What follows is the text of a letter my father sent to his sponsors after completing the 2008 Pan Mass Challenge. Anyone interested in getting on his mailing list of potential sponsors for the next PMC can send me an email (irishbleu44(at)yahoo(dot)com). Please include your name and address and write ‘Pan Mass Challenge’ in the subject line.
As I have previously written you, the impetus for this report stems from my desire to thank you for your sponsorship by sharing the PMC weekend and ride with you. The Pan Mass Challenge, one of the biggest cancer fundraisers in the country, receives much publicity and is broadcast the entire weekend by New England Cable News. Nonetheless, if you are not familiar with the logistics and dynamics of the PMC, I hope that you will find the details of my Sturbridge to Provincetown adventure informative and interesting.
Having done the PMC the past two years, I have been very impressed by the people who ride it and have found that most, if not all, are distinguished by two dominant qualities. First, every rider is usually an excellent cyclist, familiar with the rules and etiquette of riding a bicycle. When I first started to get back into cycling, I thought it would be much like the riding that I had done as a young boy and was very much surprised to discover all the cycling rules, voice commands, and hand signals that govern cycling on streets and roads, especially in groups. Secondly, every rider is very serious about raising money for cancer research. More than 75 percent of the riders have lost someone close to them to cancer and are riding on behalf of their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins and, probably most heart breaking, their wives, husbands, and children. Another contingent of riders, close to 300 or so, are cancer survivors themselves and every year they pose for a group picture, entitled Living Proof. Finally, women of all age groups constitute one third of the riders and have no trouble keeping up with their male counterparts, either in riding skill or riding speed.
Apart from the training, my PMC weekend begins on Friday morning, when I hitch a ride out to Sturbridge with my friend, Jack, who is the mechanical coordinator for the whole event. This year, we arrived about 10:00A.M., but most of the riders would not begin arriving until mid or late afternoon and some not until early Saturday morning. To make Jack’s day easier and also to thank him for carting me and my bicycle out to Sturbridge, I worked the whole day as one of his volunteer assistants.
Awaiting us in the parking lot of the Sturbridge Sheraton were thirty rented vans and thousands of bicycle parts. We spent all day Friday counting parts and distributing them among the 30 “sag” vans as they are called. These vans, which patrol the PMC routes, must have the necessary parts to repair the most common mechanical breakdowns and since there were over 5000 cyclists, we were counting hundreds of tires, tubes, tire and tube repair kits, shift cables, brake cables, brake pads, pedals, seats and so on. It was an all day job, done in the parking lot under a hot sun. Since Jack is the mechanical coordinator, he had to oversee the whole operation. As a one day volunteer, I only had to concern myself with the tedium of counting.
By mid afternoon, the bulk of the counting was done and many of the riders were arriving. Rider registration opened at 3:00 P.M. and the buffet supper commenced at 4:00P.M. After all the vans had been properly equipped, I headed for the registration table to pick up my number and then to the hospitality room, where I enjoyed a cold beer courtesy of the Harpoon Brewing Company. Jack was still busy with a thousand details, but I managed to find a convenient time for us to hit the buffet tables. By 5:00 P.M., the Sturbridge Sheraton was inundated with the myriads of cyclists who would start from there at 6:00 A. M. the next day. Cyclists were busy socializing, registering, dining at the buffet, or possibly making last minute repairs to their bikes or having such repairs done by the volunteer mechanics. All the bikes were parked in racks at the rear of the hotel and I had never seen so many bikes and cyclists in one place. Different cycling clubs compete with each other to raise the most money or even to be the most visible. One club tows a hearse to the starting line each year and dispenses its own brand of color and libation for the amusement of all.
After supper, I parked my bike in the rear of the hotel in an easily accessible rack and took comfort in the fact that I always have it serviced and tuned up the week before the ride. Trying to have it serviced the night before or dealing with a mechanical breakdown during the ride was a situation that I wished to avoid. At 7:30 P.M. I entered the hotel auditorium where the opening ceremonies would commence at 8:00 P.M. for a live broadcast on New England Cable News. The opening ceremonies were informative, entertaining, and inspiring and I felt badly for Jack because he could not attend due to a meeting scheduled at the same time.
Since 3000 cyclists would be leaving from Sturbridge, every hotel room for miles around was taken and some riders were housed at local colleges. A shuttle service ran continually between the Sturbridge Sheraton and the other hotels, motels, and college dormitories for the convenience of the riders housed there. From 9:00 P.M. until 11:00 P.M., the shuttle buses (school buses) went back and forth, bringing riders to their rooms and early the next morning, they would repeat the process, bringing the riders back to the Sturbridge start. Fortunately and most convenient for me, a cycling buddy graciously allowed me to crash for the night in his hotel room at the Sturbridge Sheraton. Some riders and volunteers pitched tents in a field that abuts the hotel.
Saturday morning’s wake up time would be 4:00 A.M. and most riders and volunteers planned to be in bed early, before 10:P.M. or 11:00 P.M. at the latest. I was no exception and retired to the hotel room before eleven. The next day’s weather (always a concern) was promising with one little kicker. The forecast called for sunny, clear, skies for the whole route to Bourne, but with a following rainstorm. In other words, the storm would be coming in from the west (at our backs) and our task would be to arrive at the Mass Maritime Academy before it did. Reassuringly, the storm was predicted to be a late afternoon job and most riders should be finished by the time it reached Mass Maritime.
Saturday morning, I awoke shortly before 4:00 A.M. and before leaving my friend behind in the room, threw on some casual clothes and headed for the auditorium, where breakfast would be served. With two hours until the 6:00A.M. start and thousands of cyclists departing, I wanted to avoid getting stalled in a long food line. Fortunately, I was one of the first in the breakfast room and had no trouble with any lines. Since there would be plenty of food at the rest stops on the route (five in all), I ate moderately. As I was finishing, I noticed two riders from the previous year and stopped to exchange a few pleasantries and words of encouragement. By this time, Jack had arrived for breakfast and I hung out with him for several minutes. The breakfast room was now beginning to get busy and a team of cheerleaders from a local high school was rattling off some inspirational cheers. If I were not yet fully awake, these ear-splitting cheers at such an early hour would have finished the job.
I quickly said goodbye to Jack since I might not see him for the rest of the weekend and went outside to retrieve my bicycle. I had put air in the tires late the previous night, but I checked them once again, and rode to the front of the hotel, parking in whatever space I could find. Back in the hotel room, I put on my cycling gear and sunscreen and packed up my luggage, which had to be deposited on the correct truck to transport it Mass Maritime. After filling my water and Gatorade bottles, I placed them on my bike and prepared to ride. By 5:30 A.M., the parking lot of the hotel was now filled with 3000 + cyclists, divided into three groups. The first group to start would be the fast riders who average 18+ miles an hour. The second group would be the steady riders who average 14-17 miles per hour .The last group would be the casual riders who average 13 miles per hour or less. I placed myself in the second group, the steady riders, and awaited the official start, admiring and drinking in the whole scene. It was not yet 6:00 A.M. and already the parking lot was a sea of cyclists, all arrayed in their colorful garb. Not an everyday sight! At precisely 6:00 A.M., the PMC Director, Billy Starr, mounted a bucket truck and started this cycling throng.
If the weather cooperates, the PMC start is usually a high moment. As I exited the parking lot at 6:15 A.M., the sun was just beginning to come up over the road and I was riding directly into it with thousands of my fellow riders. In the promise of the day, many riders chatted amiably with one another. Spirits were high, the whole day was ahead of us, and even at this early hour, the route contained pockets and pockets of spectators, who had risen early to cheer us on. As I moved away from the start, I expected the cheering and supportive spectators to disappear, but they did not. From Sturbridge all the way to Bourne, through the rolling hills of south central Massachusetts, and at each small town the route bisected, the spectators were out.
Entire families congregated in front of their houses in lawn chairs, holding their coffee cups or supportive signs. People of all ages were represented. If no spectators were present, oftentimes signs were, either planted in the ground or nailed to lampposts. The signs carried the same message and a small sampling captures their flavor. “I am a cancer survivor because of you.” Another sign put it more poetically, “My heart still beats because of your little feets.” One terse sign said it all, “A cancer survivor lives here.”
Whizzing past these small but constant gatherings, my adrenalin rose and all my efforts, the training and fundraising, felt validated. The route was scenic, mostly backcountry byways that I would never come across if it were not for this event. And the spectators continued to motivate and cheer me. Playing musical instruments such as bagpipes, bugles, guitars and accordions, they saluted my efforts and kept my spirits high.
I arrived at the first water stop (Whitinsville, mile 25) in record time (7:35 A.M.) and quickly checked my speedometer. I was averaging 17.5 miles per hour and although I had never ridden faster, I questioned whether I could maintain it. Attributing some of my speed to the excitement of the day and the number of down hills, I decided not to worry about it and just to ride as I felt. As one of the oldest riders, I knew that I was not the fastest, but neither was I the slowest. My bike and my training were great equalizers and I was well able to stay in the middle of the pack. While the PMC is not a race, every rider wants to ride a respectable time and reach the day’s destination as soon as possible. Some elite riders skipped water stops, but since today’s mileage was 110 miles, I decided to use all five water stops.
At each water stop, I had four goals. The first was to get off my bike for five or ten minutes as this can refresh your whole body and prevent you from acquiring unnecessary aches and pains. The second goal was to utilize the portable toilets, if necessary. Usually was. The third goal was to replenish my water and Gatorade bottles and have a quick snack, fruit and a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Not too much, but just enough to keep me fueled. My fourth goal was, with the exception of the lunch stop, to limit my rest stops to no more than ten or fifteen minutes. I preferred ten. This first stop was very crowded and I spent twenty minutes there, leaving at 7:55 A.M.
The next water stop in Franklin (mile 42) was approximately 17.7 miles away and I arrived there in an hour’s time at 8:55 A.M. This stop, although crowded, was more spread out, an arrangement that allowed for better traffic flow. I was in and out in ten minutes, leaving at 9:05 A.M… I felt good about the day and holding myself to the ten minute limit. I was now almost three hours into the ride and on the roads, there was much more riding room than there had been at the start. My next stop would be for lunch at Dighton-Rehoboth Regional High School (mile 69), a challenging 27 miles away.
As I mentioned earlier, there is a protocol, if you will, in riding in groups and it is critical always to observe it. Riding in a group is easier than riding alone because you can form groups of single file riders with the lead rider cutting the wind for those following, much like migrating birds do. Such a formation is called a peloton and if you are not the lead rider in a peloton, you can usually ride one third faster with one third less effort. In a democratic peloton, a rider will occupy the lead spot for a specified period of time and then drift to the back of the pack, allowing the second rider to take the lead and bear the brunt of the wind. The act of being the lead rider in a peloton is called giving a “pull” because the lead rider’s back draft pulls the other riders along. Riding 12 to 15 inches behind someone is called “drafting.” Since there are thousands of riders on the PMC, the easiest and most efficient way to ride is to find a peloton and draft someone. To do so safely and effectively, you must be familiar with some commands and hand signals.
The command, “car back”, means a car is approaching from the rear and all cyclists should pull to the shoulder of the road in single file and let the car pass. Correspondingly, “car up” indicates a motor vehicle is approaching from the front. “Runner up” and “walker up” are self explanatory. Road hazards such as glass, potholes, and debris are continually pointed out to following riders by calling out the hazard and pointing to it with a downward thrust of your hand. If passing another rider, either on the right or the left, you call out your intention by saying “on your right” or “on your left.” As you approach an intersection and slow down, you are expected to call out this change of pace by saying “slowing” and also by extending the palm of your hand to the rear. If an intersection is safe to cross, you indicate this by yelling “clear” to those behind. Finally, the command, “hold your line” means that all riders in a peloton should stay in formation because another peloton is passing, sometimes at a much faster speed. These commands might seem like a simplification of the obvious, but cyclists can easily ride at speeds of twenty-three miles per hour on a flat stretch of road and on a good down hill reach speeds of forty miles per hour. Factor in that crowded clusters of cyclists can sometimes fill up one lane of a two lane road and the possibility of a mishap multiplies. Accidents at these speeds can be serious and shouting out commands helps cyclists, riding in close proximity to each other, avoid collisions. An unofficial courtesy of cycling is that most cyclists will usually stop to aid another cyclist who has suffered a mechanical failure.
Riding towards Dighton, I was still excited and not too spent. This next leg would take me through Wrentham and Plainville which are feeder towns for the high school where I worked as a guidance counselor. It felt good to be riding through familiar territory and seeing it from the perspective of my bicycle. I passed the homes of former students and colleagues and as I turned onto Cherry St in Wrentham, I was greeted by clusters of spectators, more signs and musicians. I also rode past the home of a former colleague who lost his wife to cancer and the significance of the moment did not escape me.
Dighton-Rehoboth Regional High School (mile 69) was the lunch stop for the 3000 cyclists from Sturbridge and another 2000 riding in from Wellesley as the routes merged a mile from the school. I arrived there at 10:40A.M.and rode to the rear of the school where a huge circus type food tent was pitched. With 5000 cyclists funneling through this spot, the place was packed. I followed my usual routine. I found a place to park my bike, hit the bathrooms, and replenished my water bottles. I then ambled off to the food tent where the food was plentiful and a little more varied than a regular rest stop. I grabbed something to eat and luckily found a chair. There were not enough chairs for all the riders and many were just lying about on the grass with their cycling buddies. I exchanged small talk with some of them, but at this moment I would have enjoyed having a close friend or acquaintance with whom to share lunch. Before leaving Dighton at 11:30A.M., I called my friend, Phil, on my cell phone. He would be waiting for me at Apponequet Regional High School in Lakeville, a quick 13 or 14 miles away.
Pedaling along after lunch and through the rest of the afternoon, I noticed that the conversations between the cyclists were now becoming more infrequent and shorter. We were all growing more tired and trying to conserve our energies for pushing and pulling the pedals as well as simply staying alert and comfortable on the bike.
I arrived at Lakeville at 12:20 P.M. and Phil greeted me at the edge of the school parking lot. I had now pedaled about 83 miles and since I was beginning to feel tired, it felt good to see a friendly, familiar face. Walking across the parking lot, we came across a camera crew from New England Cable News hoping to interview any celebrities who were doing the ride. Earlier, they had been looking for John Kerry. They were not interested in me; so I spent some time with Phil and a group of riders from Baltimore whom I had passed several times and who had passed me several times. As I left Lakeville at 12:40 P.M., the sky seemed to be darkening and I worried a bit about the impending storm. Further down the road, the sun reappeared and I relaxed, knowing that the final water stop in Wareham was only 17 miles away and less than ten miles from the finish.
Reaching Wareham (mile 100) in less than an hour at 1: 38 P.M., I quickly realized how tired I was. After 100 miles, I was running out of comfortable riding positions and could best manage my discomfort only by constantly changing my riding positions by sitting forward and then back on the bicycle seat and by standing intermittently on the pedals. I envied some of my cycling friends who tell me that they are always comfortable, no matter how long they have ridden. I have not found this to be true. The day had become more humid and hot and I availed myself of the misting sprayers that were set up. I also met another rider from Easton, MA., where I live. She had ridden in from Wellesley and was looking for other members of her family who were doing the Sturbridge route. Since I was so close to the finish, I was in and out of Wareham in ten minutes.
Although I was weary and somewhat uncomfortable, I enjoyed going through the seaside village of Onset with its picturesque harbor and arrived in Bourne at the Mass Maritime Academy at 2:20P.M. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, I parked my bike on the baseball field with the thousands of other bikes and sought out the information booth to find out my dormitory room number. The moving truck had already brought my luggage bag from Sturbridge and it would be waiting for me outside my room.
My dorm room was the standard two person unit, but four of us were crammed in it. It was tight quarters and since I was the third arrival, I was relegated to one of the top bunks and did not look forward to climbing down from it in the middle of the night. On a brighter note, one of my roommates, a gentleman named Gil who hailed from New Hampshire, was my age. At last, I had found a peer of sorts. A veteran rider, Gil was doing his eighteenth consecutive PMC.
After a quick shower, I headed out to the main courtyard for whatever amenities it offered. First, I celebrated my arrival with a refreshing beer, again courtesy of the Harpoon Brewery. Then off to the food tent for an early supper or late lunch, depending on my perspective. The food consisted mostly of pub fare, very unlike the previous evening’s meal, but I was hungry enough not to mind. For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I hung around the food tent eating sporadically and socializing with the other riders, who represented a diversity of backgrounds and professions. Doctors, lawyers, district attorneys, school teachers, police men, firefighters, truck drivers, bricklayers- all were represented. Meeting them and talking with them, I could not help but be impressed by their good intentions and inspired by their commitment to this event.
About 5:00 P.M., the predicted rain and thunderstorm arrived with high winds and prolific lightning. The storm was short-lived and other than blowing down two tent poles, causing a brief scare, did no damage. Around 8:00P.M. as the sun was on its final descent of the day, most riders and volunteers began heading for their rooms or tents and I did likewise. Wake up call was set for 4:00 A.M.I managed to drift off to sleep around 8:15.
I slept pretty soundly, given that the rooms were hot and lacking much ventilation. We left the windows open to catch whatever sea breeze that we could. I awoke at 1:30 A.M. and I sensed that I might not be able to get back to sleep due to my anticipation of the day’s ride. I was right and simply lay in bed until 3:00A.M whereupon I got up and began packing up my belongings in the dark so as not to wake my three roommates. Gil was also awake and heading for the bathroom to take a shower. I had left my luggage bag out in the corridor and I finished dressing and packing out there. Heading out to the main quadrangle, I bumped into another fully dressed rider and he quietly said that he too couldn’t sleep. Volunteers were already preparing breakfast in the food tent. I dropped my luggage and headed off to the baseball field to retrieve my bike and parked it closer to the food tent. By 3:45 AM., breakfast was just about ready and a few other early risers including Gil were already partaking. I did the same and again ate only a light breakfast since there would be plenty of food on the course. After breakfast, I put my luggage on a moving van that would take it to Provincetown and headed off on my bike to the mechanics’ area to double check the air pressure in my tires and add air if necessary. By 4:30 A.M. I was ready to go and proceeded to the main gate.
It was still quite dark and although some riders were milling about, I could see no one leaving. My bike does not have any lights and I did not wish to leave in the dark by myself. Finally, I noticed a young couple on a tandem bicycle with lights fore and aft and they were leaving. Not wishing to hang around much longer, I followed them out the main gate at 4:45 A.M. and they graciously kept pace with me and lit the way.
We proceeded towards the Bourne Bridge and already the police had blocked off one lane of it for the use and safety of us cyclists. As I crossed over the bridge, darkness was just beginning to dissipate and light was struggling to surface on the fringes of the horizon. In four or five minutes, I was riding alone on the bike path on the Cape Cod side of the canal. Dawn had come. For me, the ride along the canal in the early hours of Sunday morning is another highlight of the weekend. Contrasted with Saturday’s mass exodus from Sturbridge, Sunday morning’s quiet start and the opportunity to enjoy the sunrise and the solitude along the canal are a welcome change of pace. Again, one has the feeling of riding into the day, but without the crowds that can distract you from the beauty of the moment. Riding along this nine mile stretch of the canal, I encountered few other riders and very few passed me. Other than the occasional angler, casting his line into the canal, I was alone with my thoughts and the accompanying ‘click, click’ of my derailleur as I shifted gears and the almost silent whir of my spokes. A slight mist hung in the air and due to the lack of wind, the canal itself appeared as flat as a mirror, almost as if it had no current and was not moving at all. I had never seen it so smooth and the sunrise, due to the fog, was somewhat hidden from my view. The tranquility of the morning, however, projected its own type of uplifting aesthetic.
As I exited the canal bike path, I hooked up with another rider who was more familiar with the route than I was in order to avoid making a wrong turn. Keeping our talk to a minimum, I followed him for several miles until the route took us onto the service road, a not quite so traveled by-way that parallels the mid-cape high way (Route #6).
The service road, another fun part of the ride, consisted of a series of rolling hills that all the cyclists tried to go down as fast as possible in order to have enough momentum to carry them up the next hill. It was sort of like a roller coaster ride, except that you were on a bike and sometimes you were clocking speeds of 25 to 39 miles per hour. Since everyone around you was moving at similar speeds, exhilaration was tempered by an alert caution. You are able to ride faster with less effort, especially if you are drafting someone and this speed motivates you to maintain it. Making good progress, I arrived at the first water stop (Barnstable, mile 24) at 6:15 A.M. and departed after ten minutes.
The volunteers at all the water stops were terrific and some of them had been working since the early morning hours. They had to set up and be ready for the first riders and stay until the last rider had passed through and then break down and clean up the whole operation. At every water stop, the volunteers continually expressed their appreciation to the riders, exclaiming “Thank you for riding. Thank you for being here.” Grateful for their support, I always reciprocated their thanks because the weekend could not happen without them. These volunteers are as dedicated as the riders and return year after year.
Just as on Saturday, the route was lined with spectators and motivational signs. “You saved my life”. “I am alive because of your efforts.” And, of course, the musicians were still serenading us, especially with bagpipes. These small but early rising, cheering crowds continued to motivate and inspire me.
Proceeding down a hill in Brewster, I heard a chorus of screams ahead and looking to my left, I saw a hundred or two hundred youngsters in front of a summer camp, leaning against its fence, waving and shouting. I had forgotten how refreshing the sound of young voices can be. At a particularly tough hill, two elderly ladies, wearing sweatshirts calling themselves “The over the hill cheerleaders” were enthusiastically offering the riders encouragement. These senior citizens have been standing at their yearly post almost since the ride’s inception and have become a PMC tradition.
This day was going well and I was happy with my progress. Earlier, just after leaving the first water stop, I heard someone yelling my name and before I could turn around to see who it might be, Jack and his son pulled alongside me in one of the sag vehicles. We quickly exchanged greetings and some small talk as Jack tried to capture a cell phone photo of me riding.They proceeded by me and waited for me at a street corner further down the road. I saw them as I approached, but I was too intent on riding to stop. A quick wave and I flew by them. As one of the primary “sag vans”, Jack and his crew coordinate all the other “sag” vans and make sure that every rest stop is manned by mechanics and staffed with parts.
More riders were now on the roads and when I arrived at Nickerson State Park in Brewster (mile 40) at 7:20A.M.; I noticed how crowded it was. After 15 minutes, I departed by way of the Cape Cod Rail Trail, a converted railroad bed, now used as bicycle and footpath along the forearm of the Cape. The rail trail, a small narrow ribbon of asphalt that winds its way through the woods, marshes, and backyards of the Cape from Dennis to Wellfleet, allows walkers, runners, roller skaters, and cyclists to traverse it under a canopy of green trees and shrubs without fear of auto traffic. Watchful of this path’s other travelers, I pedaled along its sylvan scenery, grateful that such a convenient corridor existed. The PMC route took us riders on and off this path several times before shuttling us out in Wellfleet.
After leaving the rail trail, sections of the route brought me out along roads that parallel the outer beaches of the Cape Cod National Seashore Park. Looking to my right, I could see the ocean surf rolling in to the beaches and hear the wind driving it on. At this juncture, there was nothing between me and the European continent but open ocean. It was an impressive sight, signaling that I was drawing closer to my destination. Thoreau, who once stood and walked on these very same beaches made a remark to the effect that here a man could stand and “put all of America at his back.”
Entering Wellfleet, I spied a huge banner, hung above the road so impressively that for a moment I thought that I was at an unexpected water stop. The banner simply read, “Wellfleet welcomes PMC riders”. I marveled at the time and effort that went into the erection of that banner. Continuing on, I reached the Wellfleet Elementary school (mile 58) at 8:40 and since this was the last stop before Provincetown, I took time to eat some peanut butter sandwiches and fruit and double check my water and Gatorade bottles. Leaving at 8:55 A.M., I prepared for the last leg of the route.
The final miles of the PMC route found me pedaling by myself along Route #6 towards Provincetown and this section is always challenging. Route # 6 approaches Provincetown by a series of long, gradual hills and with the exception of one or two, none of them are very steep. Their difficulty stems from the fact that the terrain here is wide open and completely exposed to the sun and the wind and there are usually plenty of both. Most riders form pelotons to negate the wind and just deal with the sun as best they can.
Riding along, I kept looking for a good opportunity to draft someone and share the last miles with them. Everyone was pushing for Provincetown and fighting the wind all the way there by myself was not an appealing prospect. Now, there were many riders around me, some that I was passing and some that were passing me, but I was looking for a rider or group of riders with whom I could comfortably draft and form a peloton. I didn’t have to wait very long. Four young gentlemen passed by me and as they did so, I quickly dropped in behind the last one. They were a perfect fit. I did not have any trouble keeping up with them and I could ride faster with much less effort. They hardly noticed that I was there and I followed them all the way to the finish.
Shortly before the finish, we broke the peloton and after exchanging greetings and goodbyes, we made off for our respective finish lines. Since they were meeting their families, their finish line was somewhat different than mine. Nonetheless, as we parted, we shared feelings of satisfaction and exuberance, punctuated by a few high fives. Approximately thirty years younger than I, they were impressed that I had kept up with them, exclaiming that their own fathers could not do so. Such comments made my day! Negotiating the last mile, I felt a deep sense of gratitude to have been part of such an important lifesaving fundraiser and also to have completed it in good weather with no flat tires or accidents. Not to have finished would have dealt me a keen disappointment and the feeling that I had let my sponsors down. I cannot explain it, but doing the ride, pedaling the miles, is an essential component of the weekend, part of the compact.
With the ride all but over, I raced as fast as I could to the finish and as I approached it, I could see a small crowd of spectators. Crossing the finish line at 10:10A.M., I experienced mixed feelings as I heard a brief round of cheers and applause for my successful efforts. On the one hand, I was thrilled to be finished, but on the other hand, a part of me was sad that the ride was done. I brought my bike to a moving truck that would take it to the Black Falcon boat terminal in Boston and then picked up my luggage from the luggage area. After a quick and welcome visit to the shower tent, where I rinsed off a days worth of road grime and sweat, I put my luggage on another truck heading for the Black Falcon terminal. Finishing these tasks by 11:00A.M., I was now free until the ferry left at 3:30 P.M…
Although I was not yet very hungry, I walked over to the huge food tent that was pitched in the middle of the Provincetown Inn parking lot to socialize with the other riders and share in the mutual satisfaction of completing the ride. I knew that I would definitely be hungry later and that I would have plenty of time to eat before the ferry departed. Again, my happiness was only tempered by the realization that the weekend was winding down.
Around 3:00 P.M., I started walking to downtown Provincetown and the ferry. The boat ride across Cape Cod bay was relaxing, fun and enjoyable. The ferry which had three decks accommodated about a thousand riders, some of who remained below decks to relax, eat and sleep some more. The more exuberant, energetic riders stayed on the top deck where there was a band and more liquid refreshment. I preferred the top deck not only because I liked the music but also because the view of the sea was better. As the afternoon sun began to wane over the water, I understood completely why those who can afford it enjoy cruising or sailing in their yachts. Being on the water affords one a completely different perspective than being on land does. You encounter a totally different dimension.
Approaching the Black Falcon terminal, the ferry was greeted by a watery salute from a Boston Fire Department harbor boat, much like visiting dignitaries or famous boats receive. The ferry docked about 7:00P.M. and Phil was there to meet me. We quickly located my luggage and my bike, threw them in and onto my car, and headed for home.
As I related the weekend’s events to Phil, I realized that the PMC was comprised of three ingredients. The first was the people- the riders, the volunteers and the spectators whose lives have all been affected by cancer. The second was the route, a scenic tour on primarily back country roads. The third and most important ingredient was the cause, the fight against cancer that is fueled by the funds that the whole event raised.
The weekend became a constant reminder that more people now survive cancer due to new medicines and treatments, but that we still have a long way to go in this fight. I could understand that a two day bike ride seems like a frivolous affair, but to those who are dealing directly with cancer, it is a beacon of hope and very often a lifesaving measure. I kept reminding myself that the money we raised really would save lives, especially the lives of children. From start to finish, the event was truly a celebration of life. The bottom line was saving lives and enjoying, even relishing, the efforts to do so. All of us had pedaled along with the hope that a cure for cancer would become “closer by the mile.”
Some Statistics Total riders 5,237
Total volunteers 2,500+
Average rider age 43
Age range 15 to 84
Riders hailed from 36 states and 8 countries
Males 63%
Females 37%
Total that we raised $4,650
The whole event (all riders and contributors) raised $35 million
In this account, I have tried to give you the nuts and bolts of a PMC weekend, just what it entails and what is its primary goal and also why the PMC means so much to so many people. If I can elicit enough sponsorship, I would like to do next year’s PMC, the 30th. My rational is as follows. Of the 68 sponsors who supported me this year, some would be willing to do so next year and some will be unable to do so for a variety of reasons. I understand that it could be very difficult, even impossible to support me again and I remain extremely grateful for anyone’s past support. However, if I have some sponsorship for this lifesaving event, I feel I should attempt it again, especially since my younger sister now faces a tough battle against this dreaded disease.
So, all that I am asking now is that you complete the enclosed response card and mail it back to me by December 31, 2008. Next year’s minimum fundraising level will be somewhere between $4000 and $4500. If I can receive enough preliminary sponsorship, I will register in January and send you a letter with additional details and instructions. If I do not receive enough of a response to warrant my registering, I will send you a letter confirming this outcome. More than anything I need your answer( yes or no) and this will determine whether I can register. Without putting any undue pressures on budgets that are probably already stretched out, I do hope that you can again be my partner in this worthwhile, lifesaving venture. I also hope that this chronicling of the weekend has both enlightened and entertained you. Thank you so very, very much!