Vet team rides for life
It was with considerable trepidation that I recently succumbed to the persuasive guiles of two of our College's clinicians - Drs. Jamie Morrisey and Susie Fubini - and agreed to join Cornell's Veterinary Bikers team for the Ride for Life. This is an annual bicycle journey of 87 to 105 miles around Cayuga Lake sponsored by the Southern Tier Aids Program. Our goal was to raise awareness of and, of more practical importance, money to support AIDS research and treatment programs in central New York.
For anyone unfamiliar with the Finger Lakes area of central New York, it is readily distinguishable from Kansas. Remember those glaciers? Sheets of ice over a mile high that pressed upon a former oceanic bed and, as a result of the incredible pressures generated, carved out a series of north-south lakes, continually filled by rivers and streams flowing in from the east or west. Between these streams the terrain can rise quickly up to 400 feet above lake level, forming rolling hills dotted with cornfields, pastures, and woodlands, all punctuated by drops back down to the lake shore.
I needed to prepare for this. True, I do ride a bike most days to work, but this is a meager 2 mile commute. Some Sunday afternoons will find me cycling the countryside, generally ensuring that no ice cream cones sold in central New York remain untested and no wildflowers elude my photographic capture. And those skinny-tired road bikes seem just too uncomfortable for my aging bones, so I happily pedal along on wide tires and load my rack-mounted pack with water, snacks, cameras, maps, and clothes for any changes Ithaca's unpredictable weather might produce.
My planned preparations for the Ride for Life included taking longer rides to gain endurance, but these are best described as well-intended rather than fully executed. Knowing the importance of a solid nutritional plan but unsure of the orientation of the food pyramid, our group of fifteen faculty, residents, and students met for pizza and beer the evening before the trek; this was the closest to a pelethon we achieved. Then, donning Veterinary Bikers cycling shirts - my first intimate bonding with spandex - I arrived predawn at Stewart Park, beside the southern shore of Cayuga Lake, fully prepared on an overcast September morning. Prepared, that is, except for the water bottles that I'd left at home, creating the need to awaken a sleeping spouse who, with surprisingly good spirits, handed them to me as I began the ride.
As the sun began to rise, my first inkling that this was not what I'd expected manifested itself in the diversity of riders among the over 380 cyclists queued for the event. Most, like me, were not particularly svelte or muscled, a few were older (don't ask) and others were barely teens. I bonded vicariously with those few comrades on mountain bikes.
The first long hill out of Ithaca seemed relatively effortless, as I was fully distracted by the peacefulness of the fog-shrouded lake on my left and, unexpectedly, the cheers and waves by scores of early rising supporters for the cause, many holding signs of encouragement. This was not a typical quiet ride in the country.
The second long hill was a shock to the core. A rider ahead of me was down, and in serious trouble. The support staff waved us by while volunteers administered CPR. Not a member of our Veterinary team, I noted, but still one of us, doing the same thing we were doing - riding to help save lives, not thinking of a risk to our own. As I internalized the potential consequences for this fellow rider and his family, my previous focus on hamstrings, tire pressure, and Gatorade seemed somehow irrelevant.
There followed a 10-mile stretch about which I remember very little; it was a time for introspection, not sight-seeing.
The first pit stop, at the King Ferry Winery, presented the largest pyramid of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I'd ever seen. These folks, I realized, were connoisseurs of "gourmet food for cyclists"! Fed and watered, we regrouped, spoke quietly about our concern for a fallen fellow rider, remounted, and headed north.
And so it went for the miles. We rode alone or in pairs and spoke equally familiarly with strangers and teammates as we passed, complaining about the lengths of the ascents and brevity of descents. To one young rider from Binghamton I explained how Wells College in Aurora came to be, and recently became a co-educational school. With another we discussed the campaign of Gen. John Sullivan, who in 1779 burned the nearby villages of the Cayuga Indians, some of whom had sided with the British. And later, approaching Seneca Falls, I talked with a young fellow about the history and 19th century commercial importance of the Erie Canal system, parts of which still connect the Finger Lakes to Lakes Erie and Ontario and to the Hudson River. At each pit stop we were cheered, well fed, and at the half-way stop were offered quick massages by students from the Finger Lakes School of Massage. Not my typical quiet ride in the country.
Turning south and heading home, the number of hand-drawn roadside signs supporting us increased, especially along the dreaded triple hill from Taughannock Park. Despite my sore legs and chafed butt, these constant encouragements excised any thought of quitting. Just this one last hill to climb.
Turning into Cass Park at mile 87 was an unforgettable and unexpectedly moving experience. Strangers clapped and cheered as though each of us were Lance Armstrong winning his fifth Tour de France. Then a young lady came up to me, put a medal around my neck, and told me I was her hero.
Me? A medal for something athletic; that's certainly a first. The real medal winners are all those wonderful support staff who ensured our safety and showered us with affection, gratitude, and limitless quantities of food and water.
Me? A hero? I was too rattled and tired to argue, but the heroes are those who struggle with diseases such as AIDS, cancer, stroke, many of whom are robbed of the opportunities to enjoy outdoor activities and celebrate living as they might like. The fallen cyclist is a hero, as are those who tried in vain to revive him. The hundreds of volunteers who worked to make our ride a safe and enriching experience are heroes. It is a very long list, and at best my fellow cyclists and members of the Veterinary Bikers team warrant a footnote at the bottom, perhaps one that says the $8000 we raised in the Veterinary College helped lessen the plight of one of the real heroes.
I'd like to think that next year I will train better, have the food pyramid properly oriented, and remember my water bottles. But, as I discovered, while all of these details are important, none rival the profound sense of accomplishment derived by participating in this event. It was, after all, merely a few thousand calories and one day's activity for me, our team and, except for one, the hundreds of other riders. For many of those who the Ride for Life supports, it is a lifetime of struggle - their medal: survival.
Drew Noden is Professor of Anatomy and Animal Development in the Department of Biomedical Sciences, and also serves as Secretary to the Faculty. He is known outside of Ithaca primarily for his three decades of NIH-supported research on the development of craniofacial tissues, and in the local community for his role as coordinator of the annual Ithaca Festival Parade. Cornell Veterinary students know him for his animated Embryology lectures and frequent use of balloons, handpuppets, and inpromptu in class theatrics that entertain as well as help instill the concepts underlying animal development and malformations.