8.23.2011
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7.27.2009
The CT Challenge-7.25.2009
Oh, hello. No, I'm not dead, and no, our business didn't go under. I've just been too damn busy reading everyone else's blog instead of tending to my own. I wanted to get a few thoughts down on my ride this past weekend.
The CT Challenge is a cancer-survivor fundraising event culminating in a celebratory, intense bike ride. Team Charged! consisted of 3 members, myself included. In total, we raised over $6,000 to help fund treatment and care for cancer survivors. The ride totaled 55 miles, and brought us to parts of our small state of CT that I'd never seen before. Places like Dodgington and Hattersville. Quaint, rural American towns going about their Saturday morning business while an invasion of lost bikers angled and bent thru steep and winding hills. I'm not gonna lie, things got lonely out there at times. Even if a fellow rider was near ahead or behind me, I still got stuck inside my own head, wondering where I was, how much further I had to go, and if I would finish. For some, 55 miles is no great shakes on a bike. And with more preparation next year, I assume I'll go for the 75 mile route. But the mental challenges seemed greater than the physical ones. I would just finish recovering from the lactic burn in my legs when another steep hill would pop up in front of me. So you do your best with your gear selection, stand up and crank. There were many times where if I had paused even for an instant, I would've toppled or begun rolling backwards. So you simply don't stop. It really was a fascinating journey of endurance and will.
I had the pleasure of finishing the Challenge with a Marshall, a rider dedicated to monitoring the pack for breakdowns, chain derailments, flat tires, wipe-outs and other calamities. He was a stellar fellow named Greg Stewart(Stuart-sp.?). He'd attempted the 100 mile course last year but suffered an acute asthma attack and had to bail after 60 or so miles. He had assisted me around mile 30 with a nasty chain derailment, and vowed to check back with me. Sure enough, around mile 45, he found me on Redding road and hung with me across the finish line. I've explained to my wife and some clients the peculiarity of the last 10 miles being the hardest. Being lost in the Bethel woods was simpler for some reason. I had no bearings, therefore had no expectations. Once we returned back to Fairfield, or my home turf so-to-speak, my bearings were abundantly clear, and at 10 miles to go, so very far away. Roads I've been traveling my whole life now seemed painful and endless. The flat ride along the Gold Coast and Pequot Avenue seemed agonizing. I think Greg sensed my weariness. He began talking about fatherhood, and we shared stories about our young daughters. I talked about my wife and our business. Miles began creeping by and before I knew it, we were at the foot of the Bronson Road hill leading up to the Congregational Church. This was literally it. The last hurdle and brief stretch of road before the finish line. I stood up and began steadily cranking, watching the road move slowly beneath my tires. It was as difficult as I had built it up to be in my mind. Fuck. I jerked past the 17th Century cemetery on my right and had to smile briefly, acknowledging the symbolism. No, I wouldn't end up there, at least not today. Greg stayed just ahead of me until finally we were side by side again. We both saw the finish line ahead and hushed up. We didn't sprint, we just kept at it. The road had flattened out by now, and the burn was beginning to subside. I saw a camera man crouched in the road. I gave him a fist pump, and then gave myself a congratulatory, "YES!" as I glided over the finish line.
We rode with cancer survivors on Saturday. People who likely faced down death, and lived to fight another day, month, year or lifetime. It was inspiring. It was difficult. It was rewarding. It was the longest I'd ever ridden, and I'd do it again. Oh and Greg, thanks for all of your help.
-BD
The CT Challenge is a cancer-survivor fundraising event culminating in a celebratory, intense bike ride. Team Charged! consisted of 3 members, myself included. In total, we raised over $6,000 to help fund treatment and care for cancer survivors. The ride totaled 55 miles, and brought us to parts of our small state of CT that I'd never seen before. Places like Dodgington and Hattersville. Quaint, rural American towns going about their Saturday morning business while an invasion of lost bikers angled and bent thru steep and winding hills. I'm not gonna lie, things got lonely out there at times. Even if a fellow rider was near ahead or behind me, I still got stuck inside my own head, wondering where I was, how much further I had to go, and if I would finish. For some, 55 miles is no great shakes on a bike. And with more preparation next year, I assume I'll go for the 75 mile route. But the mental challenges seemed greater than the physical ones. I would just finish recovering from the lactic burn in my legs when another steep hill would pop up in front of me. So you do your best with your gear selection, stand up and crank. There were many times where if I had paused even for an instant, I would've toppled or begun rolling backwards. So you simply don't stop. It really was a fascinating journey of endurance and will.
I had the pleasure of finishing the Challenge with a Marshall, a rider dedicated to monitoring the pack for breakdowns, chain derailments, flat tires, wipe-outs and other calamities. He was a stellar fellow named Greg Stewart(Stuart-sp.?). He'd attempted the 100 mile course last year but suffered an acute asthma attack and had to bail after 60 or so miles. He had assisted me around mile 30 with a nasty chain derailment, and vowed to check back with me. Sure enough, around mile 45, he found me on Redding road and hung with me across the finish line. I've explained to my wife and some clients the peculiarity of the last 10 miles being the hardest. Being lost in the Bethel woods was simpler for some reason. I had no bearings, therefore had no expectations. Once we returned back to Fairfield, or my home turf so-to-speak, my bearings were abundantly clear, and at 10 miles to go, so very far away. Roads I've been traveling my whole life now seemed painful and endless. The flat ride along the Gold Coast and Pequot Avenue seemed agonizing. I think Greg sensed my weariness. He began talking about fatherhood, and we shared stories about our young daughters. I talked about my wife and our business. Miles began creeping by and before I knew it, we were at the foot of the Bronson Road hill leading up to the Congregational Church. This was literally it. The last hurdle and brief stretch of road before the finish line. I stood up and began steadily cranking, watching the road move slowly beneath my tires. It was as difficult as I had built it up to be in my mind. Fuck. I jerked past the 17th Century cemetery on my right and had to smile briefly, acknowledging the symbolism. No, I wouldn't end up there, at least not today. Greg stayed just ahead of me until finally we were side by side again. We both saw the finish line ahead and hushed up. We didn't sprint, we just kept at it. The road had flattened out by now, and the burn was beginning to subside. I saw a camera man crouched in the road. I gave him a fist pump, and then gave myself a congratulatory, "YES!" as I glided over the finish line.
We rode with cancer survivors on Saturday. People who likely faced down death, and lived to fight another day, month, year or lifetime. It was inspiring. It was difficult. It was rewarding. It was the longest I'd ever ridden, and I'd do it again. Oh and Greg, thanks for all of your help.
-BD
