The Ride of A Life Time: The MS 150 Mile Ride from Front Range Community College to Colorado State University in Fort Collins, June 27 and 28, Which Forged a Landmark in My Life that is Without Peer

Multiple Sclerosis is a noble reason to ride the Front Range to raise awareness and money. It is also a worthy task to ride with people who are friends and support the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless team. There were many salient reasons for the decision but none measured the grit and gravity of riding for one's health and well being. When I went to the trainings three months ago I was not aware that the test for this gripping adventure would be my stamina and dedication to ride endless hills and ridges over a course of six hours daily. I did not believe that it was more than staying the course even when I fell around the second station in Loveland on the way back to Front Range Community College and tore the skin from each of the fingers of my hand and palm. I realized that this was more than a ride for a fund raising effort when I rose at 4 a.m. the second day and with a crick in my neck, a pain in my left hip that had dogged me since the onset, and stiffness in every joint, I rode through the darkness of the town of Fort Collins to Colorado State University and rejoined the three thousand riders.

At breakfast I wolfed down whatever I could manage and sorted out what I had to do to wait for the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless team. It was apparent that they were dragging and so I mounted my bike and waited for the sound of the start. Muscles inside were tender and unaccustomed to the fatigue of lactic acid build up. I am not a competitor and I never have been eagerly interested in sharing the space on a narrow ribbon of road with thousands of anyone going the same direction.

I have a bi-polar condition that has largely paralyzed my life. Hearing voices and seeing cars and bikes whizz by on a shoulder with the steep ravines often in perilous places that are remote and unknown gripped me with fear and trembling. I pushed on despite the anxiety that was having a field day with my aching body. I looked for places of refuge and then looked within. The disorder that I have faced since childhood has almost killed me several times. I have attempted suicide more than once. My mind was cluttered with trepidation about being alone but I remembered that despite one’s losses that my ancestors were all standing behind me and cheering me on. I remembered that to do, to live, to push ahead is the only choice that we have. Life does not go backward and I cannot change the clutter that encompasses me and the fear but I can look in the eyes of dread and say not today.

Reluctantly I plodded through the five miles of the town and the five more miles up the hill to Blue Horse Reservoir and over the first of two momentous climbs. I had seen the topographic map and knew full well that this was a daunting challenge to someone not in top form. It did not matter; I rode for myself, for the spiritual discipline of testing my endurance, and pushing on even when I was a wreck.

As the miles piled up and the "ayes" and speeches to myself aloud in Spanish punctuated the air, I grew in aspiration and determination. I grew in spirit and tenacity. I grew in determination that this day I would prevail and that God would be with me all of the way to buoy my confidence and help me to go over those hills and to waste not one ounce of strength to the end.

When I crossed the line and, I did with tears in my eyes, a powerful feeling came over me. I picked myself up at the spill in Loveland, and I rode painfully, with my hands and feet completely numb for miles and miles. The pain in my side was nothing compared with the pain in my arms, shoulders, and the numbness in my feet. I was cramping from heat exhaustion and I knew it. I had been trained in emergency first aid and safety. I was aware of the numbing tingling feeling in the extremities and the discipline it takes to stay the course.

When I crossed that finish line I heard the din of the crowd and I saw countless supporters. I felt that I was on air and that I was floating. I dismounted from the worn out bicycle that the Bicycle Derailleur had helped me build. I dismounted for the first time seeing for the first time, that I had crossed the channel between losing everything and being a champion on a hero's journey. The fact that I had been homeless and that I had lost everything in the time I have been on the street meant little to me, standing there in the heat of the late morning I realized that I COULD, like the" Little Engine that Could," I was a winner and I will always be a champion.

Thank you to the people who organized this momentous event. Thank you to the supporters of my team from the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless. Thank you for the many supporters who encouraged me and supported the MS cause financially. Thank you for my friends who have believed in me when I did not and for sticking with me through the dark nights of the soul. This day I realize that we are one and that our destiny will pass but our legacy will last forever.

“We’re here right this moment and we are still here. Before us does not matter, only now and we must resolve to dissolve and be in this moment forever.”