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Perry wanted us out in the hotel lobby and ready to leave promptly at
7:00, so we could get to our event at the First Baptist Church in Ocala
(42 miles away) by 10:15. We were pretty much down by 7, but we were doing
our usual puttering around, pumping up tires, settling hotel charges,
yakking, etc. Perry was getting anxious. He wanted us at the church on
time. After all, it's Perry's church, and there are over 2,000 members
in the congregation. Plus, Perry hasn't been with us during most of the
trip, so he doesn't understand that our puttering is necessary, unavoidable,
and perhaps cathartic.
Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He said those of us who were
ready needed to head out NOW, and the rest could catch up. At least some
of us needed to be there punctually. He motioned to Peter and Marsha,
who were ready to go. Then he said, "Janelle, come on. You come with us
in this first group." I sang out, "I'm Jewish," but I don't think Perry
heard.
Perry had the best intentions of getting a passle of us to the pastor
ahead of time, but they were thwarted immediately when Marsha's bike got
stuck in the easiest gear. The tardier members of the team caught up when
we were trying to fix the derailleur. Even though we were clipping along
at a pace that would get us to Ocala in plenty of time, Perry seemed agitated.
I rode up with him for a while and chatted. He made another comment about
our need for speed. I assured him that God was aware we were doing our
best, and would understand if we were late. This did not seem to be what
Perry wanted to hear. It's hard to control a big group of people - especially
us.
With about 20 miles still to go, we picked up a group of local cyclists
- most of them members of the First Baptist Church congregation. Many
of them were on tandems. I particularly liked the couple wearing matching
bike shorts of lycra dyed to look like cut off denim shorts. The woman
wore a top with long fringe at the bottom and white Keds. This was a formula
for Sunday morning leisure riding at its finest.
Despite Perry's seeming lack of faith, we did arrive at the church on
time. A big bunch of Cheryl's relatives were waiting for us there. We
did some meet and greet, took some photos, ate some food and made our
way into the church.
This was a church the likes of which I have never seen before. It was
huge. There were well over a thousand people in the congregation. The
church had an organ (no, not THAT kind of organ) the size of a small city,
and a choir and an orchestra. We got to sit in special guest seats. After
general opening remarks were made, we took the pulpit and told our stories
one by one. The congregation was very attentive and seemed particularly
struck by what we were saying. As usual, Nancy's story about Sean was
the most touching, and Frank did the best job of tailoring his message
to the audience at hand.
I was glad Perry was there to tell his story, too. He is a long-time
blood, plasma and platelet donor, and is signed up on the marrow donor
registry. His father died at the age of 88. One of the nurses there in
the hospital asked Perry if he was going to donate his father's organs
and tissues. Perry said, "My father was 88 years old. He had a bad heart
and bad kidneys. What could he possibly donate?" Perry learned that his
father could help 75 people by donating corneas, bone and tissues. That's
seventy-five people, folks. Just in case you thought there was an age
limit on donation.
After we spoke, Perry asked the congregation a few questions, such as
how many people had ever needed a blood transfusion, how many were blood
donors, how many were on the bone marrow donor registry, and how many
knew someone who needed an organ or bone marrow transplant. In response
to each question, an astonishing number of hands went up. The takeaway
message was striking: the Five Points of Life personally affect almost
everyone in some way. It was the first poll we've taken on this ride.
Afterwards, I wished we had taken informal polls at all our events.
We departed the service and ate some snacks in another room in the church.
Then it was time to be on our way to the next event: lunch at Citrus Memorial
Hospital in Cheryl's home town of Inverness. Her faithful, adoring husband
Chuck was riding with us, and doing a great job keeping up. In fact, he
and Cheryl led the group for a good part of the way. We rode past some
beautiful horse farms, with little shaded troughs where the horses could
gather out of the sun and eat, drink and socialize. Reminded us of Big
Belly.
We arrived at the hospital and mingled with the folks there, including
some Pink Ladies, as long as we could stand the hunger pangs. Then we
disappeared into a room in the building for box lunches. The lunches were
great - tuna sandwiches if I recall correctly, potato salad, two peanut
butter cookies each, and ice tea if we wanted it.
There was no official event planned, which was a lucky thing, since
we were feeling punchy and giggly. I can't remember what was said that
set us all off so much. It might have been Ed's description of how lunch
is served from the back of Big Belly:
"Hey, can you throw me a peanut butter sandwich?" "THWOK!" (Turns head
sharply to side and holds cheek in hands, as if PB&J had been hurled from
Big Belly toward the requestor's face) "Ok, thanks."
Or it might have been how much I was eating or that I was still wearing
my helmet, both facts of which often make me the topic of (loving) ridicule.
Or it could have been when some of the hospital staffers came into the
room and asked where each of us was from, and Ed answered that he was
from Sasketoon, Saskatchewan. Of course, he's really from Gainesville,
Florida, but he thought Sasketoon would sound more exotic.
Anyway, for whatever reason, we were laughing hysterically and could
not stop. The hospital staff must have thought we were completely loopy.
It's when you hit this stage in an experience that you know it's going
to be one of the best of your life. We didn't even sober up when JD started
spraying us with a water cannon.
Still giggling uncontrollably, we rode the few blocks to Cheryl and
Chuck's house. In a move that could only have been fueled by pure adoration,
Chuck had painted the garage door of the house. It has Cheryl's name and
her website, all of our names, a description of the ride, a map showing
how far we've gone, and today's destination.
We paid tribute to the door in the team's highest fashion - by having
our picture taken in front of it. We all sat down under our respective
names and did the mass camera hand-off. The hand-off is where you load
up one support person with all of your cameras and yell at them if they
can't figure out how to use yours, RIGHT NOW. The support folks just love
this, as it increases their dexterity and neck strength.
Well, just as Cate was taking our photos, JD came up behind her with
the Super Soaker and sprayed all of us with water. Rodney cried out in
protest over the violated rules of engagement, "Hey, man, we're taking
a PICTURE here!" While Rodney was complaining, John retaliated at lightning
speed by charging the enemy with a water bottle. I retreated away from
the front line of combat to watch from the trenches.
Nancy found what was potentially the finest weapon in our arsenal. She
ran to the side of Chuck and Cheryl's house and grabbed the water hose.
She charged full force, gripping the yellow hose tightly like a bayonet.
Unfortunately, however, the troops had not anticipated the length of the
battlefield. When Nancy was still too far away to fire, she reached the
end of the hose and was suddenly yanked back towards the house. The look
on her face was one of utter surprise and confusion. The look on JD's
was one of relief.
JD dove for the safety of the white van (the Average White Van, as we
call it) and re-emerged sitting smugly in the driver's seat. He scoped
the scene and saw that no one else was after him. What he didn't count
on was the wily wrath of mild-mannered Ed Hoovler. Usually not one to
engage in such antics, Ed sauntered over toward the van as if to search
for some food. JD's window was open just a crack. Ed approached with full
water bottle. He casually lifted the bottle up and pointed the mouthpiece
at the opening. JD suddenly realized what was happening, but at the same
moment he also realized that Jim, over in the passenger seat, had the
keys to the van. Helpless, JD sat there as the last dry square inches
on his thick khaki shorts became drenched. Skirmish over, casualties accounted
for, we continued on to the next adventure.
Chuck had planned to stay at his house and visit with his dogs, but
heck! - we'd already ridden around 80 miles. Just 20 more and he would
officially bag his first century. A major accomplishment was within arm's
reach. He had to go for it. The dogs could take care of themselves for
a few more hours.
Next stop was Brooksville, just over 100 miles total. We attended a
blood drive there, adrenalin flowing from our accomplishment and the fear
of another water fight. Hot dogs and beans were served. I ate a peanut
butter flavored Gatorade bar instead. (There's definitely something about
peanut butter on this trip….I've had a huge craving for it the entire
time. Not that you could tell, ha ha.) I met a very nice couple. The husband
had donated a kidney to his wife, but her body rejected it shortly thereafter.
Now she is on her second kidney transplant and doing great.
We rode on to the hotel, making our total mileage tally for the day
111 miles - my highest ever. We sat in the hotel lobby and had pizza and
- you guessed it - more beer and hard lemonade. The hotel also baked fresh
cookies every night at 8:30, so we made sure to be on hand for that event.
In a move that may have spared a few of the cookies for the other hotel
guests, John Nothnagel brought out his stash of care package food. John
wins the award hands down for food received on the trip. We suspect he
told all his relatives that no food would be provided for all seven weeks,
because he has received goodies at almost every hotel, no lie. He even
got one package from someone he didn't know. She wrote that she was a
friend of his mother's who had heard about the starvation ride, and wanted
to help him and the rest of the team survive. We have certainly benefited
from the cookies, rice krispie treats, brownies, trail mix, pecan pie
squares, pecan sandies, candy and muffins. All the senders always include
enough for the whole team, individually packaged. However, each new package
is a harsh reminder that John is loved, and by implication, we are not.
After dinner, I packed a box of stuff to be shipped home. I had to,
as tshirts and gift baskets were overflowing my cubby and my luggage.
We all have accumulated a lot of tchatchki, or mementos and souvenirs,
from all the nice people who host events for us. It's amazing how incredibly
well people treat us when we come through their towns. To us, each event
could easily become just one more in a long series of speaking engagements.
We know the drill, we do our stuff, we meet, greet and eat, receive gifts,
take some pics, and that's that. For the people who organize and attend
these events, though, we're something new, special and memorable. Every
time I start to forget that, I see someone getting teary-eyed as we ride
in, or notice how people's faces light up when they greet us. At that
point, everything becomes fresh and exciting for me again, too. I see
this rejuvenation in my fellow team members as well. Although I know it's
nowhere CLOSE to equivalent, I can understand a little better now how
someone like Mother Teresa could work tirelessly. Bringing joy to someone
else is a very powerful thing.
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October
9: Brooksville to Winter Haven, FL
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My camcorder has not been working. I have not been sleeping. These two
factors converged this morning. I woke up after way too little sleep AGAIN
and thought about how many priceless moments have not been captured on
tape since my camcorder went on the fritz. We were supposed to leave before
sunrise. It was windy and cold out. The first 20 miles of the day would
be on a busy road with no shoulder. Weighing everything together, I made
the executive decision that I would ride in the van for the first part
of the morning to work on the camcorder and do a bit of sleeping. Immediately,
I felt a sense of relaxation and freedom. No guilt. I'd ridden on that
two-wheeled contraption plenty enough to deserve a little break.
At breakfast, I asked Chuck Charles how he was feeling after his first
century yesterday. He said he couldn't be happier if he had died and gone
to heaven. He really meant it. Cheryl is a very lucky gal.
After lounging in the van, I rejoined the team at the first rest stop.
According to them, I didn't miss much during the first 20 miles of today's
ride. The next part of the ride went on a zigzag path: yea, tailwind,
turn, foo, crosswind, turn, ahhh, tailwind, turn, crud, headwind, turn,
etc.
Frank was our barometer for riding comfort today. We made up a new rule
for the day that we could only take a barometer reading by passing the
word down the pace line (rather than the usual way, via two-way radios).
So the front person -- usually Peter, since he blocks the most wind --
would say, "How's the pace?" The question could be heard, usually quite
clearly, at the back of the line. Nonetheless, the second person back
would repeat, "How's the pace?" and then the third and fourth, on back
until the question formally reached the last person.
The last person would respond, usually something like, "It's just fine."
The message would be repeated on up the line, with pretty much everyone
pretty much hearing it each time it was stated, until it formally reached
the front person. Then, the front person would feel obliged to say something
in reply, usually something like, "Okay, great." And then THAT message
would get passed back, and so on. Just like a group of people aged 35
to 52 united to spread a serious message would normally do. You know.
As for road conditions, the front person would ask "Is it like buttah?"
This is the code phrase among our team, created by Frank, for a perfect
road - smooth and flat like butter. But you have to pronounce butter "buttah."
(If you don't get that, I'm sorry. I can't explain it to you right now.
At one point Cheryl's husband Chuck was momentarily ostracized when he
asked if the road was like "butter.") If the road were a little short
of buttah, the response would come back that "It could be bettah."
After stopping for lunch at Sonny's BBQ and riding many miles of roads
that were definitely not buttah, we arrived at the Winter Haven office
of State Farm. People greeted us there with red and white pom poms. They
gave us some pom poms, too. We went into the lobby for some refreshments
and staging. The plan was for us to ride our bikes through the lobby and
into the main atrium area, where all the employees were gathered at the
balconies on all three floors to greet us.
I had stuck my pom poms in the sides of my shorts, so they hung down
like fringe on a Scottish kilt (it seemed to me). So I did a little Riverdance,
or tried to. Then several of us arranged our pom poms and did a little
group Riverdance. The receptionist in the lobby studied her nails and
politely said nothing. Then Nancy stuck one of the pom poms in my helmet,
so it looked like I had big red and white hair. Then we stuck two pom
poms in Rodney's headband, so it looked like he had ponytails. And then
we made Rodney some pom pom Rastafarian hair. Clearly, this was shaping
up to be a serious, mature day for us, as we dealt with the weightiness
of our mission and message.
We finally cleaned up our act, mounted our bikes and rode from the lobby
into the atrium to 3 floors of cheering people. We each took a turn at
the microphone telling our story. At one point during his speech, Ed said
he would be more than happy to donate his kidneys, but no one would want
them. We all laughed (not unkindly), knowing that Ed has a medical disorder
that makes him urinate with unusual frequency. "That's an inside joke,"
Ed said to the audience. "Not any more," Peter sang out. (Hmm, do you
think it's okay that I just disclosed some private information about Ed
on the Internet?) Hopefully due to, rather than despite, our presence,
State Farm's blood drive today was twice as successful as usual.
After a ride around the grounds with State Farm employees on their bikes,
we bid our farewells. In the process, we encountered the daughter of a
man we'd met way back at a pit stop at a McDonald's near Wayne, New Jersey.
The man had told us his daughter worked at State Farm in Winter Haven,
and to be on the lookout for her. Sure enough, we found her, many weeks
and miles later. I felt like it was medieval times and we had delivered
a message from one castle to another on our trusty steeds.
I headed out with some support team folks right away after that. I wanted
to get over to our hotel, find my camcorder in the van (I had no luck
trying to fix it this morning), and take it to a repair shop before closing
time. When I got to the hotel, I saw that religious services were being
held there tonight for Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.
Yom Kippur began at sunset last night, and ends at sunset tonight. Whoops.
I had totally forgotten.
On Yom Kippur, you atone for your sins over the past year - to God,
family and friends - and pray to be inscribed in the Book of Life for
the upcoming year. You are supposed to abstain from all food and drink
during this 24-hour period, for at least 2 reasons:
- So you can devote your full attention to atonement and prayer. Frankly,
this one doesn't work for me. Fasting causes me to think of nothing
but the food and drink I'm missing out on, until I get a splitting headache
and become quite cranky. It's hard to atone for your bad behavior towards
others when you're in the process of perpetuating more bad behavior
towards others due to crankiness.
- To remind yourself of how lousy things would be without 2 basic things
God provides, even for a day. I get this message loud and clear after
about 3 hours without food or drink.
Well, I definitely blew the fasting part. Eating cinnamon buns, fruit, muffins,
OJ and coffee for breakfast, Sonny's BBQ for lunch, and snacks throughout
the day certainly could not be called "fasting." I guess I could justify
it in hindsight as a health and safety issue -- fasting on a cycling day
would have jeopardized my health and safety, and the safety of those around
me as I grew cranky.
But now I had a chance to make up for all that. I could go to services,
right there in the hotel. On the other hand, I really wanted to get the
camcorder fixed and go out to dinner with the team. Most religious scholars
probably would not consider the two options equivalent. How could I justify
my actions? I couldn't, and I would have to live with some Jewish guilt.
That's life. Oy.
At least I did get the camcorder fixed. A grain of sand had gotten into
a delicate mechanism - who knew? And, to my credit, I did atone to all
my teammates that night as we got in the van to go to the Red Lobster.
I also waited until after sunset to eat the calamari appetizer and drink
from a giant margarita glass I |