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Observations from the PMC 2002
Getting ready This year is my second Pan Mass Challenge. I have done my fundraising. I have biked more than 1200 miles since January in order to be prepared to ride 110 miles from Sturbridge to Bourne on Saturday and another 80 from Bourne to Provincetown on Sunday. I have a lot on my mind on the Friday morning before the ride. There are lots of little details. One bag is allowed, and I have to be prepared for two nights, two days of biking (forgetting things like your gloves or a second pair of bike shorts can be huge problems) and whatever New England August weather can throw. While I'm pulling everything together, I think about other things. My friend Paul mentored me through the event last year, but he decided to take a year off from riding. I'll miss his company. I wonder how many lives were saved by Ted Williams' support of the Jimmy Fund. I remember the recent memorial service for a wonderful man I knew growing up. I smile with thoughts of Lance Armstrong winning his fourth Tour de France. A friend of mine told me on monday that she recently had a stage two melanoma removed. So far, all the tests indicate a good prognosis. She is relieved, but scared. I understand. Another friend told me on thursday that she is about to undergo chemotherapy and radiation for breast cancer. What can I do for her? I remember that during the first weekend in August 1968 I was very, very sick. Now it's 2002 and I am ready to ride 190 miles in two days again. And more than five years have passed since my mom was treated for her breast cancer. Pretty damn good. Sturbridge friday night After spending the morning going in to Boston to purchase my secret weapon for the second day of the ride, I finish packing, then get a ride to Sturbridge from my son. The registration area is buzzing. An army of volunteers makes it look simple to check in 2200 riders via this set of tables in Sturbridge, another 1300 in Wellesley. The jersey this year is black with a purple, yellow and white floral pattern that some of the men find unappealling. Hey, it's a cycling jersey -- it's supposed to look outlandish. I also collect my second I'm Living Proof button and invitation to appear for the 5:45 group photo of riders with cancer in their history. This year I'm not shy about wearing the button -- it makes people happy to see it. I know I am very happy whenever I see someone else wearing one. One problem from last year is not any easier to deal with. There are posters all around with big pictures of children who are patients at the Jimmy Fund clinic. These pictures are meant to inspire, because most of these children will get well. In the past thirty years the changes in survival rates for childhood cancers are tremendous. I am grateful for the advances, but the pictures remind me of the other kids in the waiting rooms 34 years ago, when very, very few were as lucky as me. And I am furious that even today they don't all get better. The PMC is about changing that. Sturbridge saturday morning I don't get much sleep before the alarm goes off at 4:30AM in the hotel next door to the start, but I get up, get breakfast, get my bag on the right truck and get to the Living Proof group photo. We are really happy to be there. Twenty two hundred riders in identical floral jerseys are setting up to start in four sections sorted by speed. Based on my experience last year I start at the back of the fastest section. At precisely 6AM we're off down route 20 with cars being kept off the road. The goal for the first ten miles is simply to not crash. Once you make it that far, it starts to spread out, and you've only got 100 more miles to go! On the road There are people of all ages, sizes and descriptions standing on the side of the road, even this early, waving and cheering and holding signs. Many say "Thank you for riding". It has taken me a while to get comfortable with this. I still believe that the real power of the PMC is the money it raises, but I have also come to believe that the sight of 3500 cyclists inspires a lot of hope and caring. I've done enough training so that at the first rest stop (20 miles) I am just getting warmed up, so I get something fresh to drink and get back on my way pretty quickly. The riders have finally started to spread out a little, and I am looking for riders to hook up with in a line. The aerodynamic efficiency of riding right behind someone else means you expend about 25% less energy to go the same speed as the guy in front. I've been in single file lines of as many as 30 bikes, with different riders taking turns in the lead. It's very scary to be two feet off someone's rear wheel at 25 mph, but it sure beats getting 18 mph for the same effort on your own. And it's quite a rush to take a turn in front for as long as you can hold it. I reach 42 mph coming down one hill. That's so foolish, but damn, it's fun. I'm at the 40 mile rest stop at 8:30, and there's a complication. There is an announcement that there has been an accident on Interstate 95 which has shut down the highway, and the state police have told us to stay off the road for the next hour while they divert traffic over part of our route. This creates several problems for us. It's getting warmer quickly and this will put us an hour into the hotter part of the day. A 10 or 15 minute stop is fine, but an hour after a 40 mile ride your legs tend to decide that you were done riding for the day and they get really annoyed at being told there are 70 more miles to cover. The worst part is that by the time they start allowing us to leave (9:30), a whole lot of those 2200 people have arrived at the rest area, and we're all bunched up again like the start and the next 20 miles are spent focussing on not crashing. And just to make it more interesting, this is also the segment where we are joined by the 1000 riders coming from Wellesley. Of course, since we are an hour late, the faster riders from the Sturbridge group are merging with the slower riders among the Wellesley contingent. It is somewhat chaotic. At 60 miles there is a lunch stop for 3500. The bunching causes a real challenge for the volunteers that are serving us, but you would never know it from the way they treat us. The volunteers are awesome. They are extremely well organized. They are working very hard. They are uniformly cheerful, helpful and encouraging. I am still amused by the fact that they thank us. I get going from the lunch stop as quickly as I can, in order to get a little separation. Fifty miles to go. It's getting really hot. It's time to ride smart, which means drafting off others when possible, but not being tempted to try to keep up with riders too much stronger than me. With the pack spreading out, it is easier to pay attention to things beyond avoiding crashes. I like the kids on the sides of the road who want you to slap hands as you ride by, and I try to oblige them as if I'm some big star athlete. There are lots of home made posters acknowledging gratitude for family members who have survived, or memorializing lost loved ones. Sometimes they are like the posters at registration, and the rage and sadness that I feel drives me faster. At 70 miles, going another 40 in this heat is not appealling, but I'm not dealing with any injuries, so I know I'll get there. At the 80 mile stop there is a toddler playing behind a table of volunteers. It's very hot but he seems to be having a very good time. There will be a day when kids grow up without ever thinking of cancer as a deadly disease. Maybe it will happen for him. A lot of riders skip the 100 mile rest stop and just go straight to the finish, but my buddy Paul and his wife Elise are working there as volunteers, so I would have stopped even if I wasn't wilting in the heat. Paul is making Gatorade and Elise is carrying around big bottles of the stuff to provide refills for any one who needs it. I think Paul is sweating as much as I am. I've got to get him to ride again next year. Bourne I roll in to the Mass Maritime Academy in Bourne at 1:40. 110 miles. 86 degrees. Very humid. I averaged 17 mph while on the bike. I can't normally maintain that speed for half that distance. The combination of support from the other riders and the inspiration of the spectators, the volunteers and the event itself, is very powerful. I'm pretty pleased with myself. Fourth floor dorm room. No elevator. Walking down stairs is much harder than walking up. There is a man wandering around the halls in a poorly fitting T shirt and shorts. It turns out that his luggage is missing and the volunteers have scrounged up some clothes so that he could get out of his bike stuff. I cringe at the thought. All that preparation, and I forgot to bring soap and shampoo. Relying on the kindness of strangers, I get clean and dry and head out to the rider's rewards: food, beer and the tent where 100 tables are staffed by volunteer massage therapists. Andy Warhol's "15 minutes of fame" are nothing compared to my 15 minute massage from a young woman named Michelle. When she asks if anything hurts, I tell her my face isn't sore. It is still so hot outside that people are looking anywhere for a shady spot to rest. I see people laying under bushes and in the shadows of trucks and buildings. I find a particularly nice bush where I go between meals (I think I ate dinner three times between 4 and 8PM). I'm in bed in the sweltering dorm by 8:30 because I am exhausted and they are going to wake us at 4:10AM. Pre-dawn Sunday When I hit the floor at 4:15, all the parts seem to be working (other than my eyes being a little blurry), so I know I can do the remaining 80 miles today. On the second day you wear whatever jersey suits you. There are many teams of riders with their own designs. It is also traditional to wear PMC jerseys from prior years, and I slip mine on, but I had an idea a few weeks earlier, and now is the time to do something about it. I am not a Red Sox fan. I grew up in New York (Mets fan, not Yankees), but during my 20+ years of living here I've learned about Ted Williams and discovered that he was the most visible, most effective, most consistent supporter that the Jimmy Fund could ever have hoped for. Fifty years ago he was raising money that funded research at a time when there was so little expectation of saving anyone with cancer. When Ted Williams died, I knew the PMC would remember him, but I wanted to express my gratitude for all that he had done. So, on Sunday morning I reached into my bag and pulled out the Red Sox jersey with the big number 9 on the back (purchased across the street from Fenway Park on Friday morning), and I slipped it over my PMC 2001 jersey. I'm keeping the biking jersey on underneath because this thing is stiff and scratchy and would doubtless do terribly painful things to my skin over the course of 80 miles of cycling. It's going to be a very warm ride, but I think it's worth it to remind people what he did for us. I clip my Living Proof button on the front and I'm ready to go. On the road again No one is allowed to start before there is some sunlight (5:15), and I am on my way by 5:30. It's cool and breezy to begin and I am eager to get as far as I can before it gets hot. The first 10 miles are flat (except for the Bourne Bridge!), but then there are rolling hills and I have averaged barely 15mph when I get to the first rest stop at 20 miles. It's not a race. It's not a race. It's not a race. But... I'm a competitive guy and I'm wearing a Ted Williams jersey. So when I see riders ahead of me I want to catch them and pass them. When stronger riders pass me, I try to stay with them as long as I can. At the 40 mile rest stop my average is up to 17 mph. Unfortunately, the temperature is also up and I'm getting really warm inside 2 jerseys. The jersey is a lot of fun. Kids on the side of the road shout "Go Sox" when they see the front, and I get a lot of nice comments from the riders who see the big 9 on the back. The older volunteers at the rest stops love it. The toughest hills of the 2 days are in Wellfleet, on either side of the 60 mile rest stop. I have done other rides through Wellfleet, so I know these hills pretty well. I know I'll have enough left to get to Provincetown. No fear. I come flying out of the hills and head up route 6 at about 20mph, alternating leading with a young woman. And then, at about 75 miles, just over the Provincetown border, out in the open with the sun beating down, I run out of energy. Exhausted. The last 5 miles are a real grind. Finish line -- Ptown I cross the finish line at 10:40 (and still at an average of 17mph for the morning). I am very glad to get off the saddle. Last year Paul had gotten us a room at the Provincetown Inn to shower and change. This year I get to experience the shower tent. I was very hot on the bike, but a cold shower was not what I had in mind. Still, clean dry clothes feel pretty good afterwards, and I head out to the food tent and start eating. I'm sitting by myself and a group of men sit down next to me. One of them glances over at me and says, "Hey, weren't you the guy wearing the Ted Williams jersey?" "Yeah" "That was pretty cool" Made my day. And yes, you can count on my asking for your help again next year.
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