I’d like to tell you a story about my closest friend. It’s been on my mind a lot lately because it’s directly related to RICH’S RIDE.
In March of 1999 I wanted to try hand cycling; Wayne went along to help. I got on the demo bike and tottered along like a little kid riding for the first time without training wheels. Wayne ran behind like dad trying to keep me from crashing into parked cars. I imagine we were quite a spectacle.
I turned a corner, and suddenly Wayne was nowhere to be seen. Since I had no clue how to turn around, I waited. After a few minutes Wayne wobbled around the corner, stopping every few steps to put hands on knees. Seems he’d gone for a long run that morning, then came directly to help me without eating anything. It was difficult to determine which of us was more exhausted—me with my weak, skinny arms or him with his energy-deprived system.
I thought I’d have to give him a ride back to the truck.
Wayne and I shared many laughs about that day. The story got embellished over the years, but one thing remained constant: Wayne was always linked to my hand cycling efforts.
When I was tempted to give up, he ran along and encouraged me. When I broke down on the road, he rescued me. When I announced my plan to ride 1000 miles during that first summer he told me I was nuts—then he rode with me, made fun of me, and kept me going when I might have quit.
I recall the night a few years later when he told me about his cancer diagnosis. I felt helpless, wanted to do something, and it just seemed natural that the hand cycle would be a positive light in that darkness. His friends donated more than $12,000 while I cranked 1250 miles in a project called Wheels For Wayne.
The following summer we donned red shirts and cycled the Spring Creek Trail in Fort Collins. It was a wonderful way to celebrate the end of Wayne’s treatments.
I ride my bike nearly every day now, and it’s rare that I don’t think of Wayne in some context as I crank along. Maybe I’ll see someone on the trail who’s a bit too tall for his bike or whose legs don’t quite fit his body, or maybe I’ll pass a place where some funny event occurred. But somehow I always manage to think of Wayne as I ride.
Wayne and I used to talk about this crazy dream of mine to do a cross-country ride. He totally got it, totally understood why I wanted to attempt something that seemed pointless or crazy to most people. He talked about riding along if I ever got around to actually doing it.
I waited too long for Wayne to ride along physically—he left us in December of 2009. His passing provides a good reminder to not put off your dreams. But I know he’ll be with me in spirit.
Rich’s Ride isn’t really a new story. It’s another chapter in a tale that began on a chilly March day in 1999.
Thanks for indulging my nostalgia. It’s great to share old memories.
I look forward to creating new ones as we go forward: Together On A Journey Of Hope.
Peace.
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