Month: May 2014

Ray is still very much in our minds. Especially when we’re riding alone and there’s plenty of time for quiet contemplation. Maybe it’s because we’re sensitised to it but this last few days there seems to be a cemetery every mile or so. I mentioned this to one of the other riders, Randy from Nebraska, and he told me that when the pioneers made their journey west from Mississippi to California one person was buried on average every 100 yards of the way. Carrying a literal dead weight wasn’t practical or, when the person had succumbed to disease, advisable so an impromptu service would be held there and then before the inexorable push westwards continued. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, grandparents…all left behind. For those early settlers the collective goal was more important than any individual. I guess to that extent nothing much has changed. We’ve cycled 1700 or so miles from Costa Mesa on the Pacific coast so our collective goal  – the Atlantic coast at Tybee Island in Georgia – is now only 1100 miles away.

Rest day tomorrow. Maybe a bit of work on the tan lines – brown from mid- thigh down and from upper arms down but white everywhere else. More blue skies forecast plus temperatures in the mid to high nineties Fahrenheit (35c).

One of our riders, Ray Rickard from Carson City, Nevada, died last night in his sleep. From a heart attack we suspect. Peacefully we hope. And after a day of happy cycling we know (because he told us).

What can I say about a man I met for the first time at the start line in California just a fortnight ago? My knowledge of him is necessarily scratchy, built up of breathy conversations on the open road and chats over dinner. A couple of things stand out. Firstly that he loved his wife. I know this because each day he would pause to take pictures of the wildflowers he saw along the way and every evening send them to her. He showed me one such image he was particularly proud of – blue sky, orange mesa and purple flower heads. We’d taken virtually the same picture.

Secondly that he was a retired psychologist with the prison service. We talked about this as we cleaned our bikes – me with a perfunctory wipe over with the proverbial oily rag, Ray with much more care and concern. He was a meticulous man who wanted his wheels to turn smoothly. I like to think the work he did with people who fell into the US criminal justice system will have had a similar effect –  smoothed their journey through life.

Life is like a bicycle. Carrying us not from Pacific to Atlantic coasts but on a fantastical journey from cradle to grave. We know that like all good rides it’s going to come to an end. Just not exactly when. Last night the big wheel stopped turning for Ray. We’ll miss him terribly. Already do. His bright orange/yellow cycling gear and upright but efficient stance made him stand out on the road ahead (and he often was ahead). We’re going keep riding to the end in his memory. Today we passed the half way point with heavy hearts.  Tomorrow we have our longest slog – 143 miles from Chickasha to Mcalester. He’ll be with us every inch of the way.

 

I’ll get the light and fluffy stuff out of the way first. That’s light and fluffy as in cream-covered sponge cake. Chatting on the open road, as you do, the good people at America by Bike learned that Rose was missing today’s graduation ceremony at Sydney University. So they arranged a graduation cake big enough to slice twenty or so ways so we all got a mouthful or two at the end of our ride from Dalhart to Pampa. Thanks to Mike, Karen, Barbara and, in particular, Jim for such a touching gesture. He’s one hell of a mechanic fixing bikes AND cakes.

On a more serious note I don’t want any of you ever again saying what Rose and I are doing is amazing. What Ron and Barry are doing is amazing and puts our efforts into the Texas shade. Ron is seventy six years old and gets in before us pretty much every single day.  Less than six months ago he was being treated for cancer. The chemo sapped his strength, he says. But it clearly hasn’t sapped his endurance. We call him “Iron” Ron because he’s competed in no fewer than 17 Hawaiian Ironman triathlons. He’ll be doing a half Ironman in August. Never too old is his motto. I have decided to do this event again or a similar distance in my 77th year as a tribute to the man.

And now a bit about Barry. Barry is doing the event for charity to raise money and awareness of those, like him, who are living with haemophilia (a disorder that stops the blood clotting which, on the face of it, isn’t too good if you fall of your bike). He also has the HIV virus because he was given contaminated blood products. This is his second trans-American ride in two years proving there should be no excuses for the rest of us.

As Dylan Thomas put it: “Do not go gentle into that good night but rage rage against the dying of the light.”