After about a week, I was up to 15-20 miles a day. Some days, when I had more time, I would go 25 or 30 miles without killing myself. Other days, my eight-year old daughter Maya would be my riding partner, and her small, but very strong legs would lead us on a nice 5 to 7 mile ride.
As the day of the ride grew closer, it seemed like everything that could deter me from participating in the ride was thrown in front of me. I had just started a new job 700 miles away from my home, I was busy winding down my consulting business, and the time and money it would take to participate in the ride seemed more than I could spare. (The ride was near Truckee, California, and we live in Utah.) I nearly decided not to do it, and my wife thought maybe I should postpone until next year. However, after serious consideration, I decided that I had to follow through with what I started.
The day of the ride finally arrived. I had driven with my wife and my two youngest children across Nevada to Loyalton, California, the base station for the ride. The ride consisted of 14 mile segments between check stations. The day was hot, nearly 90 degrees. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Over the past few weeks, I had lined up several sponsors, announcing to these wonderful people that I had a goal of riding 150 miles. It didn't seem like much when I set the goal, but now, at nearly 5,000 feet elevation, where the air is thin, and the temperatures are soaring, I realized I might have made a mistake. Maybe I should just turn around and go home.
"GO!" yelled the leader of the ride, shaking me from my distractions.
I was off! The registration, safety check, and waiting to start had been a blur. Before I knew it, I was on my bike pedaling away! Oh, the exhilaration! The excitement! For the first mile, I was so charged with adrenalin that I was leading the group of about 35 riders. But within another mile or so, I started slowing down. Several people started passing me by. My stomach hurt. Then a few more people passed me. My head was dizzy. Even more people passed me.
Within 3 miles of starting the ride, I was at the very tail end of the group. I know this wasn't a race, but still, LAST? How could that be? I felt my stomach churning even more. Now my right leg had a cramp so bad, it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I pedaled along, trying to decide; should I stop and try to rub out the cramp, or should I just keep pedaling and "ride through" the pain? I decided to keep going.
At 4 miles, I was in more pain. My head was spinning like an out of control fighter plane in those World War II movies. I was angry and confused. I knew from my training that I could ride 10 miles without breaking a sweat. 15 miles without even thinking about it. Why now, after going a measly 4 miles, was I feeling like I could not go any further? Again, I forced my legs to keep pedaling, to keep going down the road. The rest of the group was now so far ahead of me that I could no longer see them. I was completely alone, riding along a deserted mountain road, with the July sun beating down on me relentlessly.
One more mile. That's all I made before I knew I was in real trouble. At the 5 mile mark, I pulled off the road and threw up. I don't know about you, but when I throw up, I automatically start to cry. It's involuntary, I swear! So there I am, puking and crying on the side of the road. No one even knows I'm there, since a helper van hasn't been by yet. I know that if they do come by right now, I'll quit. I can't believe this. My beautiful little girl can ride 7 miles with no problem, and now her big strong dad had gone only 5 miles and was about to give up. No. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I got back on the bike, and although shaky and queasy, started pedaling toward the first check station, still 9 miles away.
By the time I neared the check station, I was more frustrated than ever. I figured I could make it that far, then quit. I gave it my best, but hey, I have issues. My life was stressful and I've never done this sort of thing before. No one would blame me for quitting. Heck, most people don't even have the guts to start. Yeah, so even if I quit now, I've sill made an effort! All these things flowed through my head as I rode. Thoughts of negativity, of quitting, of bailing out.
About a half mile from the check station, I saw them. Tiny figures jumping around and waving. What were they doing? I came within a quarter mile, and I could hear something. What was that? They were screaming. Who were they screaming at? I looked behind me. No one, of course. I could see ahead of me. Everyone else in my group had long since checked in and gone on. Yes, they were screaming for me. As I wearily pedaled into the check station I was greeted with cheers, and "you did it"! One person took my bike. Another brought me cool water. Still another offered me some fruit. Who were these people? Kids. THE kids. The kids for whom this ride was all about. They knew that every rider was there for one reason. To help them on the path to straightening out their lives. Some of the kids have said they would be dead if it wasn't for this ministry. Others said they would still be in gangs, or on drugs, or pregnant. All of them had problems different, yet no less important than mine.
After a bit of a rest, I jumped on my bike more determined than ever to finish what I had started. Many of my sponsors pledged by the mile. What kind of contributions would come in for only 14 miles anyway? No, I had to keep going. For the kids.
At every check station, there they were. These kids screaming and yelling, cheering each of the riders on. They were excited for us, and we were excited for them. Over that 24 hours, I experienced things I'll never forget. Like the red and gold of the sunset over the Sierra Nevada mountains. Or the night. I'll always remember the night. At midnight, I was still riding. It was pitch black around me, and the stars overhead where more brilliant than I've ever seen them. A meteor shower was making flaming streaks in the sky every few seconds. I had "Amazing Grace" playing on my CD player. I only wish I was a good enough writer to tell you how beautiful it was.
I fell a little short of my goal, but managed to ride well over 100 miles anyway. I met some wonderful folks over the 24 hours of the ride. The other riders, the volunteers, and the people who organized the event are first class. At the end of the ride, I was so exhausted, and in so much pain, that when someone asked if I would do it again, I said "I don't know, probably not".
Wait a minute, what I was thinking?
I wouldn't miss it for the world!
© 2000 Marty M. Fahncke
To learn more about CEM, visit their web site at
http://www.nccn.net/~cem/Marty@fawnkey.comEDITOR'S SECOND NOTE: Our family was overwhelmed with pride as we, too cheered Marty on and met him at stops to offer comfort, hugs and encouragement. We were awestruck at his persistence and dedication.
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Marty is training to do the Agony Ride again this summer. He lives in Utah with his ravishing redheaded wife, Susan, and a house full of kids, computers and cats. He commutes to Palm Springs for his job, but is at home as often as possible. This is Marty's first story, but this editor is anxious to see more in the future!
