BP MS150 BIKE RIDE 2012

BP MS150 April 21-22, 2012: Houston to Austin, TX; 2 days, 180 miles; about 14,000 bicycles and sore bums. Yeah, it’s hard. Yeah, it’s uncomfortable. Yeah, the 20mph headwind on the first day kicked my tooshie. And, yeah, I did cry part of the way. But that’s all OK.  It’s OK because I don’t have Multiple Sclerosis (MS), I don’t have cancer, I don’t have Parkinson’s. It’s OK because a day or two after the race, I will be fine. That’s why you ride. That’s the whole point. I saw so many shirts and jerseys that said “we ride for those who can’t” or things to that effect. When you haven’t done this kind of race or walk or event, you get that. But when you finally do one of these, you really get it. To get that diagnosis must be one of the scariest things in life, and maybe one of the loneliest.  People should not be alone with a diagnosis like that. They shouldn’t have to fight that battle on their own. If I can ride a bicycle for a few miles to help focus some attention on their plight and to raise money to fight that battle with them – the battle to find a cure- then bring it!

The motto is “unforgettable ride, unbeatable destination”, and whether “destination” refers to the city of Austin or the euphoric high that comes from being a part of a group of altruistic, selfless, courageous people, the motto could not be more appropriate.  I took off work on Friday to drive down from DFW to Houston with my friends William and Angel, who were also doing the ride.  Angel was our veteran leader, having done the ride about four times before (although, as he kept saying, that was several years earlier and a few dozen pounds lighter).  In any case, things got emotional fast. We showed up at the Omni hotel in Houston to pick up our rider packs and, on our way out, there were a handful of men and women in wheelchairs signing the bright orange bandanas we were being given. It didn’t click right away that they had MS. It didn’t click until one of the men asked me, “will you ride for me? I’m James”. Oh, James, of course I will ride for you. I looked him in the eye as he gave me the bandana and saw … joy! As I walked away I looked at that bandana and read “you are amazing! Thank you -James Sweatt”. I thought of him confined to that wheelchair, and wondered what he had once dreamt of doing in his life. I thought of our friend, Steve, being moved to hospice care as his brain tumor stole him away. I thought of my grandfather who struggled with Parkinson’s for years and always said the most important thing in life was to keep a sense of humour about it. And I thought, no, all of you are amazing. The courage it takes to face down an incurable disease with such grace and stoicism is something beyond me.

Back at our hotel, we met up with Mariano and Eduardo, the other veteran rider on our team which we had somehow come to call “Viva la Raza!”. Actually, it was Eduardo who got the whole thing going when, living in Houston several years before, he kept driving past a billboard for the BP MS150 Bike Ride and finally thought to look into it. This was now his fifth or sixth ride as well, having done a few before with Angel. The rest of us were, as Mariano so tactfully put it “ride virgins”. We gorged on a spaghetti dinner together, exchanged phone numbers so we would be able to find each other at rest stops during the ride (what did people do before cell phones with texting and GPS? I don’t know), and headed off to stock up on some rest.

The next morning I donned my grandfather’s polo jersey, wanting him to be with me on this ride to loan me some of his well-known congeniality. The organization of this event was mind-boggling. Each rider was assigned a number. You had a sticker on your helmet (with a chip so friends could track you), a tag pinned to the back of your jersey, a bracelet, a tag on your bike, and two tags for your bags all with that designated number. Off went my backpack and my tent in a big Walmart tractor-trailor to meet me at our half-way point in La Grange, Texas. On went my helmet. And up we scooted to the starting line.

There was a strong and steady headwind fighting us the whole way that first day as we rolled in droves down the flat, Texas roads out of the city and into great fields of blooming wildflowers teeming with butterflies and cattle (poor things, I told them I don’t eat them anymore). But, with people all along the route cheering us on, holding up signs that read “thank you for saving my life”, police officers directing traffic to keep us all safe, ride marshals and volunteer motorcyclists stopping to help change flats or help a fallen rider get back up, SAG wagons driving back and forth up and down those first 100 miles to pick up anyone who needed a break or some bike maintenance, rest stop volunteers of all ages handing out water and slicing up oranges, it honestly was almost easy to keep going. I have never been told so many times in one day that I am “awesome” or “amazing” or that I was “looking good” (and I knew damn well I was not looking good, certainly not by mile 80)! We were nearly fourteen thousand riders of all sizes, shapes, colors, religions, and skill-levels riding united for a common goal. Even those people who put up with the wretched traffic jams that we caused leaving the city played their part in making it happen! Some of my best motivation on Day 1 came from the kid playing the trumpet for us on the side of the road, the farmer at the end of his driveway with a front-end loader chock-a-block full of ice and beer for the riders, and the strength of the other riders: I saw at least two riders with MS who hand-cranked their bikes the entire 180 miles, a ride marshal with a prosthetic leg from the knee down, and more than a few people who looked like a far cry from an athlete, and yet not one of them whined or gave excuses. Oh! And Fayetteville! Shout out to Fayetteville with a population of about 258 for most of the year, until we all come through and decide we want to stay and rest for a bit. You hear the town before you see it – there is a red house on the side of the road, music blaring, people standing and dancing out front high-fiving riders as they go by, dressed like they just came from a Jimmy Buffet concert, as friendly and raucous as can be. Thanks for the water, ladies!

By about 5:30 we all crawled across the Day 1 finish line in La Grange. We were met by people cheering, and throwing around cow bells and clappers. There was a small village of tents, mostly the big team ones, at that point, like BP (with a lavish feast inside), Saint Arnold’s (with kegs set up), Miller  (with the music thundering out of a trailer), Mattress Firm (with mattresses strewn across the ground for their riders to rest on), and several others. We dropped off our mostly second-hand bikes in a sea of two-wheeled luxury and headed to the way back for our bags. Our own little tents up, it was time to mangia on some chicken and veggie burgers (again prepared by a small army of fantastic, cheerful, friendly volunteers) and a beer accompanied by the ragin’ Cajun tunes of an excellent little band. We sat around and compared stories of what we had seen on that first day – one of my favorites was when I passed a guy on a recumbent bike with a tag on the back that said “DJ”, playing “Fat Bottomed Girls” just as the girl with the biker shorts that said “OMG Becky” across the back (any Sir Mix-a-lot fans still out there?) passed me by. Oh, yeah, Baby Got Back! Someone else had seen a guy on a unicycle. Someone else was just happy to share the story about La Grange being known for its “chicken ranches” – apparently during the great depression, the brothels were having a hard time staying open, so the Madams agreed to charge a chicken per sexual act, thus they had chickens and eggs to sell to supplement their income. Brilliant financial maneuvering! The last of La Grange’s madams passed away in February, 2012.

Apparently, however, the spirit lives on – the next morning, as we rolled out of town (us slackers slept in, had extra pancakes for breakfast, and practically got herded out of the tent city by 8:30 when the other riders had left at 7), we saw a sign by the side of the road that read “party tonight at the chicken ranch, join us”! Nothing like starting your morning off with a laugh. Day 2 took us into Texas Hill Country. Normally the ride goes through Bastrop State Park, but with the drought and tragic wildfires the previous year, we were re-routed through greener pastures. It was a beautiful ride the whole way, coming around a bend at one point to a fellow playing his bagpipes in full regalia (the guys say he is there every year). It started out a much quieter ride for us that second day since pretty much everyone was far ahead of us. We started catching up at the rest points, though, where people stopped to refuel on everything from bananas to pickle pops (yeah, they exist: frozen popsicles of pickle brine!). The scenery was gorgeous and helped to keep me distracted from my aching rear. Finally by about 3:30 we came around a bend in the road and there before us … buildings! High rises! The Austin skyline! Home stretch! At this point people were not only cheering each other up those hills, but physically putting their hands on each other’s backs and pushing people up. Sweeping into the finish line was such a high! The crowd roared (just kidding, we were late enough that there wasn’t a roaring crowd anymore, but a good cheer did go up), I flew past high-fiving people and feeling like a superhero. 180 miles. Check! All I wanted now was a shower and some of that pizza I had heard about (after years of dieting, I must say, I was taking full advantage of this guilt-free eating of carbs and junk food, even cookies).

The night before, as I had waited in line outside the trailer with the shower stalls, I got to talking to Audrey who, as it turned out, is the national spokeswoman for the MS Society. A fantastic woman, she told me of how this ride alone raises about 17 million dollars a year for MS research. It is extremely difficult to treat MS because, as I understood what she was telling me, it attacks the brain and the nervous system. We all have very unique and complex brains and MS hits different parts of it on each person which is why symptoms can vary so greatly from confining someone to a wheelchair to causing memory loss. This is also why curing it seems an insurmountable challenge. Much of the research at this point is going toward prevention. In order to do this it is important to understand why MS hits so many more women than men, why it tends to concentrate on populations farther from the equator with less vitamin D exposure, and why, although it has traditionally struck people between the ages of 20 and 50, it is growing at an alarming rate among young children. Day 2’shower was not as interesting or as educational, but it felt damn good.

After cheering on the last of the riders crossing the finish line (including the man on the unicycle) and indulging (guilt-free) on that pizza, we loaded up on the buses for our last haul back to Houston. The five of us crashed at the back of the bus, and, like four-year-olds not wanting to go down for a nap even when they are exhausted and their head is bobbing and their eyes are crossing, we continued to laugh it up and tell stories. Sitting near us was a young heavy-set guy still in his riding clothes who I remembered seeing cross the finish line. I told him as much and we all got to talking. As it turned out, Mariano even had a picture of him finishing the ride. His name was Kendrick. He had never ridden before in any kind of bicycle event. In fact, he had just bought his bike a few months earlier.  The day before he had not only ridden from the stadium to La Grange, he had ridden seventeen miles from his house to the stadium with his luggage in the wee hours of the morning to get there for the 7am start! And now, after 180 miles, he was going to ride home alone, again with his luggage, through the dark streets of Houston. No way. After insisting he let us drive him home, we asked what had prompted him to suddenly sign up to take on such a tremendous physical challenge. His response: I just knew I could do it.

Kendrick really brought the whole thing home for me that evening. This young, out-of-shape kid with little to no biking experience rode his bike through the cold, lonely, dangerous (as in not-bike-friendly) streets of Houston in the dark with a bag under one arm and a backpack to ride 180 miles across Texas, and raise money and awareness for MS.  Just because he knew he could do it. And he did do it! I was proud to be a part of his journey. I was proud to have shared the road with all of those riders, especially the ones with MS. I was proud to be able to keep up with such champions. I had a blast doing it! I can’t wait to have a sore rear end next year from riding hundreds of miles somewhere for as noble a cause. I can’t wait to see my teammates again. Viva la raza! So here is my question to you: if Kendrick could do this ride, if we could do it, if people with MS could do it, if a guy with a prosthetic leg could do it, if a man could complete it on a unicycle, what is your excuse for not doing it? The point made on yet another jersey was “get on your seat and do something”. Actually, even if you don’t ride, there are so many other ways to participate. These events could never take place without the hard work of hundreds of volunteers and planners, the generous contributions from sponsors and donors, and the cheers of neighbors, friends, and strangers. So to everyone, my heartfelt gratitude. It really was an unforgettable ride with an unbeatable destination! What a journey we are all on together!


-Dedicated to the memory of our friend, Steven Ash, who passed away April 23, 2012 of cancer. I'll ride for you again, bud. You are not forgotten. Rest easy