Thank you for your support for this years MS Ride

Hello All,

I wanted to thank you for making this my biggest year yet. Your donation put me into the blue bib category. MVP treatment at the end of the ride. Imagine endless banquet tables piled high with catered corporate food heaven or artery clogging dysentery hell, depending on your perspective and gastrointestinal fortitude.

The event collected over $2M and I think was the biggest year yet. It certainly was my biggest year. I finished the ride without to much trouble besides a few dark moments which I will share, but still much better than last year.

Last year I was not prepared for the Palisades hills. They made my legs wet noodles. And when I had completed 97 miles, I over-shifted my old-style derailleur into my spokes. I had to take the subway home while holding up a broken bike, wobbling with the turns and bumps of the train. When I got home, I laid down and closed my eyes. I was still peddling off into the night on a broken bike.

Again, this year was much better, mainly because your generosity really energized me. So I thought I should share with you some notes I jotted down during the 100 mile ride.

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10/3/08 6:00 AM, This morning is crappy. Rain and wind keep everyone cold. And wet. I did not over-dress. I jump around in place. Other cyclist weave through the crowd, getting closer to the start line. I scoff at them. This is not a race...

Baloney. Nobody likes to get passed. It is a simple, primal impulse. You pass someone, you get a little boost of dopamine. Dolphins know this. The way they swim along a ship. Dolphins don't want to be second. And there is not even a finish line in the ocean.

Two guys behind me are cracking bad jokes about the weather leaning on their very expensive bicycles, that I swear I do not covet. The horn finally blasts. We head down the West Side Highway and warm up. We are a tightly packed group. We are the front pack.

The front pack is wet. The front pack is yelling. The front pack yells things like "slow." It ripples through, like the wave at a football game. But the sound stays in the same place and it is the riders that pass through it, an audible gate. The pack yells "puddle right" and the pack squeezes left. Then pack yells "puddle left" and the pack squeezes right. Then the pack yells "stop" and somebody yells "yelling." It is funny the first time.

Then the Lincoln Tunnel. They close the tunnel for the pack. They pinch off an inch and let it into the tunnel. I am in the front of the front. I lied to somebody once. I told them on a good a hill in New York you can get up to 35 or 40 mph. I swear this tunnel made me honest.

Top gear all the way until I hit the bump. As bumps go it is not so bad, but my water bottle doesn't' t like it and starts to want to leave on its own. Then the pump on my down-tube wants to dance with the bottle. There goes the rest of the pinch as I stop to gather my wayward things. I am last of the pinch pack. I am in stinking last. And it really doesn't feel good. But this is not a race...

I get back in the mix. I leave the tunnel at the rear of the pinch, but not last. And I see this cute girl with a megaphone. She is looking right at me. She is saying something into the megaphone. She is saying, "hello," she is saying "wait till you see me on my bike," she is saying "we will go riding together, into bliss," she is saying "watch out for that speed bump."

The handle bars are suddenly 6 inches above where my hands are. I sadly, know what is coming. I feel the compression of the Styrofoam that separates my head from the clean swept asphalt of Edgewater, New Jersey. I am severed from the pack. From WE to just ME in an instant.

Wear you helmet.

Adrenalin kicks in as a crane my neck like a turtle on its back. Shouts of "all right?" circulate, I right myself, pull the bike up. I curse the siren and then drag my 1984 Fuji Series IV Touring 12 speed bicycle to the sidewalk.

Embarrassment in check, the chain is off, handle bars turned, derailleur a mess. Pack after pack passes as I dirty my hands with the business of becoming mobilized. Wheels, check, chain, check, brakes, check, me, check, me.

I get back on the bike and think, what a glorious lesson I have learned. I should share this lesson with those that sponsored me.

Here is that lesson:

In life there are speed bumps. And sometimes those speed bumps will knock you flat on your *** because you were staring at a cute girl when you should have been watching the road. So watch the road.

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The rest of the ride was excellent but in a solitary way, no big messages, just that if you keep peddling you will eventually wind up back at the start. So lets keep peddling...and find a cure for MS.