When we picked up our race packets for the 50-mile Bike MS ride, a very mannered young man, probably no more than twelve, was there to greet us. “What name is the registration under?” he asked. “Erin Vore,” Erin said. The boy scrolled through the list, located Erin’s name, and then said, “Erin Vore! It’s Erin Vore everyone!” At this, everyone — which was three other people working the table — promptly came over and shook Erin’s hand. “You were one of our top fundraisers!” the director, a man by the name of Steve, said. Another man, just a volunteer, was content simply to shake Erin’s hand. “You’re an all-star,” he said. The twelve-year-old, who may have actually been a forty-year-old trapped in a pre-teen’s body, said things like, “You did an exemplary job fundraising,” and kept checking items off a list to give to us: a standard-issue Bike MS t-shirt; a Bike MS windbreaker; a Top Banana riding jersey (appropriately colored yellow), given to those who raise at least $1200. (It speaks to the generosity of our friends that Erin raised nearly $2800.)
“How many years have you been riding?” Steve asked.
“Well, this is my first,” Erin said. “I was diagnosed last December, and this was one of the first things we both agreed we wanted to do.”
“You have MS too!” Steve said.
“That means you get an ‘I Ride with MS’ jersey,” the twelve-year-old said, promptly taking one off the table. Erin was now holding four articles of clothing.
We felt like celebrities. And that, admittedly, is a nice feeling to have, and one unlike most of the feelings we’ve had since Erin’s diagnosis eight months ago. That feeling helped compensate for the fact that we had done absolutely no — as in zero — training for our fifty miles leading up to race day.
But you can get a lot of mileage off the generosity and support of your friends — both those who supported us (financially and otherwise) before the race, and those who showed up at the UDF on the corner of Remington and Loveland-Madeira … the only people we saw, anywhere on the route, who comprised a cheering section for anyone on a bicycle.
There were a few people on the ride who also had “I Ride With MS” jerseys, but the majority of riders were people who knew someone with MS; just wanted to support the cause; or were simply happy to raise at least $300 to take a spin from Bellevue, Kentucky, up to Camp Kern in Ohio.
What got us through the last fifteen miles — besides low gears and a lot of Powerade — was the knowledge that we have great friends and supportive family; that we are not embarking on the journey of life with MS alone; and that there were other riders out there with us — not just those whizzing (or plodding) by the cornfields of Lebanon, but also those like our friend Katie, who did the Denver MS ride, and others all around the country. One rider had a “We Bike The U.S. For MS” jersey full of signatures. His body was a testament to the names of those with the disease, his presence a reminder that while things like MS can isolate and frighten us, they can also be turned outward, pointing us toward community, interdependence, and hope. So we ride on.
UPDATE!: We have somehow graced the front page of the Ohio Valley Bike MS recap. As our friend (and Bike MS PR person/live-tweeter) Andrew Cashmere would say, “Boom.”