My first triple century, or, How I learned to stop worrying and love my Xtracycle* (Comments: 17)

When last we met (see the previous installment, “The (bald, chubby) eagle has landed,” I was in a Barnes & Noble in Somewhere, PA, figuring out where to park the Hotel Subaru for the night.

Albany Bob from Liberty On Bikes! had recommended a particular walled parking lot near the Livestrong Village, so I made my way over there and found a secluded spot near the wall. I jammed my sleeping bag into the back of the car, which is when I discovered that the car is a least a foot shorter than I am. With the Xtracycle also in the back, I had about an inch of clearance from the left pedal and maybe two inches from the handlebars. Sitting up quickly would mean certain death – or at least a badly bruised noggin.

It was 11:30 p.m. by this time. I set my phone alarm for 5 a.m. and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Seconds later, it was 5 a.m. I changed my shorts in the dark of the deserted parking lot, then did my best to brush my teeth and get my contacts in. I drove over to the Doubletree Hotel, where Team Fat Cyclist was gathering for a 6 a.m. group ride to the start line. There were about 30 of us at the hotel, including the man himself — Elden “Fatty” Nelson, whose blog about cycling and about his own family’s fight with cancer had inspired us all to be there in the first place. His appearance was met with a big cheer, and he hopped on his bike and led us away from the hotel. I rode in the back because it was still dark and I had my Down Low Glow blazing. I ended up riding with Fatty for about half the way, which was great. He’s got to be one of the most grounded human beings I’ve ever met. I don’t know how he does it.

A photo of the rollout taken by Jennie Laurita. The woman in the light-colored jersey is Lauren, and I’m just behind her.

Rolling out on The Packet Boat with Philly Jen. Note the Down Low Glow! (Photo by Creighton Higgins)

By the time we reached Livestrong Village and made our way to the start line, the sun had come out and it was looking to be a beautiful day. The rest of Team Fatty was waiting for us at the start line. I’m not sure how many of us there were, but it a big, big gang. Fatty addressed the crowd to many cheers, and then Philly Jen read from the donation page of the person who had won a set of Shimano wheels and pedals. As it turned out, it was Albany Bob, who told me after the fact that he never wins anything. (By the way, check out the very moving work Bob did to the back of his van.)

Because Team Fatty Philly had raised a bazillion dollars, we got to start first. We all crowded up to the start line where the Livestrong photographers snapped a group shot. I rode with Dan, one of the event organizers, and Lauren, who was riding her first event — and who had only started riding seriously a couple months before. Lauren and I decided to stay together because it was her first ride and we were both doing the 45-mile course. As you’ll learn, she eventually dropped me like a bad habit and finished in about half my time.

Albany Bob, Dan, me at the start line (Photo by Lana)

The south end of a northbound Xtracycle (Photo by Lana)

Albany Bob and yours truly (Photo by Kevin Kavanaugh

We rode out on the long, balloon-covered road from the start line, with hundreds of spectators cheering us on. The organizers said more than 6,000 people were riding, running or walking in the event, which is incredible. I’d never ridden in a group that large, and it was a thrill to see hundreds and hundreds of cyclists take to the roads in the morning sunlight.

Later in the ride, I heard that Lance Armstrong has told the organizers every year to make the courses harder and harder. “It’s supposed to be a challenge,” he is reported to have said. I will go into that in great detail in the nasty note I’ll be sending Lance. (Kidding!) All I can say is: The first 20 or so miles were great, and the rest comprised the hardest ride I’ve ever done in my life.

First of all, I rode my Xtracycle**. If you’ve ever been to RocBike before, you’ve seen my bike. It’s a Giant Sedona hybrid with massive tires and a big cargo bike kit on the back. It weighs a lot. A lot a lot. Too much, some might say. To me, riding the Xtracycle was part of the challenge. That’s because I’m an idiot.

Second, I never really looked at the elevation charts provided by the fine sadists at Livestrong. Had I done that, I would have quickly realized that there was no way I could actually ride my bike for 45 miles on the course they’d laid out, no doubt late at night in a dimly lit room with chains and whips and an iron maiden in the corner. This course, you see, was Brutal with a capital “B.” In fact, I think it’s fair to say it was BRUTAL, with a capital-all-them-letters.

Like I said, it was fine in the beginning. Lauren and I stayed together and chatted while we rode, exchanging the little biographies that you trade in those situations. I was feeling fairly tired, and I hadn’t eaten (idiot), but I figured I could make it the 10 miles to the rest stop and load up on food there. That worked just fine. The first rest stop was incredible. Tons of food, water and Gatorade, and even free massages from the wonderful Tobi. I left feeling refreshed and ready to ride.

I think it was about mile 20 when the first big hill came. I live in Albany, and we have some big hills. But not like these hills. You see, here in Albany, the hills have tops. In Pennsylvania (which is Dutch for “granny gear”) the hills defy geography and just continue to go up. And up. And up some more. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but we climbed a hill that had everyone moaning and swearing, and at the top of the hill was a hill. Dan had rejoined us, and the three of us pulled off the road to rest and hydrate and eat for a minute. Lauren and Dan said they were ready to go, and I told them to go ahead and not wait for me.

It was then that I had my big crisis.

I was exhausted. A craptacular night of sleep in the Hotel Subaru, combined with a woeful lack of calories, had me shaking and feeling nauseous. I’ve never bonked, but I wondered if this was what it felt like. And I knew, for the first time ever on my bike, that I couldn’t make it.

That was when I thought about everything that had gotten me to this point. Cancer had hit my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother, my cousin, my great-uncle, my friend Travis (who died last year from testicular cancer), my grandfather and childhood hero Bernie Flanders (who passed away earlier this summer) … and most recently my Aunt Linda, who is battling breast cancer right now. She’s been a huge inspiration in my life, because she’s never been afraid to walk her own path, regardless of others’ opinions. I’d also spent several years watching Fatty and Susan fight cancer and rally others to their cause. And I’d been inspired to launch my own jazz raffle by the efforts of Fatty’s sister, Jodi. Moreover, I’d raised more than $2,200 with help from family, friends, colleagues and complete strangers. My Rotary club had gathered around me, too, supporting me with the first grant from the revived charity committee.

And that was when I knew that there was no turning back. I got back on the Packet Boat (my Xtracycle) and rode as far up the hill as I could go. Then I got off and walked the bike up the hill. Have I mentioned that it weighs a lot? Pushing it up hills really stinks.

I reached the second aid station and looked around for Lauren and Dan. They weren’t there, although Lauren later said they’d waited for me for quite a while. Who knows how long I’d stood at the bottom of that hill weighing my options?

The rest of the ride was a mixture of pedaling and walking, punctuated with wonderful conversations with my fellow riders. I chatted with Rob from Long Island, a member of Team Fatty who told me he’d played in a charity golf tournament the week before to raise money for autism, inspired by a family member who was diagnosed with autism. And here he was on a hot summer day, riding through the hills of eastern Pennsylvania.

I met Rhonda from Virginia. She’d seen cancer rip through her own family, and decided it was time to change the odds.

I was passed by a cyclist who turned to me as he passed and said, “This is where I quit last year!” Then he let out a whoop and pedaled up the hill. I interviewed him later for the audio piece I’m working on, and he broke down as talked about his dad’s fight with cancer.

That’s what the Livestrong ride is like. Every time you think you can’t possibly make it up one more hill, you find another wonderful person with a story that puts strength in your legs and stamina in your heart. Like the Holland and Wilson families, who both live at the top of big hills and who decided to hand out water to the riders as they passed. Or like the hundreds of volunteers who cheer on the riders, make the food, give massages, and congratulate you every step of the way. or the doctor who works at the one of the aid stations and bring his interns to do the same.

By the end of the ride, I had nothing left. The last few miles were a climb to the finish line, and I was sagging on my bike with my head hanging to one side. I was determined to ride the last few miles, and it took everything I could muster. The amazing thing was that as I struggled up the hills, rider after rider passed me and said “Go Team Fatty!” These people didn’t know me, and most of them didn’t know Fatty either. But they believed in the cause and were inspired by Team Fatty’s efforts.

And I made it up the hill.

I rode past the balloons and cheering crowds and PA announcer, and came to two of the other great moments on my ride. Standing at the finish line was Fatty, who I would later learn waited for every member of Team Fatty to finish. And right behind him was Albany Bob, who’d waited a long time for me to get there. That was a great moment, and a great gift from two very good guys.

The ride was, by far, the hardest physical activity I’ve ever done in my life. I’ve ridden farther, but never over a course like that. But it was also one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given. To be a part of a larger movement, of people united by no thought other than doing good, of people drawn together by one family’s amazing story — that is truly something worth doing. Thanks, Fatty.

* As everyone knows, Xtracycle miles are like dog years. Thus, my 45 miles counted for 315 miles.

(I’ve been making an audio recording of the trip, too, so look for an episode of the RocBike Review after the ride.)

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