Coloradans love nothing better than a fundraiser that has beer and a chance to win stuff. In this case bike stuff on Wednesday April 3rd at The Golden Mill from 5pm – 9pm. The details are below and I hope to see ya there.
Author: ridejayride
Categories
Looking Back
Wow! It’s hard to believe that I am now three years out from cancer. Poking through my Google Drive, I came across this account of my attempt of bike packing the Colorado Trail in 2020, a few months out from finishing my six weeks of radiation treatment.
As I wrap up 2023 I am grateful of where my life has taken me. I’m not sure that given the choice to do it all over again that I would choose cancer, but I can’t deny the opportunities it has brought me. From a new career, meeting and making new friends and the oportunity to make a difference in others’ live, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have played out this way.
Below you will find a look back on one of my biggest adventures as I moved through my first year of my cancer journey.
Never once when I was purchasing the Garmin Inreach a month earlier did I think I’d need to use its “dial a friend” or SOS lite feature so soon after buying it. And yet that’s exactly what happened. I was just a few miles short of Coney Summit (13,334 feet, the highest point on Colorado Trial) and I had to contact friends and family to let them know that Rob and I were pulling the plug on our Durango to Denver attempt of the CT; that we’d be heading back to Silverton, the next closest town.
In hindsight, my phrasing of “experiencing minor medical issues heading back to Silverton” was a bit vague and ominous. I never considered the panic it would incite within my friends and family. So much for being cheap and trying not to exceed the texting limit on my Inreach plan with Garmin.
If you ever want to know who your true friends are, send a cryptic message hinting at a crisis and see which ones immediately rally to help you. Fortunately for me and Rob, once we regained cell phone reception in Silverton, I was able to calm my wife’s fears and connect with my good friend Guillermo, who was quick to come up with a retrieval plan.
Our plan to bikepack the Colorado Trail during the summer of 2020 was not a last-minute plan spurred by COVID-19 to escape the ‘stay at home orders.’ During the summer of 2018 the Rob and I tackled Sections 1-6, as the Denver terminus is just a short bike ride from my front door. The following year we tackled the Vapor Trail and spent several days mountain biking the trails around Salida, CO in celebration of my 50th birthday.
Rob’s visits had become part of our summer routine. From his home in Greenville, SC, he would embark on his own summer vacation plans, which usually included road tripping to various national parks in the Southwest and then staying over at our place for some good ol’ fashion Colorado mountain biking.
Unfortunately, a summer injury around that same time of year had also become routine for me. The first year I tore my meniscus. The next year I broke my foot and the following summer I was hit by a motorist while out on a ride. Twenty-twenty proved to be no exception. The dial, so to speak, was ramped up to 11 when I received a cancer diagnosis only days after the start of the New Year. It was eventually treated with surgery and six weeks of radiation treatment. At that time, somewhere on Segment 22 of the CT with Rob, it had only been a mere two months since my last radiation treatment.
Our trip started off well enough. My good buddy, Gary readily agreed to drive us to Durango in my truck and then drive the truck back to my house in Denver, which eliminated the need for a pick up shuttle at the end of the trip, as we could go directly to my house for cold beers, showers and burritos. Gary even camped with us the night before at the trailhead and rode the first five miles of trail with us the following morning.
Like any big adventure, rolling out onto the CT was thrilling. I felt a mixture of butterflies in my stomach and adrenaline coursing through my veins. So much adrenaline, in fact, that I attacked the trail hard (or rather, as hard as one can with their bike heavily loaded down with gear and food) and quickly found myself gapping Rob and Gary. I was excited. Not only was I finally out on The Trail but my body felt strong! It surprised me because I was still dealing with the varied side effects of the radiation treatment to my neck and the back of my mouth. I had open sores in the back of my throat and my salivary glands only functioned at half-capacity, if that. Meaning, it was extremely challenging to eat food without also drinking copious amounts of water to help break down that food sufficiently enough to swallow it comfortably.
We stopped at Gudy’s Rest overlook for our first of many photo ops. We adjusted gear, chatted with another mountain biker and acknowledged how lucky we were to have so many incredible opportunities to still get outside despite COVID and the forest fires that had started popping up across CO.
A few miles later, Gary said his goodbyes, promised not to wreck my truck and wished us well. It didn’t take long for me to realize that something wasn’t right. After we crossed and climbed out of Junction Creek, my body began to fatigue rapidly. I felt exhausted. I tried to convince myself that it was just the heat and altitude affecting me. Despite having lived in Denver for six years at that point, it still took me time to adjust to efforts at altitudes above 9,000’. I figured this was just that adjustment period and it would pass.
Despite all the high altitude riding that consumes large sections of the CT, both the north and south terminus start with plenty of tree coverage and are both at relatively low altitudes. At the top of Waterton Canyon which is right outside Denver, we were only at 5,522’ elevation. In Durango, however, we started riding at just under 7,000’, 6,983’ to be exact. Granted, if you were coming from Greenville, SC which rests at approximately 965’, just as Rob was doing, it was easy to understand how the air could seem so thin. Fortunately, Rob was no stranger to high-altitude riding and hiking. He knew how to pace himself. In fact, as the day would later reveal, he would become my preverbal rabbit and I the very slow greyhound.
As we continued away from Junction Creek, we made a pretty bonehead mistake and didn’t bother to top off our water bottles and bladders. Several miles later we pushed our bikes out of the forest and began to cross what seemed like never-ending scree fields. I’d slurp the last of the water from my waist pack. My inability to produce adequate amounts of saliva was causing me to burn through my water dangerously fast. I needed every bit of that water. Without it, I couldn’t soften my food well enough to get it past the still very vulnerable radiation sores in the back of my throat.
Over the next four days this need for extra water would be my undoing.
To make matters worse, the food I was actually able to take in did very little to provide me adequate energy. I could hardly keep up with Rob, who was making great time across the scree fields. Note to self: Don’t make fun of Rob for all the running and hiking he does for cross training anymore. When it comes to bikepacking, they are super helpful activities.
My bike, which never before seemed so heavy, now felt like a stubborn donkey that refused to move. My mind was already creating a list of things I could do to make it lighter for my next trip. Number One: Get a lighter bike.
Peaking out near the Kennebec Trailhead and parking lot, I realized that the section we’d just climbed may have been the hardest 4,000 feet of elevation gain I’d ever earned in my life. It was still several hours before sunset and my sole interest was setting up my tent, eating and going to sleep.
It’s hard to have a bad campsite on the CT and Night One was no exception. Nestled next to Taylor Lake, we watched the sun slide behind the mountains, bathing the Colorado Trail with shifting shades of orange and yellow.
Once I got in my bag, I expected to fall asleep quickly. Instead, the twitching of my aching legs, matched by the nervous thoughts that clambered around in my head, kept me up for hours.
Had I overestimated my recovery and health? Should I even be out there? Rob and I were supposed to do 40 miles that day. We’d barely done half of that. How were we going to finish the trip?
Surprisingly, despite all the worry and doubt, I finally drifted off to sleep and slept only like you can after a hard ride and a big meal. I woke in the morning feeling fresh and ready to go.
It was a slow start (we still hadn’t gotten into the rhythm of packing up camp quickly) but we finally threw our legs over our bikes around 9am. As our shoes clicked into our pedals, several deer in the meadow raised their heads to look at us in a way such as to ask: “Why are y’all going that way? Only the bighorn sheep in these parts are dumb enough to go up that trail.”
The climb/push/drag-a-bike over boulders away from Taylor Lake did little to dampen our enthusiasm, though. We were headed up, which meant that, at some point, we’d get to go down. We’d then do some sublime alpine riding as we headed toward Engineer Pass, our ultimate destination for the day.
Despite our early morning enthusiasm, we barely managed half our mileage. My old friend, Self Doubt, was creeping back into my brain. We’d ridden strong and kept our breaks short, but it was two days in and we were falling considerably far behind schedule. The southern start of the CT was proving to be much tougher than I’d anticipated. The last time I’d ridden that area was on a hut-to-hut trip booked through San Juan Huts and I was on a lightweight cross country bike which only carried extra clothes and a day’s worth of snacks.
No worries, right? Tomorrow was a new day. We would roll over Engineer Pass and down into Silverton, which would be our first detour around a wilderness area.
The ride to the base of Engineer Pass went quickly and smoothly. Refilling bottles at the creek, my eternal optimism began to creep back despite the fact that Engineer Mountain still loomed above us. I remembered the ride down to that very creek from six years prior. It had been fast, furious and out of control at times. I kept telling myself that the climb up probably wouldn’t be that bad. If I could ride down it, then surely I could ride up it, right?
It was at the top of the pass that I’d had my first thoughts about pulling the plug on the whole thing. The idea of rolling into Silverton, renting a room, eating pizza and drinking beer at Avalanche Brewery seemed like the best idea in the world. I didn’t share this thought with Rob. I knew he’d be down for the pizza part because that was all he’d talked about all day. In his mind, we should refuel and then push on. I, however, was thinking more like drinking beer, eating pizza and then curling into a ball for sleep.
By Day 3 it had become painfully clear to me that my inability to take in enough food was slowly causing my body to eat away at itself. During radiation treatment, one of the tenets of taking care of yourself is to try and eat to maintain your weight. In my case this was critical to the accuracy of my treatment. Each morning I would lay on a padded steel table where my head was fitted with a custom mask that was bolted to the table. The mask ensured that I did not move while the radiation machine passed overhead. The grid pattern of the mask served as an alignment tool for the technician. She made sure the radiation was pinpointed only at the areas of my head and neck that had been infected with cancer. This mask-and-machine combo was proof of a huge advancement in the treatment of head and neck cancer. Older treatment techniques were more like carpet bombing and they just blasted the entire head and neck with radiation. While it was effective, the side effects were often worse than the cancer. Patients experienced tooth loss, bone degeneration and massive hair loss in the treated areas. There was also severe damage to their skin and salivary glands.
I was prescribed a dental plan consisting of fluoride treatments. The radiologist carefully directed the beams, as it would greatly reduce my chances of losing any teeth. In addition, the skin damage was reduced and the hair loss was minimal. I only had a small bald patch under my right jaw line. I remember the peeling and flaky skin, as well as the falling hairs.
My big takeaways from the treatment were under-functioning salivary glands and a massive fifteen pound weight loss. Raw and open sores in my throat made it incredibly difficult to eat. I ate only the softest of foods. If, however, that food had the slightest bit of acidity, it felt like gasoline running down the back of my throat.
Once the sores healed I still had large crater-like pits in the back of my throat, which proved to be the perfect place for food to get stuck. Eating the most basic mountain bike staples like Clif Bars and PB&J sandwiches was a considerable undertaking. Each bite required that I take an extra sip of water just to break down the food enough to allow it to pass over the craters in the back of my throat.
I hadn’t regained any of my lost weight and, considering that I’d been 6’2’ and only 170lbs, I really hadn’t had a lot to give away to begin with. Now, at 155lbs, I looked like the four- time Tour de France winner Chris Froome, except I wasn’t all muscle and sinew. I was pretty much just sinew.
We refueled in Silverton and discussed the coming sections of the CT and how much food we’d need to carry. The next resupply option wasn’t for many miles and it included a long 16 mile plunge into Lake City, which also meant a long 16 mile climb to get back to the CT. No, thank you! We stuffed our bags with food and hoped it would be enough.
We planned to roll out of town and find a campsite somewhere along Cunningham Creek, which would allow us to get the big climb up to Stony Pass out of the way first thing in the morning. It was at Stony Pass that we would rejoin the CT, as our side trip into Silverton consisted of a mandatory detour around the Weminuche Wilderness.
I was looking forward to the climb, despite hearing that the road up to Stony Pass was incredibly steep. I liked fireroad climbing because it allowed me to settle into a steady rhythm. We quickly learned, though, that there was no adequate rhythm. That is, except that of your heart trying its best not to jump out of your chest. The continuous stream of ATVs helped drown out the sound of my laborious breathing. I couldn’t blame the passengers for looking at us like we were crazy.
Eating lunch atop Stony Pass, we discussed the rest of the day. Despite just finishing that brutal climb, Rob and I both felt pretty good. The last couple of days, however, made us avoid making any definitive statements as far as the number of miles we’d ride that day. Instead, we decided to just let the day unfold as it would.
Our new Zen approach to riding paid off and we enjoyed some of the best high alpine riding Colorado has to offer. Unfortunately it wasn’t all riding. As is typical when riding in the Rockies, there’s always going to be a fair share of hike-a-bike. It was the hike-a-bike sections that, again, I really felt my body failing me. As Rob plodded ahead of me, I used a trick I’d heard that high altitude mountaineers used: Take a couple of steps, breathe, rest, and repeat. It helped and once I got back on the bike I did my best to make up for lost time and trade places with Rob.
Our day of Zen riding also ended up being one of our shortest in terms of mileage. By the time we arrived at Cataract Lake, it was obvious we were both suffering and, with plenty of spots to camp, it seemed like the right place to call it a day. Our view of Cataract Lake was incredible.
Before Colorado dropped another epic sunset on us, we watched several large (are there any other kinds?) moose move across the field below us. Their large droppings served as a clear reminder to us that the large beasts owned the land and walked wherever they pleased. We were closer to the trail than the lake, though, so I felt pretty confident that I wouldn’t wake to a moose stepping on me or my tent.
Our campsite was at 12,000’, which meant we were in for a very cold and frosty night. We each bundled up in all of our clothing, including our rain pants and jackets. Still though, I was freezing cold all night. By the looks of Rob the next morning, he hadn’t slept much better.
Now I have no problem getting up early when I am in the comfort of my own home, wrapped in my robe and drinking cappuccinos. Our predawn awakening that morning was rough! I did my best to mimic my routine at home and stayed wrapped inside my sleeping bag and inside my tent. I wiggled out just far enough to boil water and make coffee under the vestibule.
Rob was much hardier than I. He was already up and busy packing gear. We’d agreed to an early start so that we could maintain our schedule. Once again, though, Rob patiently waited for me to hastily stuff my gear into my bags and try my best to stuff oatmeal into my mouth. I think the fact that Rob is an engineer has something to do with his patience. Realizing (from an engineering perspective) that Rome wasn’t built in a day and that I couldn’t be expected to roll out on time, are two of life’s truisms that Rob had come to accept.
Once my gear was stuffed and ready, we started pedaling and enjoying the sunrise.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was done. All the insufficient calories, compounded by the cold and fitful sleep I’d had the night before, finally caught up with me. I was done. I turned to Rob and let him know that I needed to pull the plug. He hardly seemed surprised.
What causes a person to quit something? I know for me there are certain things that are a lot easier to quit than others. Quitting meat was easy. Coffee not so much. In fact, I will quit coffee when you pry my cold dead fingers from the handle of my mug.
Bike rides and races are hard for me to quit. I once rode with and without a working derailleur, walked and carried my bike for sixteen hours just to finish at Unbound Gravel (formerly the Dirty Kanza 200) and can count on one hand the races I have DNF’d.
I quit racing bikes a couple of years ago. The part of me that loves the pre-race butterflies, the bumpin’ of elbows and the mad dash toward the finish in a lowly Cat 4 crit had been quashed by one too many close calls and a couple of hard kisses (followed by stitches) with the concrete. That all was easy, but this was different. I struggled with the feeling of failure. The idea that I had set a goal of riding the entire Colorado Trail just a few months after ending my cancer treatment was tough to swallow. This trip was supposed to be not only for me but a way of saying to friends, family and hopefully complete strangers, “Look at me. I am better. I kicked the shit out of cancer. Don’t worry if you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, you can beat it too!”
It wasn’t working out that way at all, though. I was hang-dog-whipped and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Several weeks later my perspective began to change. I slowly came to realize that I hadn’t failed; my body just hadn’t healed yet. The fifteen pounds I’d lost wasn’t just my beer gut and winter fat. A lot of it was muscle and the power to move the bike forward. Even less telling was the amount of energy my body was using to continue recovering from the treatment.
The only plus to our backtrack to Silverton was the insane downhill coming off of Stony Pass. Our big and meaty 27.5plus tires weighted down with our gear kept the bikes frimley glued to the loose chunky dirt road that had given us so much trouble the day before. More than one ATV or Jeep driver was surprised as we came sailing by, as they crept slowly through the tight switchbacks.
The downhill was so fun and easy. If only all of the CT was downhill!
Fantasy aside, we pedaled back toward Silverton discussing our next move. It was the weekend and we knew our chances of finding a hotel were slim to none. That meant another pedal to somewhere outside of town to camp. Even this was going to be tough. Silverton’s a haven for outdoor types and the dispersed camping outside of town was overflowing with RVs and campers.
Once we got cell reception, we realized that the calvary was already on their way and that camping wouldn’t be necessary. My good buddy Guillermo was already en route from Denver to pick us up!
With six hours to kill before he arrived, Rob and I stuffed our faces with pizza and ice cream. Now that I had a continuous supply of water and yes, maybe a beer or two, it was much easier to chew and swallow food. I made up for lost time and poor trail dining.
Despite the cloud of having to come off the trail, the ride home with Guillermo and Rob was a blast. It’s amazing what good friends can do to help lighten the mood. We also got an update from Guillermo on the forest fires raging across Colorado. The path along the CT would have not taken us directly into a fire but we would have spent at least a couple of days riding through areas of heavy smoke. No doubt that would have wreaked even more havoc on my tender throat. I still wasn’t crazy about my decision to pull the plug, but at least the ongoing circumstances were making it seem more and more like the wiser decision.
As we got closer to Denver it became more and more obvious that the fires were no joke. The entire Denver sky was a bizarre Marcian orange. Rob continued to be a good sport and was flexible, as we shifted our outdoor plans to indoor plans for the rest of his visit.
There’s no doubt that Rob and I each would have preferred to have stayed on The CT but we made the best of the situation that challenged us. I’m sure Rob wasn’t planning on spending so much time at local museums but, then again, a little culture never hurt anyone. We also managed a few early morning outside adventures before the smoke settled in for the day. This included hiking my first 14er. Yep, seven years in Colorado and I’d only been to the top of a 14er via train (Pikes Peak) and by bicycle (Mt. Evans). The view at the top of Mt. Bierstadt was cool for sure, but the toll it took on my knees as I hiked back down had me pining for my mountain bike.
Closing the books on the summer of 2020 was a bit disappointing for me. With the past six months of perspective, however, I now understand that just being out there on the trail was an enormous win in itself! The CT isn’t going anywhere and one day I’ll go back. Over the years, I’ve spent enough time on it to bookend the north and south terminus, as well as a few pieces in between. I’ll be back to knock it all off in one go.
Categories
Accountability
Resolutions.
Who hasn’t made one and then watch it go by the wayside in just a couple of days?
A google search of how to hold yourself accountable will get you everything from articles from Forbes magazine to a whole slew of apps to help hold yourself accountable.
All the ideas and apps have a ton of value as long as you hold yourself accountable and use and apply them.
Do they work? You bet but the key is to find the ones that works for you.
For me and my goal of completing my second Leadville 100 MTB and earning another belt buckle it starts with sitting down and writing out a training plan that takes me from January to the day of the race on August 12th.
Around that plan I build out the rest of my life from getting up at 430am to ride and work out before work, to going to bed early, eating healthy, drinking less beer (that’s the real tough one) and making sure I still have time to hang with family and friends.
Last year I also added in the plan of creating video content around my experiences as I trained for the Leadville 100. Last year started well but the deeper I got into the training the less time and energy I had for video.
So this year I am going to try and do a better job of holding myself accountable when it comes to creating video content. Check out the video below as I kickoff the 2023 season.
No big secret, I love riding bikes. If the title of my blog, Bikes Kill Cancer, didn’t give it away then consider yourself in the know now.
Below you will find a link to my latest YouTube video on my channel. Yep, you guessed it. It’s also called Bikes Kill Cancer. Anyone sensing a theme here.
Anyway, I realized quite quickly that I don’t have much to add to the conversation for people who’ve been riding bikes for a long time. I do feel that if you are new or only been riding bikes for a short while that I may have something to offer.
So this video is for all those folks who discovered the joy of riding bikes during the pandemic and maybe need a little motivation or nudge to take their cycling to the next level. That next level is different for each of us but I’m willing to bet that you can find at least one thing in this list that will keep the stoke going in 2023.
Check it out and I hope you like it. If you do give it a thumbs up and a follow.
Categories
Guest Blogging
I thought finishing the Leadville 100 MTB race was cool. Even cooler is getting asked to blog about it for the organization that helped me get into then event to begin with.
Click the link below and head on over to First Descents web page to read my blog and learn a little bit more about an incredible organization.
Nothing to read, you’ll just have to watch the video below.
As I get ready for my first Leadville 100 MTB, I am doing my best to capture a summer of riding and training in beautiful Colorado.
Back story, I love riding bikes. I’ve done a lot of cool shit on bikes, like bike packing through the Rockies, pedaling through Tuscany and I’ve been to the Cyclocross World Championships. Ok, I didn’t actually race or even ride my bike at the World Championships, but I did drink a lot of beer while watching a bunch of really fast Europeans and a couple of Americans ride their bikes.
Every cyclist has a bucket full of dream rides and races they want to do and I would be willing to bet that the Leadville 100 is on many of their lists.
The only problem is that the race is so popular you either have to qualify by doing certain qualifier races or taking your chances with the lottery. There is also the option to apply to ride on a fundraising team. That’s the option I went with this year and was fortunate enough be chosen to ride for First Descents.
Feel free to support First Descents by clicking here to donate and following along on my YouTube channel Bikes Kill Cancer as I put in a lot of miles on the mountain bike in the months to come.
Holy Crap I am excited.
Today was the one year anniversary of the Head & Neck Cancer Support Group I participate in every month. It’s strange how I respond to this group. They keep the insanity in my brain sane.
Most everyday I think about cancer. My cancer in particular. Almost two years post treatment, several all’s clear PET scan later and I still think about it.
I think about it when I’m massaging and stretching my scar that run along the right side of my neck or when I go to shave and realize there’s no facial hair along my right jawline for me to even shave.
I curse it when I wake in the middle of the night to search for a lozenge. My mouth sand paper dry due to underperforming salivary glands.
I am just tired of thinking about it. I am over cancer interrupting my thoughts and daily routine.
I’m so done with thinking about cancer that I haven’t written in this blog in months because the idea of writing about cancer just leaves me tired.
The monthly H&NC Support group is different. All we talk about is cancer. The long term side effects of our treatments. The trouble we have swallowing. We share tips on good dental hygiene to keep our teeth healthy after weeks of radiation treatment. Cancer. cancer. cancer and more cancer.
Oddly enough I don’t mind talking and thinking about cancer with this group. Misery loves company or maybe “a little perspective, like a little humor, goes a long way.”
Somedays I resent being a #cancersurvivor, a #cancerthriver, and #cancerwarrior.
The suggestion that I did something extraordinary rubs me the wrong way. Despite what the media, Instagram and the American Cancer Society want you to believe I am no different than anyone else trying to get by in this world.
I did not draw my trusty sword or put on combat gear to fight cancer. I did nothing more than what anyone of you would do when sick. I listened to my doctors, took my medicine and got plenty of rest. Cancer is like having the flu but instead of chicken noodle soup, it’s lots of radiation and the hope you can actually keep the soup down.
I got lucky.
I got lucky that my cancer was discovered early in Stage II. I got lucky that the treatment methods for head and neck cancer has advanced by leaps in bounds over the last ten years.
I was fortunate that I had a job that afford me health insurance and the time off to seek treatment and concentrate on my health and recovery.
Why resent such a noble titles as survivor, thriver and warrior?
Because when you attach cancer to the front of each it evokes pity and sadness from your audience.
I don’t need your pity. I need you to get angry, scared and ask what can I do so I and my loved ones don’t get cancer.
I need you to be the warrior.
I need you to stand up and say this is enough.
I need you to make sure your loved ones get their HPV vaccines.
I need you to stop smoking.
I need you to exercise more and eat more fresh fruits and vegetables and cut down on that crap that is passed to you through your car window that you’ve been led to believe constitutes a meal.
I need you to wake the fuck up.
I need you to turn out the lights as you leave the pity part and make sure the door doesn’t hit you in the ass on the way out.
Home
Earlier this year I wrote a very long list (100 items long, to be exact) of things I learned throughout my cancer journey. The downside to the list was that I had to actually be diagnosed with cancer to learn all the stuff. The only way for you, dear reader, to verify I’m telling the truth is to take me at face value or get cancer yourself and see how many things on the list pan out for you.
Well, good news! This new list doesn’t require one to have cancer. All one needs is a bicycle and said list. You may even find the following helpful for general day to day living, as well.
I’ve been riding bikes for most of my life. Graduating from a Big Wheel to a PeeWee Herman type bike around the age of five has allowed me a lot of time in the saddle. Granted, my love of the bike waned in high school, as riding a bike wasn’t cool and if you didn’t have access to a car you did the next best thing, which was befriend someone who did.
It was in college that my love of the bike slowly reblossomed, as finding parking in a college town was a major hassle I didn’t need in my life. Besides, riding home from the bar on my bike somehow seemed safer than driving, but was probably just as dumb.
After college I woke up one random day to discover that at some point over the past four years I’d gained sixty pounds! Weighing 210 lbs just wasn’t much fun. At all. Dusting off my trusty steel college steed allowed me to begin to shed some of those extra pounds. It also helped me feel better about myself and rediscover, again, my passion for riding bikes.
I believe that riding a bike has the power to teach us so much about ourselves. It offers a way for one to discover the world in a way that is not possible from behind the metal cocoon of a car. It offers an opportunity to learn a life lesson or two along the way. The beauty of all this is that the more time you spend perched on a bicycle saddle, the more the above ideas come true.
In no particular order, this is what riding a bike prepared me for as I faced cancer last year, which undoubtedly made me pause to reevaluate my life. That part is still ongoing. I’ll be sure to blog about it once I am done and have figured it all out.
Riding bikes can teach you how to suffer or, more importantly, how to deal with adversity and keep moving forward even when you don’t want to.
I’ve done some pretty dumb and hard stuff on bikes. For instance, I ride 200 miles (twice actually) in one day on gravel roads through the flint hills of Kansas. I attempted to bike-pack the Colorado Trail just two months after finishing my radiation treatments (spoiler alert- I didn’t finish but you can see the video here). I also spent a lot of time racing bikes as an okay amateur cyclist, which is actually fun but there are just way too many A-type cyclists out there. They can cause things to get a little squirrelly at times and wrecks seem inevitable. (Ow!) Really, people, winning isn’t everything–especially when it’s for a gift certificate to a local restaurant.
Above all else, it was the 200-mile rides that I did in Kansas that taught me the most. No matter how much training you do and however prepared you think you are, at some point, you will go to a dark place while riding 200 miles. During that dark time there really isn’t much you can do about it. There is no follow vehicle behind you that allows you to just get off your bike and get in the backseat for an air conditioned ride back to the finish line. You really only have one choice: Keep riding.
It starts with feeling sorry for yourself. You just have to continue pushing on the pedals and moving forward. You do this knowing that forward is the only way out of the dark space. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel is ahead somewhere.
You choose how you deal with it, though.
Fighting cancer is no different. You will go to some pretty dark places—probably way darker than you could ever go on a bicycle, but, again, moving forward is your only option. This may mean dragging yourself out of bed for another radiation treatment or forcing yourself to swallow food despite the large open sores in the back of your throat. It can be so hard, in fact, that there are times that giving up seems like the easiest option. Do not give up. Keep pushing down on the pedals and moving forward.
Dress to impress if you wanna go fast. Now granted, there is no way (that I am aware of) to move through having cancer faster, but if you look good, you will feel good (or at least better).
I am a big fan of being all matchy match on the bike. At the least jersey, shorts and socks should all work together. Glasses, helmet, shoes and gloves should all add flare and style to your entire outfit. Bonus points if your bike complements your outfit.
Take note- you can never go wrong with an all black kit. Yellow arm warmers, socks and helmet add pop. Subtle highlights on the bike frame compliment my outfit. At the time this photo was taken I was about half way through my radiation treatment so, trust me, I was not fast. I remember this ride and getting all kitted out, which was part of what made me feel so good about myself. That, and the fact that I was still riding despite having cancer. The sunshine wasn’t too bad either.
There will be a lot of days that staying in your sweats and laying on the couch just makes sense. Cancer treatment often leaves you feeling chronically fatigued. It’s on those days that just making the effort to shower and shave and throw on a sharp outfit can change your mood and mindset. Love yourself and treat yourself to the respect you deserve. Dress to impress, even if it is only yourself you are impressing.
All too often while training for a big ride or race, I’ll be deep in a training block and feeling strong, as my fitness builds. Then the fatigue starts to set in after several days of hard riding. Thinking that I can just push through the fatigue and that one more hard day is what I need to achieve even better fitness, I suffer through one more hard workout.
Bam! The next day I am wiped out and can barely even think about riding my bike much less another workout.
The problem was simple. I didn’t give my body time to recover and should have taken a rest day. You should be doing the same while undergoing treatment for cancer.
Some days you are going to get beaten down. It might be radiation, chemo, surgery or a combination of them. No one is going to be impressed that you muscled through it all and kept working or stayed up all night baking cookies for the company party. Listen to your body. Take the rest. Have a mid day nap or go to bed early. Repeat until you feel better.
Garbage in, garbage out. I have a buddy that I used to ride with on a regular basis. He was younger (by 20 years), faster and better looking than me. On any given day for the first two hours of the ride he would hand my ass to me over and over. At the two hour mark I could visibly see him weakening and slowing down. His legs no longer had the same pop and his endurance would start to fade.
The reason was simple. More often than not he would show up for a ride poking down the last of a breakfast burrito from McDonald’s or a slice of last night’s cold pizza. I on the other hand had eaten my typical breakfast of oatmeal cold soaked in kefir with fresh fruit. I was running on high octane fuel while he was fueling up with crappy gasoline cut with kerosine.
Your body also needs the good stuff when it’s fighting cancer, too. Fresh fruits & vegetables, lean meats, healthy carbs and the good fats (think avocados and olive oil). Not only do you need to eat well for the benefit of the vitamins and minerals your body needs but keeping a health weight is super important while undergoing treatment.
All that being said, cancer loves to throw you a curve ball or six. During my own treatment my throat became so raw and food started tasting so bad that I was having trouble eating or wanting to eat even the simplest foods. “More calories” became my mantra and the only thing I could tolerate for one two-week period was fountain Cokes from McDonald’s and vanilla shakes. During that time I consumed more Cokes and shakes in two weeks than I had in the last ten years.
Wanna get faster or go farther on the bike? Have a plan. A training plan provides focus, creates goals and provides metrics to measure your progress.
Wanna fight cancer? Then build on the plan your doctor(s) have laid out for you. This is going to look different for each person based on their treatment and what they are capable of doing physically. For me, it was starting my morning with some light yoga before radiation treatment. Even if I felt like crap the rest of the day, I could at least tell myself I got in some exercise before my day went to shit.
For the last four months, I’ve been waking at 5am to meditate. Ok, not really. I’ve actually been getting up to walk our Great Dane puppy, who walks, poops, eats and then goes back to sleep. By this time, I’m wide awake and decide to make good use of the quite early morning to practice meditating.
Granted, the meditation practice did not come from riding the bike but I have found many numerous benefits that I can apply while riding my bike. I used to be a stick-the-earbuds-in-my-ears-and-go -for-a-ride kind of guy. I now find myself choosing to leave the music at home so that I can enjoy being present in the moment as I ride.
I wish I could tell you that meditation cures cancer, makes you a Zen master and helps you reach a new height of enlightenment, but it doesn’t. In fact, meditating is pretty difficult. It takes practice. It can be frustrating and uncomfortable. Like anything that requires effort, the payoff is worth it, though.
Mediation has helped me deal with stress, allowed me at times to pause and respond in a more thoughtful versus a reactionary way to things that piss me off. I try to start my day with a clear and focused mind. My only regret is that I didn’t come to the practice until after I’d already finished my treatments.
Riding bikes is one of the most freeing and beautiful things in the world. For me, it captures a piece of my childhood and allows my heart to swell in gratitude for the freedom, health and joy it brings.
On the flip side of that, though, cycling has (or rather my efforts and failings have) left me bruised and battered, disappointed and angry at myself because I didn’t win a race, wrecked and caught myself with my face or failed to accomplish a specific goal like riding the Colorado Trail from Durango to Denver.
Somewhere along the way I learned to allow myself the grace of being okay with not always being okay. I figured a lot of this out last spring while riding my bike through cancer treatment. Some days just sucked. My throat was raw, my skin blistered and peeled. Yes, I was on the bike but , compared to my “healthy me” pace, I was barely creeping along.
Cresting a hill with the crisp Colorado morning sun on my face or speeding down a long windy road with the wind licking across my body, I became okay with the joy of just riding my bike, knowing that, in that very moment, I was alive.
Bikes Kill Cancer 