I ride the Pan Mass Challenge (PMC) in an attempt to contribute something back to an extraordinary institution fighting the epic war against cancer. My father, Petros, died from stomach cancer in 1996 at age 59. He received advanced and compassionate care at Dana Farber Cancer Institute (DFCI). My wife, mother, brothers, and I are still close friends with his surgeon and oncologist. After I lost my father, I worked as a researcher, studied at Harvard Medical School, and later worked in the biotechnology industry, allowing me to appreciate the extraordinary research conducted at DFCI. This work spans basic science, for example deciphering the many (aberrant) genetic codes that give rise to and drive cancers, through clinical trial evaluation of new therapies. DFCI uniquely synthesizes compassion, excellence, and innovation.

I first rode the PMC in 2006 to commemorate my father 10 years after his passing. I raised funds that year and was touched by the outpouring of generous contributions from my father's friends. In subsequent rides, I have generally sponsored myself.

An important side story is that the 2006 PMC ride not only caused me to ride a bike and improve my fitness and health, it also allowed my to re-discover a deep love of the bicycle. I had owned and used a racing-type road bike when I was 14 (primarily for medium distance commuting to tennis training and the simple pleasure of riding), but it had been relegated for decades to a spot in the garage, barely moving, occasionally sparking a bit of joy when I would pass it by, harried by the pace of work and starting a family. Every year since then, I have gone deeper into riding bikes. Now I ride bikes because I ride bikes. PMC is a special ride, and uniquely meaningful to me, but no longer the exclusive reason I ride.

Another strand of my story is that in 2006, I rode PMC with my best friend from high school, Tim. His father (a famous heart surgeon and one of my idols to this day) was battling and would ultimately succumb to multiple myeloma. I owe a huge thank you to Tim for bringing me into the PMC and riding in general. While I have become pretty decent at riding, Tim is on a different level (I actually think he could have been pro). He, another mutual friend Ted (also oldest and best), and I have shared amazing bike experiences annually since 2006, in a way that has enriched all of our lives. Tim adopted Ted and me onto Team Vanguard (best group ever!) and his sister Kathleen boards and feeds all of us at her home after the ride on day one in Osterville.

Finally, I offer some thoughts on family and riding. I have loved sharing cycling with my daughters, Charis (http://profile.pmc.org/CP0248) and Te (http://profile.pmc.org/TP0172). They are both two-time PMC veterans. Te and I have tackled mountains, raced road and cyclocross, and made great friends during our many epic bike misadventures. Te overcame an accident in order to complete her first PMC, after cleaning up some road rash and borrowing a front wheel from the PMC support van. Charis and I like to roll together on a tandem. Charis does not train a lot, averaging a couple Soul Cycle classes a week leading up to PMC, but she seriuosly elevates her game for PMC weekend and is a total beast of a stoker: we tend to average 16mph+ on the tandem over 190 miles. I am grateful for Charis and Te's commitment, love, friendship and the chance to bond with them over the PMC. We are actively recruiting youngest sister, Pari Palandjian.

Speaking of the parent-child relationship, another thought occurs. I suspect that many perhaps recall a highlight from the cognitive fog of early childhood: the instance of learning to ride a bike. In my case, Petros set me in motion. As I rolled forth, he pointed and instructed me to look at the road ahead, but I could not hear him clearly, so I continued looking back to discern his message, which became increasingly unintelligible as gestured and shouted. A circular irony of exhortation inducing the opposite of its intended effect ended with me crashing into a curb and getting my first case of road rash. And so began my ride.

Dad, I love you, I miss you.