By Ed Chasteen
I missed the last two MS-150’s. Two years ago Brian and I had slogged through the mud to the start line at Longview Farms. His mother, my wife, had told me that if Brian got hurt, we wouldn’t go on the road trip to Michigan she and I were planning just after the ride. A few years back Brian was seriously injured when another biker crashed into him from the rear, throwing them both into a pile of other riders. All went down, Brian on bottom. Brian was laid up for days and didn’t ride again for years. He’s now back for another MS-150. It’s his own idea, though his mother thinks I talked him into it, and she doesn’t approve. With rain falling at start time and a dismal forecast, I don’t have the heart to risk Brian’s safety and big trouble at home. We decide not to ride.
I had ridden some 4,000 miles by July 2007 when I went for outpatient surgery. Things went wrong. I was still in the hospital when time came for the MS-150. My friends had helped me raise better than $7,000. So Brian rode in my place. He would call me from rest stops along the way. He brought me my jersey Sunday evening after the ride.
Not until March this year was I able to get back on my bike and on the road. Dave Biscari brought me a state-of-the art stationary bike to ride in a spare bedroom. I was three months home before I could manage that. The slightest hills exhausted me when I finally managed to get outside. Just getting on my bike took total concentration. It wasn’t fun. But I couldn’t quit. A century a week had been my goal for years. Twenty to 50 miles most every day, then 100 on one day of the week. Rest on Sunday. That was my routine.
Not a single century have I ridden this year when Brian and I show up at Ray-Pec High School for the 81-mile ride to Sedalia. With temperature in the 60s all day and rain only threatening, it’s a glorious day to ride. Our good friend, Mark Turner, is with us again this year, and we three amigos spot each other at rest stops and along the road all day. Mark has been here a while when Brian and I pull into the fairgrounds right at five o’clock. We all arrive at the Ag Pavilion for our State Street Team dinner just as Richard Mark, our team captain, welcomes everyone.
As we stand in line to get our food, several riders come up to say they’ve been over to the main building here at the State Fair Grounds where the MS Society has set up to feed all riders and hold tonight’s program. They have seen the posters adorning the walls, one with my name and picture. “But no one recognized you.” Dave Andrews is the first one to tell me this. Others soon follow. “Must be an old picture,” they say. “You look a lot younger.”
Over a sumptuous meal of BB’Q chicken and brisket, baked beans, salad, fruit and veggies, ending with peach, cherry and apple cobbler and ice cream, washed down with assorted soft drinks and cold beer, we relive the day and swap stories. With a full stomach and aching muscles, I’m ready for a hot shower and bed. I catch the 6:15 shuttle to the Best Western. Brian and Mark go for massages and take the 8 o’clock shuttle.
We’re up at 4:15 Sunday morning. Shirley, the shuttle driver, promised to be here at 5:15 to return us to the fairgrounds for breakfast and a 7 AM departure. Over pancakes and sausage, we hear about a few spills and some broken bones from yesterday. When we’ve finished, we go looking for my picture on the wall. Mystery solved. Brian rode for me last year and wore my number on his helmet. It’s his picture there on the wall under my name.
The hills came later in the day yesterday. This morning they’re in our face before the body is ready. As I always have, I’m riding with rear panniers loaded with all I need for the ride. I drop to granny and make it up all the hills, but by lunchtime I’m spent. I’m at rest stop #5. I’m standing straddling my bike and talking to Bob Biscari when I fall to my left and hit the ground. Eager hands get me upright and bandage my bleeding knee.
As Brian, Mark and I eat lunch, the SAG driver comes to offer his service. I haven’t sagged in the previous 21 MS rides. I decline the offer. After a few minutes, I climb on my bike. And my body says no. Paul puts my bike on the rack behind his SUV and drives me to the next rest stop. I stretch out on the ground and doze off. When Brian and Mark come, I join them. Just short of rest stop #8, I’m dragging. Paul picks me up again to drive me to within a mile and a half of the finish line back at Ray-Pec High School. When Brian comes, I join him for the ride in right at 5 o’clock. Mark is waiting.
My other son, Dave, has ridden in earlier MS-150’s. Back in Lee’s Summit where both boys live, and after a shower, the three of us find our way to the Pizza Hut for a recounting of our ride and a review by Dave of the unexpectedly close game between the Chiefs and the Patriots, though, as expected, the Chiefs lost. Back home in Liberty before 9, I recall the weekend for Bobbie. Then to bed.
To make up for missing the last two MS rides here in Kansas City, I’ve promised to ride this coming weekend in the Springfield ride and the Topeka ride the next week. Stay tuned for news of those.
Hatebusters' Stories 