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 19th 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 19th 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!
A great read; thanks for sharing!
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