Observations from the PMC 2007

PMC Observations 2007

Pre-event

April.  If you are a parent, this is an event that you never want to attend, and yet, everyone is smiling.  This is the Pedal Partners Party in the State Street Pavilion at Fenway Park.  Pedal Partners is a program of the Pan Mass Challenge to pair patients from the Jimmy Fund Clinic with teams of riders who share the experience with the kids and their families. I am here because back in October a friend put me in touch with the Savoie family of Norfolk.  Nine year old Maddie was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma last August, and my friend Katie knew that I had been treated for Ewing's when I was 13, so she thought the Savoie's might like to hear from me.  We developed a correspondence through the fall and winter.  We talked about Pedal Partners, and I contacted the program, but they already had a team set up for Maddie, and instead matched me with 14 year old Valerie of Winchester.  I have talked with Valerie's mom, Liz.  It turns out that Maddie and Valerie are great friends.  I'm going to meet both of them today.

 I have brought some presents.  Valerie has recently finished treatment, and I have been told that her most recent scans are clear!  I made her a custom version of the Living Proof t-shirts that the PMC gives to volunteers and riders who are survivors.  I also have my PMC jersey from last year for Maddie's brother Michael, who has raised seven thousand dollars for his participation in a Kids PMC ride in Norfolk.

 I meet Maddie, Michael and their dad first.  There is an overused stereotype of the courageous little cancer patient, but it doesn't begin to do justice to Maddie.  She is having a good day, and she would fill the room with her energy and her smile, except that she is by no means the only one!  You cannot begin to understand the presence of these kids if you have never experienced it.  Even the parents, who have seen so much, and carry so much inside, smile as they get a day that is just about the kids having fun.

 I meet Valerie and her family.  Valerie is nearly mobbed by the younger girls, who clearly adore her.  She is treated like everyone's beloved older sister, and she responds with extraordinary grace.

 Little girls are a mystery to me.  I didn't understand them when I was a boy.  I have raised 2 sons, but no daughters.  I'm not going to speculate about the causes, but every time I watch them in groups I am struck by how different they are from boys.  These girls, all with little or no hair, are a sea of pink and lavender and conversations about manicures and outfits, and they are laughing and joking.  I leave the party thinking of a horribly outdated song, from the musical Gigi : "Thank Heaven For Little Girls."

 June

I'm in Norfolk to watch the local Kids PMC ride because I thought it would be fun, for a change, to stand on the side of the road cheering while someone else rides by.  Maddie is the official starter for the event, and she is running (running!) all over the place saying hi to friends.

 This is one of the funniest things I have ever seen.  You would have an easier time herding cats than controlling this swarm of kids on bikes coming down the street.  They range from 4 year olds with training wheels to 12 year olds on mountain bikes, and they all seem oblivious to one another.  And yet, not one crash, not one fall.  The only casualty I saw was a little boy who was very upset that one of his sandal straps broke.

Friday Night

 I arrive in Sturbridge to the usual controlled chaos of registration and renewed acquaintences.  I find my weekend roommates Mark, Paul and Dave (the rookie).  My original PMC mentor, Paul Alegria has returned from injury as a 1 day rider this year, bringing in yet another rookie, Perry.  My friend Linda finds me.  She is a second year rider that I met during training rides this year with the Charles River Wheelmen club. Valerie's mom, Liz, is here.  Valerie's dad, Larry, is stuck at work, but he will be riding from the Wellesley start in the morning.  Liz and Larry are first time riders.

 The Savoie's are here!  They have come to be interviewed on NECN.  Maddie recognizes me, and I proudly point out that while many riders are wearing the yellow Lance Armstrong LiveStrong wristband,  I am proudly sporting the pink and yellow Maddie wristband I was given a few months back.  Michael is wearing the jersey I gave him!  I'm more than a little pleased by this.

 After dinner there is the usual opening ceremony, a combination of videos, speeches, and musical performances.  Some of it is very sad, some is hopeful and inspiring.  It happens that this year there are two references to Ewing's Sarcoma, one in a piece about a young boy who died, and another in a speech by Dr George Demetri, one of the leading researchers at Dana Farber.  Dr Demetri is exactly the kind of person you want doing this kind of work.

 Back at the hotel.  I'll sleep, or not.  The alarm will go off at 4am.  I will get up, get ready and ride.

 Saturday

 Starting line 5:55am.  Let's go, let's go, let's go.

3000 bicycles heading up route 20.  With the exception of a few miscreants who insist on wearing team jerseys, we are all wearing the event jersey.  It's not very easy spot any one person you might be looking for.  I wonder what this looks like from the air.

 First rest stop.  22 miles, averaging 17.6 miles per hour.  Let me give you some perspective.  If I go out for a 40 mile ride on my own, I'm pretty pleased if I break 15.0 for the first 20 miles.  There is something about this event, these bikes, the people on the side of the road.  I'm gonna pay for this later.

 At rest stop 2, Linda finds me.  She always makes me ride better.  She takes her training very seriously, and her riding is very consistent, very good for me.  She's too humble to admit it, but over the past couple of months, she has become stronger than me.  I draft off her far more than she drafts off me.

 When you start feeling the heat at 9AM, it's not good.

 I'm getting cramps in both legs at 65 miles.  This is scary.  I don't get cramps.  I've got a long way to go.

 Rest stop 3 (the lunch stop) at 70 miles.  Average speed has dropped to 16.9.  As I stop the bike and swing my right leg back over the saddle to dismount, I get a massive spasm encompassing my entire upper leg.  Owwwww! 

 Okay, it's easing off a little now.

 This is where they have the Pedal Partners tent.  Valerie is not here.  She is away at summer camp ("Normal kid summer camp," her mom tells me, beaming).  Maddie is not here either because they have a big family reunion to attend today (nice to have them doing something normal, too!).  I visit the tent anyway.  I spot Maddie's friend Meghan and her mom and they recognize me from the other events.  Meghan is holding a large watergun.  I ask her if it's loaded, then turn my back.  She grins, getting my hint.  She soaks my jersey, which feels good.  Thank heaven for little girls.

 There are 2500 volunteers working this event over the course of the weekend.  They perform every job, big and small, while constantly thanking us for riding.  Riders return to this event year after year largely because these people make it all run so smoothly.  It's beastly hot in a crowded tent and these people are making sandwiches, hauling water, clearing tables and doing countless other tasks to make our day easier.

 I can't hold my sandwich with my left hand because it cramps every time I try to grip anything.

 I'm encouraged that my leg doesn't spasm again when I swing it back over the bike.  Linda and I head out.  I notice that the name tag on her saddle bag is askew, and I reflexively reach back to check mine.  My Living Proof button is missing.  I put that button there during my first ride!  It has been the impetus for a lot of amazing conversations over my first six rides.  I am really upset!  I'm a little embarassed to catch myself thinking, "I'm just another rider now."  Well there's nothing to be done about it and there's still 35 miles to go, with cramping legs, so just keep riding.

 84 mile rest stop.  Speed is down to 16.2.  Keep riding.

 96 miles, heading up a hill, dropping back from Linda, I feel a wobble in the rear wheel that can only mean one thing.  My first flat tire in 7 years of this event.  I pull off into a driveway where there are some chairs set up -- the family must have been watching riders earlier.  Two small children come running up asking me all about my bike and the ride and why did I stop.  Their dad comes out and offers assistance.   I don't relish the thought of changing the tube and pumping it with my cramping hand, but a support van spots me within 2 minutes, and a mechanic quickly gets a new tube in place.

 Back on the road.  98 miles.  Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!  That's not a cramp, that's a bee sting!  Just below the edge of the shorts.  There's no point in stopping.  It's going to hurt the same pedalling or sitting on the side of the road.  Three miles to the last rest stop.  12 miles from the finish.

 101 mile rest stop.  Ice is nice.  Linda has been calling my cell, wondering what happened to me.

 3:23pm  Bourne again. 110 miles.  15.9 miles per hour on the bike for the day.  Latest arrival ever, slowest average speed ever.  The worst part is that I am too late to get a reserved time for a desparately needed massage, and will have to wait on the standby line.  Shower, and rush to the standby line.

 I explain to my volunteer massage therapist, Sarah, about my leg cramps.  The second she touches my quad, it spasms.  "We better stretch those first".  I roll over, and as soon as she starts to bend my leg, the hamstring spasms.  Same thing on the other leg.  She works ever so gingerly for my 15 minutes, telling me that I should take 4 ibuprofen and do as much stretching as I can tolerate until I go to sleep.  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.  This is pretty scary.  If this does not improve quickly, it's going to be a very long night and a very long 77 miles in the morning.

 Business to take care of:  Buy a Kids PMC shirt.  Eat:  Pizza.  Chowder.  Chili.  Pizza.  Baked Potato.  Salad.  Potato Salad.  Sherbet.  Burger.  Pizza.  Drink: Juice.  Juice.  Water.  Water.  Juice.  Water.  No beer.

Sitting by the canal (stretching!), waiting for the Living Proof group photo at 6:15.  Dr Demetri is being interviewed by a camera crew.  I really wanted to talk to him on Friday night after his speech at the opening ceremony, now's my chance.  When he's done, I approach and introduce myself, and explain my interest in his remarks about Ewing's.  I've seen this look of shock before.  He knows what the survival rate was in 1968.  I am struck by his passion as he discusses his work and his belief in the progress to come -- he is very excited about a new drug they will begin testing soon.  It is good to know that the money we raise is going to support people like him.

 Still sitting by the canal, stretching, I get into a conversation with man named Bill.  I'm puzzling about my cramps, because I did my usual 1200+ miles of training.  He mentions that he is a first time rider, and that it had been many years since he had ridden before he began training April 1, but he rode 2500 miles in the past 4 months to get ready.  He is 72 years old.  I am humbled.  I ask him why he chose this year to undertake this, and he explained that last fall he attended a high school reunion, and he estimated he heard that a quarter of his graduating class had died of cancer, survived it,. or was currently in treatment.  He figured it was time to do something about it, while he still could.  He's moving a lot better than I am this evening.  He's my hero.

 Still waiting, still stretching.  There is a guy sitting nearby with a team shirt that I first saw 2 years ago.  It says "Pain is Temporary, Pride is Forever".  I understand what they are trying to say, but I still don't like it.  There is pain that can strip you of your pride, pain that isn't temporary.  Cancer can cause that kind of pain.  That's why we ride.

 They assemble us for the picture, then start handing out the t-shirts.  The guy standing next to me is trying to convince the women to remove their tops before putting the t-shirts on, so they won't look wrinkled.  (Did you think that having cancer automatically made you a better person than the general population?).  After the picture, I rush over to the box of t-shirts to see if I can snag an extra one in the smallest size available.  There are only Large remaining, but I take one.  I walk back to the bike and stuff this and the PMC Kids shirt in my saddle bag.

 8:20pm.  I'm in bed.  It feels good.  8:37pm.  Mark starts snoring.

 Sunday

3:20am.  I've been sleeping on and off (Mark hasn't been too bad), but I'm pretty sure I'm awake for the day now.  I'm extremely pleased by the fact that my legs didn't cramp at all during the night.  I'll just lie here until...

4am.  We're up and getting ready.  I am shocked at how little my legs hurt.  I'm much less afraid than I was 10 hours ago.

We head out for breakfast, throw our luggage on the trucks.

Sunday morning is not a mass start like Saturday.  They ask us to not leave before sunrise.  After yesterday's heat, there is a much larger than usual number of riders eager to start early.  Linda, her friend Mike and I can't get through the gate until 5:23.  I think this is actually my latest start in 7 years.

I love going over the Bourne Bridge at sunrise, and we are cruising the 7 miles along the canal.  At 12 miles I feel great.  I know I will tire and suffer later, but I'm going to enjoy this for now.  I warn Linda and Mike that I will probably not stay with them up the big hill at the entrance of the route 6 service road, and that's exactly what happens.  Still the service road is the most fun riding of both days: gently rolling hills, smooth pavement, thickly forested,(and very few cars before 6am on Sunday!).  I'm having a great time and then...

 ...There's Lindsay and her family!  Lindsay is 9 now.  Two years ago, I saw them holding a sign that said "Lindsay is a survivor", and I stopped to talk to them.  They were in the same spot last year, and seeing her again, knowing that she was still well, had meant a lot to me.  I have been so aware this year of families in the throes of treatment, that I really needed to see Lindsay and know that she continues to be healthy.  I immediately pull out the way-too-big Living Proof t-shirt for Lindsay, and apologize for the size.  I give the much smaller PMC Kids t-shirt to her sister, because she got dragged out of bed at 5:30 to stand on the side of the road with her parents and her big sister -- she deserves a present!  I talk with her parents for a while (they told me their names, but of course I forgot).  While we are chatting, there is a tv crew across the street filming the riders, and the producer sends the cameraman across the street to film us.  They ask Lindsay and me to stand together, and I just start talking to the camera.  Pretty soon the guy has the camera about 2 feet from my face.  I have no idea what I said.  The producer comes up and asks for my name, phone and email.  She says she is working on a documentary for the Discovery Channel and she'll send me a release for my permission to use the footage.  HD TV may never be the same.

I get a big hug from Lindsay's mom, say goodbye to Lindsay, and get started again.  I feel great.

 Thank heaven for little girls!

Rest stop 1:  Mark, Paul and Dave are there.  I tell them I'm doing okay.  I dub Paul and Dave "The British Racing Team".  Mark and I agree to stay comfortably behind them rather than struggle to keep up.

They drop us on the hillier parts, but we're moving very comfortably through the 20 miles to stop 2.  As usual, all the kids from Cape Code Sea Camp line a section of road cheering for us.

Rest stop 2.  We are past half way.  I have no fear of the remaining ride.  I am shocked by how little my legs are bothering me.  Mark and I encourage Paul and Dave to leave without us so that we won't be tempted to try to stay with them.

Ocean View Road in Wellfleet runs along (ie, up) the bluffs in Wellfleet.  There is a strong headwind.  Gack!

Paul and Dave are waiting for us at the final rest stop.  They have decided that we are finishing together.  Linda and Mike are there, too, and we all head out together.  Mark and I get separated from the rest going up route 6, but before we hit the awful headwinds of the Truro flats,  Paul and Dave are waiting for us and they set their pace for us to draft off them all the way to the dunes.  Despite all of yesterday's problems, with their help I am pulling in to the Provincetown Inn at 11:13, feeling pretty good.

Now, I can have a beer!  And a sandwich, and potato salad, chili, chowder, a cheeseburger, two brownies, and several bottles of water.

Lining up for the bus, I get into a conversation with a woman who appears to be not a typical rider.  She is very petite, with short white hair.  She is 70 years old, and a first time rider.  I don't ask her why she chose this year to attempt such a thing, because by this time I'm pretty sure I know what I'll hear.  She tells me that she and her friend began training at the end of June.  The fact that she's at the bus stop with me indicates that she could not have finished much later than me.

Thank heaven for little girls!

Next year will be the 40th anniversary of the summer that I was sick, and since I will only be 53 by then, I expect that I'll be riding again.

f you want to learn more about amazing Maddie Savoie and her family, you can visit their web site:  www.moreaboutmaddie.com.  They even have a section where they included some poor old guy's last six years of PMC journals.

For more information about PMC Kids events (if there isn't one in your town, start one!) see the web site pmc.org.

2008 Observations