Bike the US for MS: My Story

Who is Angela Shaw? And why does she keep “liking” pictures of people on bicycles on Facebook? The answer to the first question is still under development, so let’s tackle the second…

Born and raised in Los Angeles, I grew up indulging in every physical activity reasonable within the confines of city living. I played street football. Climbed short trees and brick walls. Rollerskated down monstrous hills. And I rode my trusty steed daily: a 1974 Pep Boys special 10 speed bike painted in bright banana yellow. We ruled the streets of View Park.

What marvelous adventures we had: speedy rides to the library; super treks to the beach; escapes from neighborhood canines, irritated neighbors, and big-time bullies from around the way. When I went away to college, hauled it across the country to Iowa in the days when baggage handlers were absolutely clueless how to board a bicycle (“Dude, does this thing need a ticket?”). We had high times in the Midwest as well, patrolling roads lined with cornfields, cows, and the occasional swine.

Alas, it was in Iowa that I lost my faithful friend. It was stolen off the porch of my first apartment building, a 19^th century Cape Cod flipped to create cheap student housing. Snatched from the wooden stair rail it was attached to, I never saw my banana yellow bike again. And I learned a valuable lesson: Never trust the wooden stair rail of a 19^th century Cape Cod.

The next bike I got was when my husband and I were newly married. We lived in Northern California at the time. We spent many a weekend patrolling the bike path that paralleled the American River. I remember he outfitted his pedals with racing clips. Brave man. Knowing that my feet were unlikely to adapt to the trappings, I declined. I wanted the assurance that, if I ever had to jump off of my bicycle because of an impending crash, my feet were free to leave. The thought of being found with a bicycle wrapped around my body, feet still attached, was unnerving. More importantly, there would be some serious “swag” damage. I have my pride.

My last cycle was a “mom” bike, with thick road tires and horizontal handlebars. I only rode that one a couple of times, the last which resulted in horrible crash alongside a busy expressway. You would’ve been proud of me, though. I got right back on the bike, pedaled 3 miles, and arrived at my destination (a ladies meeting at church) with skinned knees, hands and bloody forehead. Yeah, God put the kibosh on that pride thing but quick!

That happened in 2001, two years before my MS was diagnosed. I haven’t ridden a bike since. I miss the feeling of exhilaration cruising downhill at top speed, the amazing sense of accomplishment of conquering a steep climb, the freedom of feeling the wind blowing across my face, fresh air energizing every cell in my body. The closest I get to that feeling these days is hitting the streets in my power chair ramped up to full speed. We don’t do downhill. I digress…

Fast-forward to 2010. After long, full careers in the military and ministry, my husband retired and moved us to Charlottesville, VA. We needed to slow down. We needed room to breathe. We needed to find connection with a community that understood the challenges of living with MS. Charlottesville not only had top medical care through the James Q. Miller MS clinic. It was also home to a well-established chapter of the National MS Society. Golden!

On June 3, I received a phone call from the chapter. “There’s a group of cross-country bike riders coming through Charlottesville today. Would you mind coming by to meet them? I think you’d be an inspiration.” (Nice move. Flattery will get you anywhere. Uh oh! There is that vanity thing again. Ha ha!) Nevermind inspiration part. I was going to meet some people who were able to do what I now only dreamed of doing. And they were doing it to fight MS. “I’m there!,” I shouted. We jumped in the car (okay, my HUSBAND jumped in the car after tossing me in the passenger seat) and sped to the meet up location.

My heart raced at the thought of just seeing bicycles. And to meet a crew about to traverse the United States? Beyond exciting! This was something I always wanted to do. Even though my physical ability was nonexistent, the thought of “riding” vicariously was more than enough for me. And they were doing this to fight MS. Awesome!

After drooling at the site of shiny, shiny road bikes, I got to meet some of the riders: a recent college graduate; a father and his two sons; a woman recently diagnosed with MS; a sixtysomething gentleman riding for a friend. And one swarthy fellow who just liked to ride his bike and stop for a brew every 100 miles or so. They were happy. They were humble. They were SO looking forward to the journey. SO pumped to ride for the cause. We shared photo ops, hugs, high fives and handshakes and promised to keep in touch with each other via social media. There was an immediate connection among us. And as anyone in the MS community will tell you, connection is the #1 enemy of MS. Connection counts!

For the next 60 days, I followed them via Facebook and Twitter. I swooned over every picture. Smiled at every triumph. I sent encouraging tweets and posted about their journey all along the way. And I cheered with tears in my eyes the day they dipped their tires in the Pacific Ocean. 3500+ miles coast-to-coast. All to bring awareness to the cause, to help those in need through service projects, to deliver much-needed funds for ongoing research, programs and services. All in hopes of a cure.

Bike the US for MS. I’ve followed this amazing group every year since that very first meeting in 2010. They come through Charlottesville every June 3, and every June 3 I do my best to be there to welcome them. (Yes, I will be there this Saturday… Woo Hoo!) To thank them. To have just a moment of camaraderie with others who use wheels for transportation. (Wheelchair. Power chair. Bicycle. We all gots wheels!)

So that’s why, for the next 60 days, your Facebook news feed will show my “likes” of all these pictures of people riding bicycles. These are my people. My sheroes and heroes. My warriors in the fight against MS. And keep your eyes peeled. One year you just may see me among them. Ride strong!