I’m often asked why I choose to ride my bicycle long
distances. The simple response is “Because it’s fun”, but I often add the
caveat, “It’s a weird kind of fun.”, and make some joke about wearing spandex
and getting sweaty. When I have the time and the intuition to explain further,
I can’t help but mention my father’s fight against lymphoma…
In 2012 I bought a used aluminum-framed Raleigh 500 road
bike from a now defunct bike shop. I bought it for transportation, but I chose that
particular bike because I liked the look of its drop bars and candy red paint. Soon
after, I began to use that bike for exercise as well and became enthralled with
the speeds and distances I could accomplish on that machine.
Then I built a fixed gear from a bike I got for free.
After that I bought a mountain bike.
Then I learned what a chamois was (for cycling).
Then I started researching and
developing training schedules.
That Fall I competed in a local Alley Cat (a rolling party, basically an excuse to drink beer and ride bikes around your hometown).
I was hooked; I had become a full-blown cycling
junkie in the span of a few short months.
Early in the spring 2013 I was encouraged by my friend and
mentor Perry Polnaszek to look into signing up for a “century”, a 100-mile
bicycle ride. It was a feat that seemed impossible to my novice mind and legs. After doing some searching on the internet I chose the Door County Century,
because of it’s relative proximity to where I lived, the time it would allow me
to train, and the probability of having my parents come along to cheer me on
and pay for the hotel room.
A few weeks later, while visiting my parents at their home,
my dad pulled me aside and showed me a lump on his neck. He explained that it
was lymphoma and (being he a physician) the probability of it being fatal. I was
stunned to say the least, quite literally unable to fathom the severity of what
he was telling me.
After that my
training rides took on a whole new purpose. They were no longer just
preparation for an endurance event, but rather a meditative escape. I used the
hours spent riding to reflect on the mortality of my father (and myself), my
faith in God, the ugliness of cancer, the wonders of modern medicine, Top-40
music, and life in general. By the end of the summer I was well prepared for the century
physically. But, as I was soon to find out, I wasn’t prepared emotionally and,
really, there’s no way I could have been.
My parents were able to come along as support (dad took sick
leave from work, which freed up his schedule greatly). The day I picked them up
to continue on to Sturgeon Bay (the ride’s start point) was the first time in my life that I saw my father without
a mustache. Chemo had culled the majority of his upper-lip fur and that morning
he decided to shave off what little remained. Not only had cancer treatment
accelerated the loss of hair on the top of his head (a hereditary Writz trait) but it had
also taken what I thought was a permanent facial feature away from my dad. I was shaken to say the least.
I don’t remember the majority of the ride itself: pit stops
and difficult hills are vague highlights and I have a general recollection of
the beauty of the route I was on for around 8 hours. The memories that have
retained their crystal-clarity all happened in the last 10 miles. As a solo rider I ended up riding and
talking with several different groups throughout the day because of my pace and
the time I took to rest and eat at designated stops. The cyclists in the last
group I approached on the road were all adorned with purple and white jerseys.
As a rode close enough to converse and read their jerseys I came to find out
that they were members of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I spent the
remainder of the ride with this group, holding back tears, absorbing the sense
of accomplishment, and simply enjoying the scenery.
As I approached the finish line, I could hear my parents
cheering for me, and navigated the last few hundred feet overwhelmed by emotions
and tears. I put my bike on a nearby rack, hugged my parents, posed for
pictures, and inhaled a pasta dinner while watching the Packers play the
Chiefs, conversing with a couple from Milwaukee who had done the ride on a
tandem.
(Dad, mom, and me at the finish line)
Dad’s been in remission since that Fall (a detail I always forget to include when I’m telling this story, because I know he’s ok). This July he turns 60 and I can’t think of a better gift to give him than riding the Scenic Shores 150 in his honor and as a celebration of his life before and after cancer.
If you're interested in supporting me financially on this ride please visit my donation page: http://events.lls.org/pages/wi/2017ScenicShore150/PWritz
