I Tried Not To Cry. Michael Beattie
like begging cards. On the cards, I had printed that I was riding twelve thousand miles to feed hungry veterans. A return address was listed that indicated where to mail any checks, as well as the Feed Our Vets website where secure donations could be made. I indicated a PO box to mail funds which I had opened under the 501C3 Biking for Vets.
Money started to slowly come in the mail mostly from friends who had heard of my quest via local media of both radio and newspaper interviews that I did. It was very interesting to see who and how much each person donated. I was thankful for any funds that arrived in my PO box as I anxiously stopped each day to check. A sizable donation was made by my spinal surgeon, Dr. Krompinger, whom I also mailed a letter to. In that letter, I thanked him once again for giving me back the mobility to even attempt this journey. I still find it hard to believe how such finite major work can be accomplished through such small openings in my back. A great surgeon, indeed! After my surgery was completed, I was so happy that I purchased a gift certificate to one of my favorite restaurants for him and his wife to show my appreciation.
Things were starting to pull together, as I was kept busy with trying to solicit money and eventually starting practice rides again, along with distributing donation boxes. I dried vegetables and fruits which were placed into vacuum bags in order to be mailed to drop locations that Sue would mail to me along my route as requested. In those boxes were additional protein bars, as well as begging cards and food items which I decided to eat. Additional summer clothing as well as maps would be mailed as I got further south into warmer weather. I would then return mail the cold weather gear and used maps back home in the same boxes as needed. I made an appointment to visit the Feed Our Vets pantry in Utica, New York, to witness the operation as well as to examine their books. This was a period of time when the Wounded Warrior Project executives were being accused of needlessly spending donated money, as well as their taking high salaries. I wanted to make sure this was a legitimate charity. Sue and I traveled there by car and got a firsthand look at the operation, on a day when the pantry was open for food distribution. While there, a local TV station did a story of my ride to raise funds for the pantry. The officers were quick to share their books with me to examine. After meeting all the volunteers as well as the officers, Sue and I left with the feeling that this was a great group of volunteer veterans who worked hard to provide food for those in need. I also wanted to raise funds for the local food pantry and soup kitchen that provided food to both of my homeless brothers for so many years. This pantry also feeds hungry veterans, so I was extremely happy to try and help them.
The winter continued to be mild as I was able to ride my bike often. I gradually increased the weight I would carry in an attempt to simulate what it would be like to ride fully loaded on a daily basis. Although I never rode with the full weight I would be carrying, I was satisfied that I might adjust to the extra weight as I slowly got stronger each day. The total weight of my bike and all gear would vary from seventy-five to eighty pounds, depending on how much food and fluids I had to carry on any given day. I was getting anxious to get started as I knew I must leave by April 1 in order to get through the hottest areas before June 1. Constantly keeping an eye on the weather each day for a period of clear weather was a nervous task. Then two weeks prior to my approximate departure day, I came down with a bronchial infection that kept me from riding. Now I’m worried due to my long history of pneumonia!
My doctor put me on a dose of levofloxacin for my lungs, but after ten days, it wasn’t working, so he put me on a second dose, along with an inhaler. In the meantime, I’m not riding in the cold weather, and slowly getting out of shape. This was crunch time, and if I was going to make the trip happen, it needed to be soon.
Chapter 4
It’s Now or Never
It’s March 26, 2016, and the weather looks like a three-day clearing of no snow along my planned route, so I decide to chance it and ride while still on medication. My gear is packed and repacked several times, as I try to not forget anything and to familiarize myself as to where everything is packed. From past experiences, I learned that the rain gear needs to be packed on the very top for fast access in a downpour. Keeping my butt and seat dry is critical to avoiding butt sores, not to mention trying to not get chilled in a cold rain. I carry a seat cover in my front access handlebar bag for quick access. I practice over and over in my mind how to quickly put on the gear, and in what order, in case of a sudden downpour. I’m nervous about starting, yet anxious to begin what I’ve spent so much time preparing for. Still unsure how I’ll handle being alone for such an extended period, I make my goodbyes to both family members and friends, never knowing if I’ll ever see them again. My coffee shop friends think that I’ve lost my mind! Many of them keep saying, “It won’t be long before we see you again,” laughing as if thinking I’d not get very far. Maybe they’re right. Time will tell. For me, it’s almost as though I’m leaving for my first duty assignment after boot camp all over again. Unknown, unsure, nervous!
It’s March 27, an early Sunday morning, still dark before sunrise, when I go to the shed to take out my fully loaded bike. She’s waiting for me anxiously to begin our trip. Did I forget anything? Over and over in my mind, I keep worrying, as I mount the seat and begin my ride in a thirty-degree morning start. I’m dressed warm enough and have a face protector over my mouth to help keep the cold air out of my still-infected lungs. I try not to look back at Sue when I ride away, as I know she’s a mess thinking she may never see me again. I feel so selfish leaving her here alone like this, and I know it will haunt me for some time to come. Sue lost her last man to cancer not long after being introduced to me by John. John is a good friend of mine that frequented my shop every day to share a coffee with me while I worked. This is how I came to meet Sue, and how we eventually started dating about a year after John passed away. It was a tough time for her, as well as me, to lose such a wonderful friend. Now Sue worries about me so much more than I do about myself.
As I leave, and prior to me leaving, I have the attitude that if anything happens to me, I’m grateful for having lived a good full life. A life filled with many years of a great marriage, and for a son that grew to be a good father to his three children. I worked hard my entire life, trying to provide for them, as well as for myself. Although I never made a great deal of money in my business, at least, I was my own boss with the opportunity to provide for my family. My dedication to my business and to my customers was always a first priority, and by so doing, I retained the majority of my same customers for forty-two years. Operating a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week emergency type of service business can wear on one over time, but I tried my best right to the end to leave my business on the best note I could, despite my medical issues. So, I can begin my ride with a pretty clear conscience. All my legal paperwork is in order, including a living will, a will and living trust with last request paperwork. It sounds a bit morbid, but just in case anything happens to me, I want to have everything lined up for my son.
After I exit the mobile home park that Sue and I reside in, I basically head west-northwest toward New York State. My destination today is to reach a small town called Amenia, which is just over the New York / Connecticut border. This means riding through the rest of Connecticut, including climbing through the Berkshire Mountains. It’s a cold thirty-degree start as I have my lightweight gloves on along with head and ear protection to help keep me warm. It isn’t long before I take off the gloves as I warm up from the riding and hill climbing. Not long into my ride, I realize my downtime from being on medication, and not being able to train, has taken its toll on me. Having ridden this same route on my training ride to Pennsylvania, I’m aware of almost every large climb that lies ahead of me. I force myself to get off the bike and walk several times up the steeper hills, rather than chance destroying my lungs or legs.
I held my grandmother’s hand as we climbed the steep hill up to the corner bus stop, which was housed in a stone waiting area complete with a roof, enabling one to stay out of the elements. Being deaf and unable to talk, Grandma Caroline never attempted to obtain a driver’s license. The Blue Line bus service came through Eagleville on a regular basis, so there really wasn’t a need for a car. Having a car was a luxury then, and only a few in this village had one. The once-a-week grocery shopping excursion into the nearby city of Willimantic could be done by bus. Other than the small Champlions general store in the village for needed items, the city was the only option for a larger variety of items.