It’s morning in Delta and the sun is shining and the sky is clear.  This will be sort of a rest day.  Just out for a short 60 miler, to keep the muscles loose.  I rode the first 30 miles with Jeff and the next 30 alone.  The other guys did the 50 miles from Delta to Eureka.  The group has plenty of sore muscles, sun burned body parts, puffy lips, aching backs and tender bottom brackets to go around.  Yet, all are out peddling away on this ‘rest day’.  What a great group to have spent a week with.  These are life changing experiences with people who will now be friends for life.

One interesting problem that develops on long rides like this is how do you keep up with the demand to provide 6-7000+ calories per day with proper nutritional balance to keep the body functioning.  How many energy bars at 210 calories each does it take?  And can you stand to eat that many?  For old guys like me, stuffing down enough food during the day to keep the fires stoked poses a problem for the digestive system.  There comes a point when eating is no longer enjoyable, but you know you have to stuff it in anyway.  The thought of another bottle of energy drink is not appealing, but down it goes anyway.   That Snickers bar use to taste good, down it goes in three bites.  The group stops for a short rest at the support car, you refill the two water bottles with energy drink you are carrying on the bike, you stuff your jersey pockets with a fresh supply of energy bars, shot blocks, or what ever sounds the best at that moment, wolf down a sandwich or candy bar or what ever and it’s back on the bike and do this several times a day.  Then by the time the body gets use to dealing with prodigious amounts of food the trip is over and you are left with a raging appetite and no way to burn it off.

Another interesting observation – we all deal with riding our bikes in different ways and with different strokes.  Jeff is a fast stroke guy, I’m a slow stroke guy.  To show the difference I estimated the number of times both Jeff and I will have turned over the crank from Reno to Delta.
Larry’s number of strokes = 119,000
Jeff’s number of strokes = 164,000

At age 65 many people question my sanity for singing on for this ride.  I just tell them; it’s not about me it’s about cancer and especially about those people whose names I carry.  Think of them not me and take some action today that will make their life a little easier.  There is no end to the things you can do to help – just think about it for a few moments.  If can’t be financial support for organizations like the Huntsman Cancer Institute, then it can be time.  Take some time to help with some laundry, clean a kitchen, help with a meal, mow a lawn, weed a garden, do some shopping, etc.

Today’s Stats:
Miles: 60  [OK for a rest day]
Time: 3 hrs, 23 mins
Avg Speed: 15.6 mph for first 30 miles, 21.7 for the second 30 miles.
Avg Heart Rate: 99 for the first 30 miles, 122 for the second 30 miles
Climbing: 900 ft  [pretty flat riding)

As a father, husband, and grandfather, I need to say “Thank You” to each member of my family who have posted messages in the Guestbook. In some cases their messages are sweet and cute, and others heart-rending. Reading how my cancer affected them is very, very sobering.

My oldest daughter, Megan, wrote about the very day I broke the news to my children that I had been diagnosed with cancer. I had brought all my family together so I could meet with everyone at once. As I finished speaking those words, “I have been diagnosed with cancer,” I looked around the room waiting for questions or comments, and all I saw were dropped jaws and looks of terror. I was totally unprepared for how my diagnosis would affect my family and cause them so much sadness, anxiety, fear, anger, and dozens of feelings and emotions I probably haven’t yet recognized to this day.

While a diagnosis of cancer causes the patient many of the same feelings and emotions, we’re pretty much in survival mode. We’re simply soldiering-on, completing the tasks given us: another surgery, another session of chemotherapy, and another radiation treatment. While we’re task focused, our families are there with us every step of the way, and want to take away the pain, the suffering, and make things like they were before cancer. Yet they’re powerless to do anything. I learned during my cancer experience that the disease is much more difficult on families than it is on the patient.

And, in part, I guess that’s the point: cancer may be limited to only one member of a household, yet its’ cold, harsh, reality takes every member of the family in its’ ugly grasp.

So we have the Ride From Reno, a fund-raising bike ride across Nevada and Utah, focused on raising money for Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City to help them find better tolerated, less toxic treatments for the disease. It’s a bike ride, yes, but the ultimate purpose is to raise money for HCI to help them achieve their mission to alleviate suffering.

Today’s ride (Day 4) was all about suffering. Don, Mike, and Larry have all written about what transpired but I have to add Day 4 (Thursday, June 18th) was one of the most difficult days I’ve spent in the saddle. The wind was relentless, which added to the fun, but the ride across Snake Valley, up Mormon Gap, and the final 60 miles through alkali flats and rolling desolate desert into Delta seemed interminable. It was almost as if God got angry at the Utah border. The lush, green, desert of Nevada was replaced by dry, brown, almost dead-feeling Utah desert. What a contrast!

I’m excited to arrive at Huntsman Cancer Institute on Saturday afternoon (around 4 p.m.) and hope you’re able to be there and help us celebrate.

Thanks for all your messages in our Guestbook; they’re like gold to us and we appreciate them more than you’ll ever know.

Jeff

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From my very first pedal stroke, I knew I was going to have a challenge. We went up Sacramento Pass and that was the only tail wind that we had going up. Don got some chalk from Lance Armstrong’s crew to raise cancer awareness. On the top, he (Don) and Larry, wrote “kick cancer” in the middle of the road on top of Sacramento Pass. It was pretty cool to see because it’s just a touching thing to see the riders suffer to raise money for research in cancer.

We then rode down all the way to the border and that was somewhat nice because it was downhill but the part that made it not fun was there was a head wind all the way down and for the rest of the ride. I was pushing guts out to keep up with Larry and stay on his wheel. We hit the state line and I was first one to cross and it pretty much made my day. We had lunch and got a picture at the border.

The rest of the day was just like every other one. It was pretty much groundhog day. We all stopped to talk to Ned Ryerson for a bit and then carried on our way. I’m pretty sure that today was February 2, not June 19. I’m excited for tomorrow because it’s our “rest day” and Saturday is the big day. I learned a lot today thanks to Larry and Jeff. I owe a lot to them and all my support. Especially from the Wills family because they have been so supportive of my dad and I.

Three words: Perserverance, Determination, and Grace. Today was Mark McGregor day. I thought about him early and often. Mark was an example to me of all three.

Today was ridiculous. We had a tail wind while we climbed up one mountain, but other than that, it was headwinds all the way. The wind blew and blew and blew. If not for the group, and I mean all the group including the drivers, I would still probably be out on the road trying to get to Delta. DEAD SERIOUS. I can’t say thank you enough to all the riders and support team.

About 90 miles into the ride, my big toe started to cramp up. That may seem like a small deal, but you only use it on each pedal stroke. I almost took Jeff out pulling over to address the cramping. Yes, my liability insurance is in force. I was feeling sorry for myself and trying to figure out how I could finish the day. It was a disgusting pity party that was about me. My thoughts turned to adversity and determination. My thoughts turned from woe is me to Mark and the example of determination in his battle. I immediately had a change of heart and focused on finishing the day with grace and determination instead of attitude. No matter how bad your day is, someone is having a worse one.

The major climbs are over now and I am grateful for that. The days are starting to wear my legs to nothing. But, with determination and persistence, we can accomplish more than we think.

Taylor continues to be a source of pride to me. His perserverance and determination have been a blessing to me.

We are officially on the downside of the trip. Today was so Groundhog Day that I actually had a discussion with Ned Ryerson about Insurance. Needless to say, I was not in the mood to discuss insurance with him.

First off, today’s stats: total mileage: 127.1 miles; time on bike – 8:02 (hours); average speed: 15.7mph; top speed: 39.2mph;

Since I didn’t finish the whole ride yesterday due to uncontrollable shivering, I started about 8 miles before the ride today. Larry and I left early to do that part. Right off the bat, we started our first climb, Sacramento Pass. In the words of Mike, it should be called “Suck”ramento Pass. It’s an absolutely beautiful mountain, but it is a long climb to the top. While at the summit, we used some Livestrong yellow chalk to write the words “Kick Cancer” on the road. On the descent, I saw the first view of Wheeler Peak, the 2nd highest mountain in Nevada. It snowed at the summit last night on its peak and was a beautiful site. After having already ridden since Monday around 375-ish miles, today was about getting to Delta. From the descent from Great Basin NP to Utah, it was almost 90 miles. Upon reaching the Utah border, it was literally tens of miles of completely straight roads and a non-stop head wind ranging from 10-40mph. Even though it was fairly flat while in Utah, it was a very demanding last 80 miles. Psychologically, seeing these straight roads for miles on end and by far the worst scenery out there, with the head winds, it was tough. In past year’s, I have done the last day from Delta to SLC, but riding the whole ride, there is absolutely no comparison to how demanding this ride is. I can say without question that this is the most physically demanding thing I have done. I look forward to tomorrow’s small day of 50 easy miles and then ready for Saturday’s big ride.

Some of my inspirational thoughts for the day: 1)Perseverence. Today was about finishing. Even though I hurt today, not finishing was not an option. 2)Perspective. While hurting in the head winds in Utah, I was riding behind Jeff and he was wearing a LOTOJA Cancer survivor jersey which reads “I survived cancer”. Maybe my pain isn’t comparable to surviving cancer. 3) The team, again. Jeff, Larry, Mike and Taylor. All helped. Great to be a part of this experience with them.

Enough rambling. I’ll enjoy the “rest” day tomorrow. After the past 4 days, 50 miles will be a cake.

The diagnosis of cancer sets ordinary people with ordinary lives on extraordinary paths.  Life must take on new meaning, priorities must change, and a new focus comes into view.  When I accepted Jeff’s invitation to do the Ride from Reno last year little did I know the extraordinary path that decisions to do the ride would put me on.  Even though my sister has had cancer for years, I’m now more acutely aware of her needs and challenges.  I wish there was more I could do.  Phone calls, visits, weeding her garden or moral support are about all I can do.  I cannot lift the burden she, or other I ride for carry.  But I can ride for a good cause and maybe suffer a little along the way.

Today was one of those ‘suffer a little’ days.  Statistically, it doesn’t look like a ‘suffer a little’ days, but like cancer, statistics is a poor substitute for reality.  It wasn’t the longest day in the saddle, it wasn’t the day with the most climbing, it wasn’t the day with rain, and there wasn’t anything unusual about the average speed.  Maybe it was the wind and day 4 in the saddle.  And I wonder is this a little taste of what it’s like to go in for a chemo treatment biweekly for months on end?  Probably not, we shouldn’t complain about a little hardship when we know it will soon pass and we can return to normal lives.  A normal life is something a cancer patient will never see again!

Today’s Stats:
Miles: 119  [I added another 12.5 by descending for Connors summit again – this time in the morning sunshine]
Time: 7 hrs, 17 mins [by now there are some sore bits]
Avg Speed: 16.3 mph [bad head winds most of the day, especially for 40 miles into Delta]
Avg Heart Rate: 108 [same as yesterday – changing the battery didn’t have any effect – must be the heart]
Climbing: 4100 ft  [slacker day)

I can’t thank Larry, Don, Taylor, and Mike enough for keeping up the blog each day and giving everyone their perspectives on the day’s activities and events. Their perspectives are always different because of differing abilities and experience in cycling and I find their entries wonderful as I read about the experiences I was honored to participate in with them, and read what they were really thinking as we went through those things.

I haven’t spent much space in my blog, alright, I haven’t spent any, writing about our cycling experiences. Because, from my perspective, this ride isn’t about cycling. It’s about people. In particular, people who have cancer, who have had cancer, and those who may be diagnosed with cancer at some future time. This ride is about raising money to help fund Huntsman Cancer Institute’s efforts to find better tolerated, less toxic treatments for cancer, thereby benefitting all those mentioned above.

But there are significant parallels between cancer, cancer treatment, and cycling. Probably most notable is all involve pain and perseverance. I’m certain you could understand that cancer/treatment involve pain, but cycling? We’re not talking about a slow pedal down to the corner market to pick-up a quart of milk. We’re talking about >120 miles a day out here on the Ride From Reno, spending 7+ hours in the saddle. We did it Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and we’ll get up Thursday morning and do it all over again. In the wind and bone-chilling rain. For you runners, could you imagine doing a marathon on Monday, again Tuesday, again Wednesday, again Thursday, and again Saturday? Of course not. But in essence, that’s what we’re doing and the only way to complete each day is to manage the pain.

Perseverance is another area where there are significant parallels between cancer and cycling and I witnessed that parallel first-hand this afternoon. Mike, Taylor, Don, and Larry all wrote about how difficult it was today but I don’t think any of them really did it justice. Not because they aren’t capable writers, but because unless you were here to see it for yourself, you’d probably never believe someone would, strictly out of the desire to alleviate suffering, allow themselves to be put through this. The only word that aptly describes today’s ride is: brutal.

Our final climb was Connor’s Pass, at 7,722’, and we did it in a pouring and driving rain with intense cold. Both Larry and Don reached the summit before me, and as I rolled to the top they were just getting into Judy’s car to get out of the weather. I wasn’t sure if they were calling it a day or not, but I knew we had to get about 10 miles beyond Majors Junction, or about 20 miles further than we were at that very moment. I took one look at them climbing into the car and headed down the backside of the pass. In an instant, I could see the parallel between cancer and what we were doing.

Once you hear those words, “I’m sorry to have to tell you that you have cancer,” your life is forever changed and you become an immediate expert in perseverance. You don’t want to do all the gruesome and unpleasant things required of you in treatment, but you soldier-on, preserving, because it’s the only way of taking your life back from the monster who has it in its’ jaws. You do another surgery, another session of chemo, another radiation treatment, persevering, in the hope life will return to normal.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes after I started down the backside of Connor’s Pass than Larry, Don, and Mike were also flying down in the pouring rain. It would have been easier to rack the bikes and call it a day but, in spite of the cold, the rain, the pain, and the fatigue, everyone persevered until our goal was reach. No compromises. Nothing done halfway. What a tribute to the character of each of my companions.

Yes, today was brutal. But we were the victors. Please join us in making a difference by donating to Huntsman Cancer Institute. Simply click the “How to Contribute” tab at the top of this page and follow the instructions.

Jeff

To my family: I love each of you and miss you terribly and can’t wait to hug all of you on Saturday! Don’t forget my peanut butter cup Blizzard! I felt punky on the bike today and could only attribute it to mismanagement of my nutrition. So, I ate well tonight and stopped by a local store in Ely and bought myself a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream! I used it to console myself! Hopefully I’ll be feeling strong tomorrow. I love you. Good night!

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Today was a hard day for me mentally and physically. To start, we came right ouside of the parking lot of the hotel and started on a climb up pinto summit. About 2/3 of the way up, we ran into some bikers riding to Virginia. I got a good rest and then started up while 3 of the other riders were talking to them. We (my dad and I) weren’t too far from the top when I turned around and saw Larry. My thought was “oh no” so I told my dad that I was gonna go ahead and try and beat Larry. I beat Larry by about 50 feet. Then we came down and went up the next climb. Pancake summit was the second one and it wasn’t that hard. Then we went up Little Antelope next and that was a KILLER. It was so long and big that they should name it something like Gigantic Antelope summit or something like that because it definitely was not very little.

We hit Robinson Pass and that wiped me out so bad. It was hard to even think straight while going up that. I had to think of other people that had this disease and just said, “it hurts me but not as bad as it hurts them.” And I was just going up the mountain thinking about everyone that hurts and how this helps find a cure for them. That was the hardest part for me and it really hurt me bad. We had a 20 mile downhill drop and pulled into Ely. I was never so happy to see a McDonald’s. After that we got back on our bikes and only had less than 40 miles left. I couldn’t go any further but I gave it the best I could so I racked it and rode the rest of the way in the car. I was glad to because it started to just pour. It was like someone had just turned on a sink and let the water gush. There was so much water that on the inclines and declines, water was pooling. My dad said that he was almost starting to hydroplane. They made it to the end and since I got to rest for the rest of the way, I decided that I would pull my weight and pack everything and move everything for the riders so they could get dry and warm.

All in all, it was an good day. I can’t wait for tomorrow to be in my home state and in Delta. I’m glad that I could try to do my part in helping to get a cure for cancer. I’m also very excited for saturday. I get to see my aunt and that’s a pretty powerful thing seeing her house because her husband died and she prepares good food for us to eat. Our next stop is Huntsman where there will be at least one person (who had cancer) waiting for us to pull into Huntsman. She (and her family) will be there to thank us and it will really be an emotional day for me.