Observations from the PMC 2009

Pre event

This year is the thirtieth Pan Mass Challenge.  It's also my ninth year of riding.

There were changes to my plans this year, so I didn't sign up until late May.  This means that the nearest hotel room to the Sturbridge start is 15 miles away in Auburn.  This is particularly relevant this year because they have moved the start time 30 minutes earlier:  5:30AM.  I have to wake up early enough to catch a shuttle bus to be there by 4:45.  Uggh!  The late signup also means that they can only accommodate me in a tent at the Mass Maritime Academy on Saturday night.  I will get no sleep in a tent.  Fortunately, I have the option of staying at Ruth's house in Mashpee.  It will be a 25 minute drive from there back to Mass Maritime for the 5AM start (uggh, again) but it will be a real bed in a real bedroom, with air conditioning, and Kerry will be there to take care of me.  Since Kerry will already be on the Cape at Ruth's house, I am going to forego the usual bus ride home, and Kerry will drive up to Ptown to pick me up at the Family Finish.

One more thing.  For the most of the past 8 years, I've had a combination of friends who I've shared rooms with and ridden with.  Paul, Rick, Mark, Paul and Dave.  None of them will be coming back this year.  The fund raising is difficult in the best of times, and this year, in spite of the economy, the organization has overshot by once again raising the minimum commitment.  I've talked to a lot of disillusioned alums out on the roads these past few months.

Tense as I am about the logistics of all these different ways of doing things, I have my mantra for this year:

Don't forget to have a good time.

Friday night

Pouring rain and horrible traffic on the way to Sturbridge.  We drop our bags at the hotel in Auburn, and continue on.  I register and pick up this year's jersey -- it's red, in a pattern that evokes the look of the tee shirts the first riders wore 29 years ago.  Kerry drives back to Auburn.  I'll take the bus back after the opening ceremony.

The main theme of the opening ceremony is that this is the thirtieth Pan Mass Challenge.  Billy Starr started this in 1980, four years after his mother's death from cancer.  He approached the Jimmy Fund with the idea that 36 cyclists were going to ride across Massachusetts, from Springfield to Provincetown, to raise awareness and money for the Jimmy Fund.  The people of the Jimmy Fund were not impressed, but they lent their approval.  What could it hurt?

You should see the pictures!  They rode on bikes that probably weighed 10 or 15 pounds more than my carbon/titanium modern one.  They wore sneakers instead of real shoes with cleats that click on to the pedals.  They wore cotton t-shirts and the shorts, oh those shorts!  Can you picture of Larry Bird and Kevin McHale in 80's vintage short tight gym shorts?  Well, up on the big screen I'm seeing Billy and 35 insane friends biking 240 miles across the state in those little shorts.  Everything that riders today consider essential for long distance -- these folks had none of it in 1980.  It's a good reminder to not get rattled by all of the little things that might go wrong over the next two days.  Don't forget to have a good time.

One more thing about those pictures: unbelievable mustaches!

 Another subject they can't ignore this year is money.  Last year, you people out there supported the riders with thirty six MILLION dollars, all of which went to the Jimmy Fund.  This year, in this economy, we have 375 fewer riders than last year (still more than 5000 for all of the routes), and the total will be below last year's.  But here's the amazing part:  while the total dollars are down, the total number of donorsis actually higher.  I tell you this part, because you are the people who do donate, who keep this going.  Thank you.

This year's celebrity at the opening ceremony is former Patriots lineman Joe Andruzzi.  Joe was treated for a fast growing abdominal tumor less than a year ago.  Tomorrow he's going to be pedalling 300+ pounds 110 miles from Sturbridge to Bourne, then he's going to go 77 miles up and down the hills of the Cape to get to Provincetown.  I would be curious to know at the end of the weekend how he would compare it to the two-a-day practices going on at Patriots training camp right now.  I can guarantee that the only screaming he's going to hear this weekend is support from the side of the road.

Going out to the bus, it's raining hard.  The bus gets moving for the 25 minute ride, and it's still raining hard -- inside the bus.  Yes, I know how that sounds.  I'm sitting way in the back, and I'm getting soaked.  The guy behind me is saying the same thing.  He thinks that the emergency exit above him is leaking.  The bus is full.  The only empty seats are the ones next to him and me.  Twenty minutes of sitting in the rain.

Back at the hotel, dry, and lights out at 9pm.

Saturday

I never sleep well the night before.  No worse than usual this year.  I am on a bus to Sturbridge at 4:05.  It's not raining.

I place my bike about halfway back among the 3000 Sturbridge Starters before going inside for a snack.  Another 2000 people will be waking up soon (wimps!) to get to Wellesley for the 7:00AM start there.

I'm in place 20 minutes early.  A photographer is wandering around and he sees Piglet on the front of my bike.  He is intrigued and starts shooting.  First, closeups of Piglet, then me leaned over for a team picture with my companion. 

There, to my right, I see Maddie and Meghan, in photographs pinned to the backs of two young women.

I met Maddie and Meghan in the spring of 2007 at a Pedal Partners event after a friend introduced me to Maddie's family.  I saw them both only a few times after that.  Meghan was eleven when she died in September of 2007.  I stayed in contact with Maddie's family often enough to follow her situation more closely.  Maddie's family kept a large number of wellwishers informed by putting together a beautiful web site (moreaboutmaddie.com).  It was an extraordinary saga of suffering, and joy.  More than 1000 people attended Maddie's wake and funeral last October.  More than anything else, what sticks with me is that in the two plus years after her diagnosis, somehow, in spite of everything going on around her and within her, Maddie did not forget to have a good time.

"Excuse me, are you friends of the Savoies?  My name is Don Etkin, and I met them just a couple of years ago."  Stephanie and Michelle Knowles introduce themselves.  They've known Maddie's family a long time.  I ask about Maddie's mom, Kristen.  She is doing the one day ride from Wellesley, 80 miles.  Let's see:  Train to ride 110 miles, OR train to ride 80 miles while taking care of 3 active young sons?  I've got it easier.  I really hope I can find Kristen in Bourne this afternoon, because I want to show her the jersey I'll be wearing tomorrow.  I think she'll like it.

After a 10 minute delay due to reports of heavy fog up the road, my section crosses the start at 5:45.

I used to be very scared for the first six miles.  We have both lanes of route 20 closed for us, but there are three thousand bicycles, and we're moving at 20 to 30 mph on the downhill side of the rolling road, then at widely varying speeds heading up.  This is my ninth time.  Even the stores along the road look familiar.  Not scared.  I'm having a good time.

Here's some of that fog.  It's a little disconcerting going downhill at 25mph surrounded by other bikes when you can't see 100 yards ahead.

First rest stop: 24 miles.  16.9mph.  Let me explain.  If I go out for an after work solo ride of 15 to 20 miles, I am really happy if I top 16.0mph.  If I go out for 50+ miles and I average 15mph, I'm very pleased.  I have just averaged 16.9 for 24 miles and I have another 86 to go, and I'm only a little worried because I've seen this difference for 8 years.  Drafting off riders in front of me has a huge impact.  It's much flatter than my usual routes.  One other difference -- there are not typically people standing on side of the road, clapping, waving signs, and telling me how wonderful I am.

Small pb&j sandwhich, a drink refill, and I'm off.  Part of my philosophy this year is to keep the stops brief, so that the legs don't have time to tighten up.

Now that it's not so ridiculously early, there are a lot more people on the sides of the roads, which by the way, are hillier through this section.  I'm not surprised that when I reach the Franklin rest stop (42 miles), I've slowed to 16.5 for the day.  This rest stop is always impressive.  It is swarming with volunteers in bright purple t-shirts.  They take such good care of us!

I'm riding for a while with Meg.  We're chatting about our Living Proof buttons.  It has been four and a half years since she was treated, so she's down to a scan every six months.  She's doing well.  She started this 12 years ago, two years after her husband was sick.  He's doing well, but he's taking a year off from his usual habit of riding the PMC.

60 miles.  I do not feel like I want to do another 50.  There is a point every year where I think, "I have X miles to go, I can do that!"  I'm not there yet.

I'm getting a great pull behind a group of people with fluffy lobsters tied to the tops of their helmets. 

Dighton lunch stop. 69 miles.  Nothing I eat all year tastes any better to me than this:  ham and turkey on very soft wheat bread with a squirt of mustard, a little lettuce and a portion of undercooked tortellini on the side, washed down with a cold bottled mango green tea.  I guess you hadda be there.

Back on the bike.  Average is down to 16.3, but I have 41 miles to go.  I can do that!

We merged with the Wellesley riders just before the lunch stop, so there is much greater density, and I know how to take advantage of that.  When a group passes me going not too much faster, I get on the back and draft off them until it is too much to sustain.  I ease off until I feel better, then catch the next one that goes by.  It's working great:  when I reach the Lakeville rest stop at 83 miles, my average is back up to 16.5!  In my first 8 years I never once raised my average late in the ride.

I have had so many kids on the sides of the road scream "You rock!" that I can no longer deny it.  I would not have thought so, but I defer to their judgement:   I rock!

Wareham:  100 miles.  Back to 16.3.  That makes sense.  But I'm good!  Muscles ache.  I'm tired and sweaty, but there's only 10 miles to go and there are a lot of people out here.  I'm having a good time.

I come around the second-to-last turn, and hear two purple-shirted volunteers screaming my name. It's Paul and his wife Elise!  Paul is not riding this year, but he was an experienced rider who encouraged me to do this with him my first time in 2001.

110 miles.  1:45pm.  Mass Maritime Academy in Bourne.  Finished.  16.3mph -- wow, I held it for those last 10 miles!  I am especially pleased to have arrived early enough to get one of the free massage appointments.

Shower, dress, and not too much to eat before my massage.  Just a potato.  With chili on top.  And some cheese.  And bacon bits.  I like bacon bits.  And some sour cream.  But not more than that, because I don't like to get a massage on a full stomach.

At 3:45 I am in a group of 50 or so riders spreading out to the massage tables (every one manned by volunteer professional massage therapists!), and walking to the table next to mine is Dave, one of my buddies of the past two rides!  I don't know how the signals got crossed, but we each thought the other was not returning.

Wonderful 15 minute massage, then Dave and I go for more food and a quiet place to sit.  But my stomach doesn't feel right.  Just hungry?  Just to be safe, I'll stop after a cheeseburger, a slice of pizza, and a half of a beer.

The weather is gorgeous.  We are strolling the grounds.  I am really hoping to see Kristen, but there are 5000 riders here, and I have no way of reaching her.

I feel like I should eat more.  Refuel.  My stomach disagrees.  Not vehemently, but it's starting to worry me.

At 6pm I head over to the photo area for the Living Proof picture.  Liz and Larry are there for their team photo.  They are the parents of Valerie, who was my Pedal Partner when she was finishing up treatment for a bone tumor two years ago.  Valerie is doing great!  But Larry is putting on a Living Proof tee shirt.  I don't understand.  It turns out that Larry had a tumor removed several months ago, but things are looking well for him, too.  I shudder thinking what that was like for them after their experience with Val.

The photo is always a logistical challenge.  There are 200 of us among the other riders, and getting a large group of people together for one good shot is difficult.  A guy behind me is complaining.  "Why don't they shoot it right here?  We're all here now!  Why wait!"  Does he not get it?  Is it not a really good thing that there are so many of us that this is problematic?  He has forgotten to have a good time.

Now that the photo is done (another tee shirt for my collection), I say goodnight to Dave and head to the rendevous with Kerry to go to Ruth's house for the night.  My stomach is worse.

We're back at Ruth's house.  Kerry has wonderful snacks for me, and I want... none of it.

Rough night.

Sunday

Alarm at 3:45.  Every other year I've been afraid of what would happen when that alarm rang.  Would I be ready to go?  Every other year, the second my feet hit the floor, I knew instantly that I would make it.  Now, I'm really not sure.

How am I going to do this if I can't eat, and don't even want to drink?  This is not good.  Glass of OJ.  Okay.  Blueberry muffin -- stop after one bite.

I'm going.  Worst that can happen is I pull over, they pick me up and take me to a rest stop, and Kerry comes to get me.  I did not come this far to come just this far.  Besides, I am going to look fabulous today.

After we all wear the official jersey on day one, it's wear what you want on day two.  There are many teams with their own jerseys, and many individuals also do something creative.  I've always tried to come up with something personal, for what the ride means to me.  Today it's about Maddie.

Maddie loved pink and yellow together.  When her family made wristbands for her supporters, they were pink and yellow.  I've been wearing one for two years.  Maddie was also very fond of butterflies, and I think that their symbolism of rebirth meant a lot to Maddie and her family.  So I found an all yellow jersey, and I told Kerry that I wanted a big pink butterfly on the back, and pink pieces added to the front to form the pattern of one of those wristbands.  Kerry can do anything that is possible with a sewing machine, and she did a fabulous job with this jersey.  She also printed out one of Maddie's incredible sunset paintings onto cloth, and stitched that on, along with a picture of a favorite pink friend of mine.

My stomach feels awful, but nobody has a better jersey than this, and I'm taking it to Provincetown.

People start departing MMA at 5, but my stomach has slowed my progress, and we only arrive back at the campus at 5:10.  We are driving down Main St in Bourne as the incredible flow of bicycles starts coming the other way.

5:25am.  Back on the bike.  Just outside the gate Kerry is waiting to see me go by.  Never had that before.  This is the first time I ever stopped to kiss a spectator!

Stomach.  The weird thing is that I'm still passing a lot of people on the way to the bridge.  I like the bridge.  It never feels as bad as it looks.  Along the canal, I see Stephanie and Michelle Knowles.  I did not find Kirsten last night, but at least her friends can get a good look at the jersey.  They say all the right things, and I'm very pleased with myself.

I love the route 6 service road.  Gentle rolling hills and beautiful trees.  But I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to get past the first rest stop.  And then... Lindsay!  Four years ago I stopped on the side of the road to meet Lindsay and her sister and parents and they have been back on the same section of road every year.  This year, they even have my name on a sign.  I've seen a lot of signs for a lot of riders in nine years, but this is a first.  Wow.  Two years ago I gave Lindsay a Living Proof tee shirt and bought another PMC shirt for her sister.  Today they are wearing them.  Wow.

I'm rolling now, with the elation that always follows seeing Lindsay, but then it hits:  I avoid "should", and yet I can't help thinking that Maddie and Meghan should be out here somewhere along the road, holding signs celebrating their good health, smiling.  It is bitter and sad.

Barnstable rest stop 23 miles.  Not going to look at my speed.  Don't care.  Drink a little.  Okay.  Try some snacks.  Not so good.  I get some antacids from the medical tent and head out.  Seventeen miles to the next rest stop should not be too bad.

Lots of good groups to draft from.  I'm making good progress, not pushing it.

A woman passing me says,  "I love your jersey, Mister Butterfly!" I wouldn't have heard that if I gave up at the rest stop.  I am Mister Butterfly.

I'm getting great help from Team Taco.  Yes, they are sponsored by Taco Bell, and for that they make the sacrifice of riding 80 miles wearing billboards for bad food.  Oooh, I really don't want to think about Taco Bell food right now.

Nickerson state park stop at 40 miles.  Just past half way.  I'm able to eat a popsicle, and drink more gatorade.  I know the next 15 miles are mostly the rail trail.  It's very easy riding, so I'm not going to quit now.

Three guys in "Go Army!" jerseys whiz by, and one of them shouts, "That's a beautiful jersey!"  Who am I to argue with America's military?

So, I mentioned 15 easy miles, but it's 17 miles to the Wellfleet stop.  These last 2 miles are hills.  Ocean View Road is notorious for combining climbing with wind.

Wellfleet.  57 miles.  20 to go.  I eat a little something.  It would be silly to stop now.

I think of the remainder of the ride in four sections:

1.  Pair of big freakin' hills in Wellfleet.  Yup, these are as bad as I remembered.

2.  Route 6 hills of south Truro.  You don't notice these in your car.  Trust me:  they're there.

3.  Truro flats.  Surprisingly, there is no headwind today.  I'm very happy because that has been miserable in the past.

4.  Ptown dunes.  Brutal.  Even when my stomach is okay, I fear this part.  They're big, windy and you feel the sun.

Finish line 11:45.  I'll look at my average now -- 15mph.  If you're wondering how it takes 6 hours and 20 minutes to cover 77 miles at 15 mph, let's just say that some of the rest stops required extra time, and leave it at that.

Kerry is not here.  A phone call reveals that there has been a miscommunication, and she thought I was not arriving for another 45 minutes, so she's up at the top of the Ptown monument!  I take the opportunity to collapse on the grass while I wait for her before going to the showers.

Shower.  Still sick, but less grouchy now.  We go to the food tent because, well, I should at least try to eat something.  A volunteer at the entrance says, "I like your tee shirt."  I start to explain that it was given to me at Fenway Park in 2003 on the night that they first unveiled the Jimmy Fund logo on the green monster and... She cuts me off.  She knows all about it.  She asks what kind of cancer I had, and when.  I tell her Ewing's Sarcoma, when I was 13.  She tells me her daughter had Ewing's ten years ago, when she was 14.  She's at a different part of the finish area running the children's activity tent right now. You should see the grin on this woman's face.  She knows.

We get some food and sit near the edge of the tent.  I eat a little of a sandwich that a volunteer put together for me. I'm looking at a piece of cake that would normally be pretty appealling, but right now my stomach just won't allow it.  I'm queasy, cramping and exhausted.  Just outside the tent, I see a group of children running around barefoot in the grass.  I can't tell if they are siblings, or cousins, or friends, or complete strangers.  They are running in nearly random directions, then chasing, and laughing, and falling down.  I don't know who brought them here, or why -- whether it was tragedy or triumph.  It doesn't matter to them.  They are running in the grass on a summer day.  They do not forget to have a good time.  Sitting there, watching them, I'm having a good time, too.