was nice and quick. Meeting me at the pier was another friend and former rider, Tim, who offered a ride back to Princeton, very much out of his way.
So thirty-six hours after getting off the bike, I am no worse for wear. And big organizations are always problematic. The PMC is no different. With some 5000 riders and 2000 volunteers, there are things that go well and things that do not.The one thing to give you confidence in this event is that EVERY PENNY that we collect gets into the hands of the Dana Farber Cancer Institute where it can do the most good. One Hundred Percent. Sponsors and our entry fees pay for food, equipment, infrastructure, jerseys, fees, etc. How many organizations of any type can make that claim.
So thanks for helping keep guys with character like Joe Andruzzi in the fight and for helping preserve the hope and promise of tens of thousands of other bright and creative lives for their good and ours as well. And thanks for allowing me to do this each year with 7000 of my closest friends.
'Closer By The Mile',
/johnk