August
3 and 4, 2002August
3 and 4, 2002
150 miles (plus!)
back to amandaeve.com click here to see all MS 150 2002 photos!!
I started my MS Society legacy in 1995 just after my mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Together we participated in the MS Walk in Medford on a brisk, cloudy day. Many miles and 8 MS Walks later, my friend Zoe talks me into my first MS 150 bike tour. It seemed like the natural thing to do. Earlier in the year, as a collective effort, my very own MS Walking team raised over $1,400; our most successful year yet. I finished a Marathon in 2001, and in college I used to ride my bike around the Willamette Valley 300 miles a week. Why wouldn't I want to bike 150 miles in one weekend? That, combined with my attaining a new job that I could cycle to every morning ensured for a great weekend.
Zoe and I started training just 1 month before the tour. We biked to work during
the week, and got together for a long ride on the weekends. First we biked out
to Wood Village, then across the river and along the waterways of Vancouver,
Washington.
We hiked up a steep trail in South West P-town reminiscent of the trails I'd
painstakingly push through in Corvallis. We'd sweat in the sun, and I'd inevitably
sunburn. We rode to the Alpenrose Challenge Races and watched Olympic gold medallists
compete in the 95-degree weather. While riding back up the South West hills
my heart began to pound and my head started spinning, and Zoe's husband had
to pick us up at a corner gas station that day. The next weekend we rode 70
miles, from my house up the famous Skyline Boulevard (this road is so far elevated
from downtown, it is the home of most microwave and radio towers and the houses
start at $400,000) over to Sauvie Island. I have fond memories of this island,
from hiking protected bird sanctuaries to picking Halloween pumpkins.
All our training couldn't begin to prepare me for the amazing power of this
bike tour. After a rough night, Zoe and I drove down to the frou-frou Willamette
University in Salem. By 8AM, we were at the starting line, prepared for anything.
The tour began slowly, out of the city and towards Independence. We followed
the Willamette River a bit. The air was cool and breezy, but you could tell
it was going to be a warm day. Just a week before the tour, Zoe's bike was stolen
from a MAX Station locker in downtown Portland. She rode her husband's custom-fit
mountain bike, witch proved to be a stretch. Of course Zoe's hardcore biking
fervor enabled her to up me in any condition (something I'm surprised to say
is pretty rare on a bike!). Well, you should have seen her when she rode her
new special treat. With the help of a little homeowner's insurance money, Zoe
bought a brand new Bianchi Veloce Celeste-colored road bike. She sped out of
my sight before the second mile. But I caught up with her again at the
first rest stop. I ate a ton of the food the volunteers had spread out for us.
I was starving! Quickly we were off again. Soon we were rolling up and down
Oregon's up and coming wine country. It felt like there was a lot more up than
down. The first hill was named the worst by most bikers. To me, it was nothing.
The first big hill of the day; I was full of confidence and oomph. Sure, my
heart surged a few times, slowing me to a stop, but I didn't feel at all daunted.
What shocked me the most on these hills was how slow the people were going around
me. I looked at their shiny, expensive bikes and their flashy team uniforms
and wondered why they didn't leave me in the dust. When I passed man after man,
walking his bike, I was truly surprised. What ever happened to the invincible
male ego? Even I wasn't going to walk my bike if it killed me-and I have an
ego smaller than a Barbie golf ball. But there they were, guy after guy, calf
muscles and all hiking up the long, windy hills, shoe clips snip-snapping on
the concrete. I met with Zoe again at lunch. We ate in Dallas Park, hosted by
a volunteer lunch team that had served hungry MS Bikers for over 18 years in
a row! Almost all the servers were at least in their sixth year of volunteerism.
My heart filled with pride as I drank watered-down Gookinade. And yes, Gookinade
is a bonafide sports drink. And although I drank the delightful stuff almost
he whole weekend, you won't ever catch me buying it. Not with a name like that.
Good stuff, though.
As we headed toward Monmouth after lunch the hills started to get to me. Although
traffic was sparse and the country roads shaded, I was getting tired. I caught
up with a few groups of bikers t
hroughout
the day. I didn't chat with any of them much, not more than the few-sentence
conversations that take place as you approach each other. The biggest drawback
was pace. None of us really seemed to want to go the same speed for more than
a minute or so, which kept the conversations sparse. I remember team slug, which
went about my speed. A cute couple led them on a tandem in matching technical
outfits. I not so secretly hoped I could one day be in their shoes. There were
a few people from a team in Klamath Falls I kept meeting up with. When I finally
rode back into Independence I was overjoyed from knowing the ride was almost
over. By now the jarring in my palms was getting very difficult. Plus, if my
body could talk, there would have been more than a few cries coming from the
seat of my pants. But it was almost over. I passed by the last rest stop. I
looked at my odometer. 67 miles! Why stop now, with just a few more miles to
go! As I whipped out of the city, I instantly regretted not stopping. I just
couldn't get comfortable. I kept changing pace, sitting on either side, and
standing up on my bike. There just wasn't anything I could do for the pain.
I rode about 8 miles with these two girls who also skipped the last stop. I
let out a hoot when I hit the 71 mark. Whoo hoo! It marked the moment when I
biked farther than ever before in one day. But when I hit mile 76 and we had
yet to hit downtown, fear started to set in. Was my cycle computer drastically
off all these months? Was my commute to work not 8 miles? How far had I really
gone? My body was finished. The wind dried sweat seemed to be the only adhesive
holding my discombobulated body parts together. Every part of my body began
to ache. My fingers, my palms, my head, oh and did I mention my be-hind? The
padded underwear I purchased must have been manufactured by Satan himself. I
swear they made the ride worse. I was loosing the girls I had been riding with.
What did their computers say? Too far behind, everybody dropped out of my sight.
At mile 79 I was ready to kill the MS Society. What were they trying to do to
me? But soon we got back into town and it all ended, at a mere 82 miles.
Zoe set up camp on the Willamette University lawn. Her tent looked very sophisticated,
with two side door openings and a vast overhead window. It's modern 2-pole dome
design looked strangely vaginal. After showers we headed out to dinner. Set
outside in the shade of a canopy we ate a delicious spaghetti dinner. The volunteers
made a pesto sauce that was to die for. They made Resers brand donations taste
like gourmet fare. We headed into the free beer garden and listened to the hilarious
antics of TV Weatherman Richard Nunn. He was an excellent entertainer. We were
all in stitches, even those who passed up the beer and wine. Then it was off
to bed for a sleepy night daunte
d
only by the frequent passing of freight trains.
The next morning started with a gracious helping of pancakes and sausages. Soon we tuned up our bikes and we at the starting line again. The second I started to pedal, I felt the pain. It was like continuing the previous days' ride. Didn't I rest all night long? Didn't I take that long, cold shower? Why didn't my body want to move? With my curious hypertension condition, I'm used to my heart rate speeding away before I ever get the opportunity for my lungs or my body to tire. But today, my monitor rarely clocked me at over 120 beats per minute. My body was so fatigued that I could not push ahead fast enough to put any threat to my arteries. My legs just wouldn't move. I came to slowing stops on straight-aways. I struggled to wake my body up. I took a long rest at the first break, hoping to jolt my body into gear. As I left the rest stop, volunteers hollered for the 25 milers to turn around and head back. Didn't they start an hour after me? Had I been prodding along that slowly? The next few hours were lost in a daze. The weather was cool, cloudy, the roads mellow, and the headwind strong.
After lunch I pushed on ahead, alone for about an hour. I didn't see any bikers
at all for miles. I didn't even see any of the medic vehicles, the ham radio
guys or the "SAG" vehicles following our trail for the whole tour.
Then I realized I hadn't seen any of the signs either. Was I even on the right
route? Without my map, or any idea where I might be, I decided to stop. I'd
wait for 10 
minutes,
and if I didn't see anything or body familiar, I'd turn around. Yesterday, this
girl and I rode for 8 miles with out a sign of anything MS and were sure to
be lost. As soon as I hit a cross street that was labeled, I whipped out the
tour map and reassured myself that we were on the right track. But today I failed
to put the map in my bag. Now, as rain started to pour on my head and the air
grew colder, I really began to regret that oversight. I'd been through Aumsville,
Sublimity, Silver Falls, and Stayton, but where was I now? I turned around and
sped down the hill I so painstakingly just climbed to find a turn sign I missed
about 3 miles back. Just when the rain really began to pour, my heart lurched
with relief when I saw a SAG vehicle.
The rain and sun teased us the rest of the afternoon as I peddled on with a
new fervor. I was going to get back ahead. Nothing mattered now, I was at least
an hour behind and my body was so non-cooperative my only goal was to finish,
and finish fast. The rest stop volunteers tried to pat me dry with paper towels.
But it was no use; I tackled the weather again, leaving dozens of riders behind
who sought shelter under the rest area canopies. The rain gave me a new confidence.
I felt pow
er
raging through me that I hadn't felt all weekend. I was in my element. I lifted
my smiling face to the wet sky in joy, proud to be an Oregonian. I'll take rain
any day instead of hills or head wind. I began to think about why I was here.
Was it just because Zoe suggested it? Was it just because I like riding my bike,
or I wanted to burn a few calories? I thought about the MS Society and the people
it supports. I thought about my mother back when she was newly diagnosed, strong
yet scared, stubborn yet compromised. Freedoms I take for granted were stolen
from her as she continues to struggle to form a new life for herself. And even
though I feel she has grown and discovered so much about herself since her diagnosis,
she can't do the one thing she wants to do most; be a full time nurse. She who
defines herself as a compassionate helper is now on the receiving end more often
than most. I think about her friend Joan, leader of the society chapter in Newport
and Lincoln City. I remember her self-reclaimed independence and she lifted
her wheelchair-dependant body from the seat of her chair, across the broadside
of her van and into the drivers' seat. It took her a long time. It was the kind
of thing where all you can think about is wanted to help her, make it easier.
But then you realize that the best thing, the easiest thing is for her to know
that she can still do it herself. I started to wonder about all the people I
don't know and have never met in advanced MS conditions. There are 15,200 people
with MS in Oregon alone. 15,200 amounts to more people than lived in the town
I grew up in. 15,200 is more 
people
than I went to college with. Most of them have it worse than my mother. She
was so lucky to have a good job and good insurance benefits when she had her
first disabling exacerbation. She was so lucky to have a relatively mild case.
There were only about 700 of us biking this weekend. So little participated
in the bike tour compared to the MS Walks. The tour is much more difficult;
it requires so much more dedication. As my legs got a little stiffer and my
head wandered further into itself, I realized that still, even though I am so
tired, and I couldn't see riders anywhere that we were all in it for somebody.
If I actually made it, if I actually biked 150 miles this weekend, then there
simply cannot be anything that my mom cannot do. Sure she bugs me sometimes.
Sometimes she perseverates, sometimes she obsesses, and sometimes she focuses
a little too much, and gets a little too nervy now that she has MS. But she
never complains. Ce
rtain
days it takes all of her energy to get out of bed. Sometimes she can't eat,
or if she does get food down, it won't digest and she gets sick. But she is
so headstrong that she just keeps going without a word. My mom taught me the
meaning of perseverance. If she can do all that she does, day in and day out,
then I can bike all this way. If I can bike 150 miles on a squeaky, broken down
low-end Schwinn mountain bike, with just 1 month of training, 50 extra pounds,
and a curious heart condition, then she can do whatever she wants. People with
MS more than have the right to do whatever they want. Then my tired and soaking
wet body peddled around our capital building and onto the last street of the
tour. As I approached the finish line, I saw a familiar face handing out medals.
My mother mentioned volunteering for the food servers on Sunday, but then decided
to instead visit with some relatives. She said they might take watch along the
route to cheer us on, and even in the rainy weather I looked for her smiling
face. When I rode past four corners, I knew I wouldn't see her. And I didn't.
But there she was, my mom, at the finish line, giggling and putting a medal
around my neck. I jumped off my bike and hugged her as tears streamed down my
face. I told her how tired I was, how proud I was, and how the one thing that
kept me going was knowing that I was doing it for her. I couldn't stop the tears.
A man asked, "Do you want me to take a picture of you and your friend under
the finish sign?"
"She's not my friend," I said back, "she's my mom!" My mom with MS. I conquered the ride and that meant my mom would conquer her setbacks. And if she needed it, I'd be right there, if not in person than in heart. Zoe's husband, Brian, showed up too and helped take down the rest stops as we sat down and ate burgers and dogs to the music of a live band. Sitting there, with music in my ears, volunteers bustling about all with smiles on their faces, and real troopers amongst me eating burger after burger, I knew I was hooked. This is where I'll be next year, and years to come. Maybe we could even put together a team. Non-biking friends of mine could train for the 20-mile ride, and we could all camp out on the grass knowing that we are doing something healthy for more than just ourselves.
back to amandaeve.com click here to see all MS 150 2002 photos!!