Why I Ride ...
My First PMC
12 years ago, and 2 weeks prior to my boarding an airplane at Chicago's O'Hare field for my first PMC, I brought my bike to a bike dealer close to my office in the Chicago 'burbs and asked them to ship it to Sturbridge, MA - the start of the PMC. Separately, I made arrangements with the motel owner in town to hold my bike until my arrival the Friday evening of the PMC weekend. Upon landing at Logan, my riding buddy and I rented an SUV, threw his bike into the truck and got on the turnpike towards Sturbridge.
We arrived in Sturbridge about 6pm; from my cell phone in the SUV I called the motel to say I was in town. It was then that I heard that my bike had never arrived. In total disbelief I just stood there - my fund raising commitment totally handled, but no bike!! I called the bike store - the bike had been left at the distribution center of the shipper in a Chicago suburb. Finishing my phone call, standing in the parking lot of the Sturbridge Host hotel too upset to eat, a huge headache growing under my eyebrows, and I wondered: how I was going to face my sponsors about not riding?
After a few minutes I decided I was not going to tell my sponsors that I had failed. I was walking back into the Host hotel to ask complete strangers if they had a bike I could have for the weekend!
And that's what I did - I went up to every person and asked if they had a bike or if they knew someone who had a bike. While the doctors were talking about how the money was being spent, I was asking. While Billy Starr was introducing the next speaker, I was asking. From the swimming pool to the pre-ride flea market, I was asking. But no bike.
After about an hour or so, someone suggested that I talk to Al Cote, on staff with the PMC. I finally found him in one of the hotel meeting rooms with all the volunteers with the walkie-talkies. He listened to my story, says he's sorry and sends me to talk to a new person.
This went on until after 10pm that evening. No bike. No one would or could help me. I ran into Al about 3 or 4 times that evening, always having me check with some new person. Riders and guests were avoiding me in the lobby because I had already asked them 2 or 3 times for a bike and they were tired of me.
People were leaving to go back to their rooms to get a few hours sleep. I had not eaten. I had not sat down since I gotten out of the truck at 6pm. I wasn't in the state of Massachusetts, I was in a state of resignation - knowing that I would not get to ride in the PMC, another of life's cruel jokes.
My last creative moment of that night was finding Al and thanking him for his suggestions. I pledged that starting the following year I would put the bike in a crate and it would go on the airplane with me.
Al asked me one last time, had I spoken to so and so? Finally, when he had exhausted his questions he asked me if I wanted to borrow his bike, the bike he had ridden across the US to raise money for Dana Farber -- his friend and companion for weeks and months at a time. His friend was ready to be my friend -- if only for 192 miles -- if I promised not to get it scratched.
Al sent his son home to get the bike. He didn't get back to the Host hotel until about an hour had passed. When it arrived we raised the seat as high as we could because I'm a little taller than Al, and even though the drops hit my knees when I turned the handlebars, I told him without lying that his bike was perfect, because it was. We exchanged his racing pedals for plain pedals that I could use with my gym shoes, since I had different cleats on my bike shoes. He had a triple chain ring up front and I can't tell you glad I was to have a third chain ring climbing the Bourne bridge at dawn on Sunday morning and for that matter all of Saturday morning, too.
The ride ended uneventfully in Provincetown. I thanked Al and, out of a terrible beginning, I now count Al as one of my friends. We still talk and e-mail each other a few times during the course of the year. We talk not just about bikes but also about our lives and what makes us happy.
The epilogue to the story is that in time I have forgiven "Brown" and believe it or not, even forgiven myself for being so angry for so long. What's true is that if it hadn't been for my bike getting lost, the PMC would be just another charity bike ride. Yes, cancer runs on both side of my family. Yes, it's great chowder. Yes, it's hills and cedar forests one day and the smell of the ocean the next, but it still would have been just a weekend bike ride.
Except it's not that way; for me, it's Al's RIde. It's a time to celebrate people helping people. Al is a shining example, that what we do day-in and day-out - that which seems so ordinary - can be a miracle for someone else. Al's Ride is my personal version of the PMC. You can do Al's Ride anytime if you know that what you're doing counts and if you're willing to allow for miracles to happen in the lives of others. As for bikes - hey, they're optional!
