Part 3

September 16 - 30

September 16: York, PA to Baltimore, MD

[click to enlarge] Me showing off my hard-to-see (temporary) bike tattoo on my calf.

We left the Comfort Inn and York and headed to Baltimore, Maryland. I think it was around 50 or 60 miles total. Peter Fort's wife drove up from Columbia, Maryland to join us for a few days of riding. She and Peter have a custom built tandem bike. Peter's seat is in back; his wife Pat is in front on a recumbent bike. It sort of looks like he is pedaling her in a wheelbarrow. Pat says she has only fallen asleep once in front.

We arrived early enough to go have lunch at an outside café before getting ready to go to the Orioles baseball game. I had a shrimp salad; for a couple of days after that, my stomach was in turmoil. I'll omit the details. Just understand that there was discomfort and some timing issues. But I have survived, and am a stronger person for it, at least in my resolve not to eat any more shrimp salads.

That night, we convened in a locker room (not THE locker room, sadly) of the baseball stadium to be "staged" for our appearance on the field. We shared the room with a boys choir that was singing the national anthem that evening. After instruction, we departed the room and marched out onto the pitcher's mound. Although we were larger than life on the Jumbo Tron screen behind us, we had been strictly instructed NOT to look back at our images. Reason being, of course, the image would then be of us looking backwards at us. So we'll have to wait for the photos to come out to know just how we looked on the Jumbo Tron.

The announcer explained who we were and what we're doing, and introduced each of us. The Orioles mascot came around and performed some antics. Then a baseball player shook each of our hands and gave us a bag of Orioles goodies including a hat, a pin, and a signed poster of the player. I apologize that I neither know the player's name nor kept the poster. At the end of the receiving line, the baseball player scratched himself in the appropriate vicinity - presumably to prove his authenticity. Ok, enough big words.

Anyway, we sat at the game, had a few Jumbo Pretzels, and then some of us including me who can't manage to sit through a whole baseball game left.

We made 2 stops on the way. The first was in Columbia, Maryland to visit Peter and Pat's home and their church. As we rode towards the house, we got to an area where the road hadn't been marked and we had no direction. Instead, Ann, a new support team member (who replaced Aaron), stood at the intersection with her outstretched hands pointing in opposite directions and yelled something as we rode by. All we heard was "bluh BLEH bluh bluh; bluh BLEEH bluh bluh." This interpretation was not enough information to determine which way to go, so we peeled off in different directions looking confused. This happens a lot lately. We also have trouble understanding what's being said on the walkie talkies. We've gotten used to uncertainty.

Peter and Pat's church is a Unitarian Universalist church. We timed the ride to arrive at the church just before the early service ended, so we could mingle with the exiting congregation and the one that was arriving for the later service. My stomach was hurting (from the shrimp salad in Baltimore), so I lay down under a tree outside the church near our bikes and took a little nap. When I woke up, Ed Hoovler was standing at the bikes, talking to one of the congregants. I went over to listen in. Ed was telling the story of the very steep, curvy hill with the traffic light at the bottom in Connecticut - the one where I got up to 47 mph. The man was listening politely, but still seemed to be in a peaceful state of spirituality from the church service. Then Ed said, "Yep, that downhill was a serious butt pucker." I could see the man flinch and his entire facial expression change. Ed didn't notice anything; he kept on talking. I cringed thinking about the assault on the poor man's inner peace, but also giggled inside. I know Ed by now.

Our second stop was at some cycling races (I think it was called a bicycle rodeo) in Prince George, Maryland. We were interviewed for the radio station, and got to watch the end of the men's and women's bike races. Their speeds during the final laps of the race were 40 to 45 mph. Our top speeds on flat roads are around 21 or 22 mph. We are only touring - definitely not racing. I'm embarrassed to admit that what I remember most vividly about our visit to the races was that John opened and distributed the contents of a care package from his Mom -- home made rice krispie treats with red and blue dots in them for the Olympics. My stomach was still acting up, but I managed to eat one anyway.

We loaded up and drove from the races into DC. I lived in DC for a year, so I know the town pretty well. Nonetheless, I am always struck by how majestic it is. It was a gorgeous, clear day, and all the monuments and monumental buildings were at their finest and most monumental. I saw the awe in the faces of the team members who have never visited this fine city. It's great to be an American.

We stayed at the Hotel Washington, at 15th and Pennsylvania - just a stone's throw from the White House. It is old and stately. From the café at the top of the hotel, you can see right into the President's back yard.

Some British people were staying at the hotel too. One rode up the elevator with some of us and asked about our ride. John overheard the Brit saying to a colleague as he left the elevator, "They all look so frightfully fit."

(Contrast our frightful fitness to what happened as we left DC. As I'll describe, it was windy and rainy. We had just made a questionable left turn and were strung out along the side of the street on our bikes, waiting for the rest of the gang to catch up, standing motionless waiting for divine intervention to enlighten us as to where to go. A man driving in the opposite direction yelled across the street, "Are y'all space cadets?" We assured him that we were. And frightfully fit space cadets, at that.)

We all had dinner at one long table that night at the M & S Grill - another old Washington institution. Then a few of us walked over to the mall to see the Washington and Lincoln monuments in the moonlight.

We had breakfast in the Hotel Washington, then suited up to ride our bikes the 2 miles down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Department of Health and Human Services. We were to be the subject of a press conference - our first ever. The press had been invited, the stage arranged, a colorful backdrop created with a view of the Capitol behind it, and bagels and fruit laid out.

At the HHS building, we practiced standing on the stage and riding our bikes up to it from a hiding place behind a granite post. We know by now this isn't fake or fraudulent; it's just staging. We rode up; the conference began. Eleanor Holmes Norton, the DC Congresswoman, spoke first. The Coalition on Donation and National Marrow Donor Program were represented too. Peter and Nancy each spoke on behalf of the team. Last on stage was a bone marrow recipient, who got to meet his donor right there. The donor said that every day he wakes up and sees the sun shine, he is happy thinking that the sun is shining for the recipient, too. Both men hugged, tears flowed, cameras clicked. Marsha was particularly moved by the meeting, as her father died of leukemia back when there was no bone marrow donor program.

Afterwards we had lunch with a group from the Coalition on Donation and various others connected to organ donation and transplantation. Assistant Secretary of HHS Ken Moritsugu was there. His wife and daughter both died in accidents. When his daughter died, the OPO asked for consent in a very compelling, appropriate way, and he consented to donate her organs. However, when his wife died, he was approached about organ donation in a much less positive way. He said that but for his first very good experience with organ donation, he would not have consented to donation the second time.

Jeffrey Marx was there, too. Jeffrey's sister Wendy got a liver transplant. Jeffrey wrote a book about the experience called It Gets Dark Sometimes. He is in the middle of a promotional book tour at schools across the country. I know about Jeffrey and Wendy Marx because of Carl Lewis. Carl Lewis spoke at the Opening Ceremonies of the US Transplant Games because of his friendship with Wendy Marx. Jeffrey was excited about our ride and our message. He gave me a copy of his book and told me to be sure and contact Wendy when I get back to San Francisco.

I went to the Kaiser Permanente near the hotel and got labs drawn during our afternoon off. I should be able to get the results in about a week. I don't feel like I'm rejecting the kidney, but it's good to check just in case. I also got a refill of Prograf. I have plenty of prednisone. Those are the only two immunosuppressive drugs I'm taking, so I'm all set.

That night we had a reception at the Rayburn House Office Building for the donation and transplantation community and various politicians. Present was a Congressman from South Carolina who received a lung transplant years ago, and a kidney from his 43 year old son last year. We mingled, got our fill of political speak, and walked back to the hotel along the mall for a snack at the rooftop café.

Pretty soon, the rain jackets didn't matter. We were soaked to the bone. As long as we kept riding, it was pretty comfortable. I picked up some sunglasses with amber lenses, so it looks bright outside even on cloudy or rainy days. But the wind was blowing, due to some hurricane down South.

We rode in rain for the 1st forty miles without incident. Then the orange paint arrows disappeared, and the turn sheets were confusing. There were lots of traffic detour signs. We stopped to try to figure out how to navigate the detours. We had a little water fight with our water bottles. It was raining so hard that the squirted water was lost in a torrent of rain. The longer we stopped, the more chilled we got. When Big Belly pulled up, I knew my plan. I stepped in some puddles up to my ankles getting over to the van, took off my front wheel, and handed the bike up to Jim to load onto the bike rack. I got in the van, changed into dry clothes, and waited for the rest of the group to come to their senses. Within a few minutes, they did.

We drove with the heat blasting until we were about 30 miles from Charlottesville. We had all fallen into a deep sleep. But the sun was out. Jim stopped the van. Groggy and a little soggy, we suited up and started riding our bikes again. Soon we were feeling fine and enjoying the fresh clear air.

We pulled into the organ donation event under white tents on the lawn at the University of Virginia in bright sunshine. We mingled, I gave an interview for the local paper, and we ate snow cones. My high school friend Heather Moore, who now lives in Charlottesville and works at the U. Va. Library at the rare books collection, met me at the event. We had dinner at an excellent restaurant near our hotel called Northern Exposure. I got to meet Heather's 2 year old son George and tell her all about the ride. George was fascinated by all the bikes. It was not the 120 mile day it was supposed to be, but it was a fine day nonetheless.

At one point the road was narrow, the shoulder tiny, and the traffic heavy. I got spooked when a car's rearview mirror brushed my arm. The car stopped and the driver asked if I was ok. I gave him an earful about our ride and how I didn't want to be an organ donor just yet, thank you very much. He apologized profusely. Within a mile after that I found a group of the riders stopped at one of the support vans for lunch. I stopped to eat, did a little more emoting, drank a lot of cold Gatorade, and felt better.

We arrived in Richmond at a mini-fair set up outside the UNOS offices. Treats available included cotton candy, popcorn, apples, and a bouncy house. After the little kids had pretty much cleared out of the bouncy house, I hopped in. Inspired by the Olympics, I did some gymnastics until it was too hot to bounce any more. A little boy named Wyatt joined me. He had 2 open heart surgeries, but was fine now - certainly well enough to do time in the bouncy house.

Pretty soon my team mates were trying acrobatics in the bouncy house. Wyatt didn't question what grown men and women were doing jumping around in the heat after having ridden their bikes for 80 miles. He was just happy to show us a few tricks.

John Dean of the Coalition on Donation gave us a tour of the UNOS and Coalition on Donation offices next. We saw the computer room where the UNOS computer processes organ offers and allocates the organs. We learned that the computer is maintained by a large staff, 24 hours a day. Unlike other computers, it never makes errors or crashes (for more than a few minutes, anyway).

That night, we stayed at the Hospital Hospitality House. The HHH is a converted motel where patients and their families who live far from the hospital can stay while the patient is being treated. Our arrival coincided with the dedication of a floor solely for transplant patients and their families. The HHH is maintained by volunteers and funded by charitable contributions. It's a neat concept.

At dinner, we finally opened the giant Hershey bar we had received in Pennsylvania. At the end of the evening, Marsha commented that half of the bar was still left. Given that the total bar was supposed to serve 50 people, I was amazed that ONLY half the bar was left. Maybe because of the chocolate, David Fleming, the executive director of the Coalition on Donation, agreed to ride with us for part of the next day. His wife is expecting a baby any minute, so he could only commit to riding a few miles. We were happy with whatever accompaniment we could get.

At one point, we passed a Korean restaurant in the middle of nowhere. It looked closed. Marsha said quietly from the back of the line, "Location, location, location."

We arrived at the Navy base in Norfolk around 3 and waited there for our Navy police escorts. They arrived on some very fancy mountain bikes, complete with loud siren-type horns and blue flashing lights. They guided us to the helicopter squadron where an event was going on. I guess in this area, a fair is considered the best kind of entertainment. Inside a giant hangar, we were welcomed with more cotton candy, snow cones, popcorn, and yes, a bouncy house.

Several transplant recipients and donor families were there at the fair. We mingled with them and watched their kids play in the bouncy house. Then it was time to take the podium. Ed had 2 nephews in the helicopter squadron, so he was the designated speaker for the day. In explaining the ride, he spoke of "pollinating" the Atlantic Coast with our message and experiences. I had to smirk at that, because Ed has pollinated the Atlantic Coast with more roadside pee stops than any of us.

We got a tour of 1960s presidential helicopter, saw a gorgeous sunset over the bay, then rode a couple of miles to the Navy Lodge and unpacked. We drove to dinner at Joe's Crab Shack and ate a lot of fried food, which seems to be as common as fairs here.

At 3:00 pm, we dropped off Cate and Peter at the auto repair shop in Virginia Beach where the back hatch of one of the support vans was being fixed. The shop said the van was ready, so the rest of us headed on back to Norfolk in the other vehicle. As it turned out, the van was not ready until 5:30 that evening, and Cate still needed to figure out the next day's route to Plymouth, North Carolina. She and Peter drove the 100 mile route. They tried several different ways at places to find the least trafficky, best shouldered roads. By the time they got back to Norfolk, it was 1:00 a.m.

The magic of the mirror effect wore off eventually, and soon we were just riding in the rain. Nancy rode up from behind me once and said sarcastically, "God, I just LOVE this." I was feeling the same way. Rain is fun and novel for a while, but not that fun, and quickly not that novel.

We had a police escort for last 8 miles into Plymouth. A soggy sign welcomed us to town. Upon our arrival, we were interviewed by 2 local papers. We were the biggest thing happening in town. Which still isn't saying much.

We were given a half hour to shower and change so we could be at an organ procurement organization event at the hospital promptly at 5 pm. There was a podium at the front of the room. Several long tables were set for about 30 people, with a plastic bowl of iceberg lettuce salad and a square of vanilla cake with chocolate frosting at each. On a table were two coolers of ice tea, labeled Sweet Tea and Unsweet Tea.

I sat next to an 11 year old girl named Veronica. Her mother Fran was on dialysis waiting for a second kidney transplant. Veronica was wearing a blue denim dress and some very dressy pumps for an 11 year old. She had a lovely Southern outfit. "This dray-ess," she drawled, "this is the farst tahm I've gotten to wear this dray-ess - in puhblic." In a flash, she had whipped off one of her pumps and was holding it right up to my face. She held it close enough to my face that I could smell its newness and see the unworn printing inside. "And see these shoes," she said, "these shoes are new." Then she picked at the chocolate frosting of her square of cake until it was half gone. Her mother scolded her gently, but you could tell Fran worshipped young Veronica.

The mayor of the town gave a little speech and read her proclamation to us riders. Nancy, the designated ambassador for the day, spoke on behalf of our group. The woman moderating the ceremony then took the podium again and asked who wanted to say Grace before supper. She looked to the back of the room right at me and said something I could not understand. I froze. I don't know how to say Grace; only how to say the Hebrew prayer over the Sabbath meal. It wasn't even the Sabbath. I said, "Do you mean me?" She said something that didn't sound like my name, but I still wasn't sure what she said. The mayor was standing at the back of the room too. It finally became clear that the mayor was supposed to say Grace. The moderator's husband make an X with his index fingers and mouthed at me, "She's cross-eyed." I looked more carefully at the moderator and understood what had happened. Whoops.

I also met a respiratory therapist with a 3 and 11 year old waiting for kidney pancreas transplant. She and I talked for a long time about the side effects of immunosuppressive drugs and the benefits of a transplant. I think she was more at ease about getting a transplant after we spoke.

We left at 7:30 am since we had to catch a ferry 37 miles away at 10:30 am. We arrived at the ferry terminal at 9:50 and ate an early lunch before boarding the ferry. It's become almost ridiculous how early we're willing to eat lunch. But the fact is, I'm always hungry for lunch when it's lunch time, no matter how early. Actually, I'm usually ready to eat again about an hour after we pull out on our bikes. It might be tough adjusting back to a normal eating schedule after the ride.

The ferry dropped us on the other side of some body of water at 11 am. From then until 2 pm, we rode the rest of the way on a long, straight, flat road against a fairly big headwind, drafting off each other most of the way. For those of you who aren't cyclists, "drafting" means you ride in a line called a "pace line", with each person about a foot behind the next. The aerodynamics are such that only the front person has to push into the wind; the rest of us avoid the wind resistance from our places behind the front rider. It almost feels like you're being pulled along behind the leader by an imaginary rope. Where I might be able to maintain a 14 mph pace riding into a headwind on my own, I'm usually able to go 16 to 19 mph if I'm drafting off someone else who is going that fast.

As you may be able to tell from the use of pronouns here, I generally prefer to draft behind others rather than lead. However, it's sort of scary to be drafting behind someone else. You only get the benefits of drafting if you're no more than 18 inches away. In a perfect world, you're as close as 6 inches from the next person's back tire - and someone else is only 6 inches behind your back tire. This arrangement leaves little room for error. If you space out, look away, get mesmerized staring at the tire in front of you, brake suddenly, or swerve suddenly to avoid road kill or gravel, you could take down the entire line of riders. So I've tended to err on the side of staying too far back from the rider ahead of me and losing the benefits of drafting rather than risking the crash. But I'm getting better.

A few miles outside of New Bern, we met up with our police escort. A cameraman from the local tv station showed up, too. He filmed us riding into New Bern over a long bridge, pulling in to the town, and attending the blood and bone marrow drive event. We've noticed that all camera crews who film us for local news seem to have studied at the same school of cycling photography. They all drive ahead in their vans, then put the camera right down on the road and film our wheels as we ride by. They focus primarily on our wheels, feet pedaling, and hands. We still don't know why. This particular cameraman was extra daring. He got down on his knees in the middle of freeway traffic to get that perfect low camera angle shot of our wheels. As if the danger of being run over by cars wasn't enough, he encouraged us to ride our bikes as close as possible to the camera on the ground, too.

As we rode in, I was having an intense conversation with Rodney about the differences between men and women, so I wasn't paying too much attention to the paparazzi. But I couldn't help noticing the change that came over Marsha Lewsley. She had been feeling tired all day. She'd been dragging on the bike, and even complaining a little. But as soon as the cameraman started filming, Marsha kicked it into high gear. She sped along the road behind the police car, looking fresh as a rose. We have to do these things sometimes. I was glad Marsha was willing to take one for the team.

The clip aired on the 6 o'clock news. We were out to dinner at that time, so the cameraman brought us a video tape of the raw footage and the final clip that made the news. We watched the video back at the hotel. Although we have been riding our bikes for 4 weeks now, we still giggled, whooped and screamed over the tape as if we had never seen ourselves before.

After dinner, we girls went over to the Wal-mart to get some toiletries. The clothing section caught our eye, and we bought identical skirts to wear with our team polo shirts. It being Wal-mart, the skirts were only $5 each, so we bought two different sets. You have to work to keep non-event life new and exciting on a bike trip like this. We have already seen all of our teammates' limited trip wardrobe multiple times, so some new clothes will infuse a sense of freshness into things, we hope. We bonded, anyway.

Barb, a rider from the first Five Points of Life Ride joined us today. She has kids in their 20s, but she looks very young. She says she and one other woman were the only females on the first ride - and the other woman left the ride halfway through to cover a sports event for USA Today where she works. Barb is from Ohio. She'll be riding with us (with her sister and 83-year old father as her support team) for the next 5 days. I immediately took a liking to her.

We rode on flat, flat ground in a pace line, drafting much of the way, trying to escape an impending storm. On the way, we passed through the military base in Lejeune. It was hot and humid, and the foliage looked like something you might see in Viet Nam. Signs warning of tank crossings and the sound of gunfire made the image complete. Cheryl was excited because Lejeune is Marine Corps territory. She rode at the front of the pack. Nancy, on the other hand, was overheating. She doesn't experience this type of weather in Alaska. We made sure she drank lots of water and poured more of it on her head periodically.

We stopped for lunch at the edge of the base, just before a giant bridge. I put a big handful of ice down my shirt to cool off. It all melted immediately. I wasn't too hungry for lunch. We all drank tons of Gatorade. None of us needed to pee much. This was all new.

After several hours of riding, we arrived at an island called Topsail but pronounced "TOPsil", or as Rodney called it, "top soil." Our hotel was at the far end of the island, so we still had about 20 miles of riding to go.

The going was a little treacherous down the main beach road. Sand drifts covered the shoulder in parts, so we had to ride over in the road itself. Although it's late September, there was still a fair amount of beach traffic. There was only one lane in each direction. I was drafting in a line with Ed and John. All at once, the storm hit. It started pelting rain. I stayed with the boys for a while, but soon was unable to see through my glasses - except for the distant flashes of lightning. That was it for me. Smelling danger, I waited a few moments for Big Belly to come by, and hopped in. Ed and John decided to keep going in the rain, the nuts. I followed behind in Big Belly, watching them ride through flooded areas in the road up to their ankles, through torrents of rain. Fortunately, the hotel was only a few miles down the road.

Shortly after we were all checked in, the rain stopped. Our hotel was right on the beach, and our rooms had adjoining balconies overlooking the ocean. The place was rustic, simple and run-down but perfect. Some of us took advantage of the break in the weather (me included) and went swimming. The waves were perfect for body surfing.

That evening, we had dinner across the street at a dive called Cherries Restaurant. It served mostly fried seafood. Local fishermen graced the bar. After dinner, we hung around on the balconies, had some drinks and watched the surf. A brave group went for a swim in the ocean under the stars. We watched some Olympics, too. A bottle of Crown Royal was finished off along with quite a few beers. We saw a new side of some people. Can't tell you about it now in case they're reading this. It was great to have an evening off.

We had an event in Wilmington, NC at 4 pm. Wilmington was only about 45 miles from our hotel, so we didn't have to leave Topsail until noon - a real luxury. I had breakfast at the hotel's "diner" - a section of the bait and tackle store with booths. Breakfast was grits, white toast, eggs, ham and very watery coffee. I had to pitch the coffee.

It was much cooler out, and we started seeing pine trees as we left the island. Rodney, always ready to have an intense conversation, started chatting with me about Lance Armstrong and how he didn't attribute his survival and strength to God. I said maybe Lance thought his health was due to his own will power and determination. Rodney asked me if I had prayed for a kidney transplant while I was on the waitlist. I said no. He asked if I thought my transplant was a blessing from God. I said I do feel very lucky to have gotten a transplant. However, I explained that I question how a benevolent God could give me a transplant, but let thousands of other people waiting for transplants die. We talked about this for quite a while, and the miles disappeared under the conversation.

In Wilmington, we went to an AME (African Methodist Episcopal) church where a blood drive was going on. We mingled, signed some 5 Points t-shirts, and rode our bikes in to the event again so a cameraman could catch it on film. The pastor of the church, a woman, knew all about the especially extreme shortage of minority organ donors, and said she had been working to dispel the myths the African American community has about organ donation. We had come prepared to educate her, but she was already well educated.

I learned at the event that a sub-team of riders (Nancy, Marsha, Barb and Frank) had formed the Sunday Riders Slow Club. It was a club for riders who prefer to ride as if out for a Sunday spin. The rules of the club are, first, go slow. No rush. No intense pace line riding. All the members of the club stop whenever any member needs to stop for any reason. Periodically, one rider reminds the rest to slow down and drink some water. The club heads out before everyone else to have plenty of time to do the miles without having to push too much.

After a morning of hard riding, I was ready to join the Sunday Club myself. I requested membership and was granted it. We set off a half hour before the rest of the group. As we left, Frank called out to John, "See ya later, fast boy." With the Sunday Club, Frank feels comfortable riding, and we like having Frank along on the bike. The Sunday Club's ride today was how Frank had envisioned the entire ride - flat, not much wind, good smooth roads. Frank looked as happy as I've ever seen him. The Slow Club seemed to be a great idea. We arrived at the ferry just in time, but without having hurried.

The ferry got us to our destination, Southport, after dark. We ate at the restaurant next to the hotel, and learned the great news during dinner: the hotel would let us do laundry in the industrial machines it uses for towels and sheets. We rejoiced. But then, discord. Nancy offered to do everyone's laundry. But she shocked many by stating that she planned to wash everything together in one load, using regular detergent. To add insult to injury, she then announced that she planned to put the bike uniforms in the dryer. Faces went white. Smiles turned to consternation. Nancy was not One Of Us after all, but an alien laundry droid out to ruin our precious outfits. Our world went topsy turvy. One by one, each member of the team showed his or her true colors as the Laundry Summit ensued. Rodney laid down the law: no drying. I wanted guarantees that only cold water would be used. Cheryl threatened to leave the team if anything other than Woolite touched her lycra. Marsha proved to be the most radical of all, insisting that jerseys and bike shorts be washed separately. The only point on which everyone agreed was that any contact between velcro and lycra would wreak total havoc. Many people refused to have laundry done at all, preferring the stench of human sweat to the risk of total laundry destruction. The comraderie was gone.

Those s