Our journey started with an idea—an idea to give back to others who couldn’t make the journey with us. We organized a team of KIPP student and teacher cyclists for the annual MS 150 Bike Tour. Each team member helped raise money for people who have Multiple Sclerosis—an illness that develops over time, attacking the spinal cord and the brain, causing a person to lose body function.
Some lose the ability to stand up, frequently getting dizzy. Extreme fatigue after simple activities such as taking a shower or walking to the mailbox is another symptom. After time, the disease primarily attacks the ability to walk and most people with MS use a wheel chair. More importantly, people with MS have the same smart mind and caring heart: they still read a book or do a crossword puzzle; people with MS continue to life happy lives with family and friends.
With these people in mind, our MS 150 bike team road many, many miles together—through pastures, on highways, next to rivers and lakes, up and down hills and over bridges. We rode in all the elements; yet neither wind nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stopped this team from crossing the finish line.
We began training and building up our stamina, logging miles and gaining confidence. Early training rides trekked along Brays Bayou, a cement canal that runs from Gessner to the Medical Center where snowy egrets and cormorants wait to catch a fish swimming upstream. If you close your ears and block out the urban noises, you are transported to Colorado riding next to a rushing mountain stream.
One Saturday, we rode next to the ocean; the menacing salty wind pushed against us. At a bird sanctuary we were greeted by tri-colored herons and white ibis perched on branches or wading in a small pond. In the midst of the whiteness emerged a flush of pink: roseate spoonbills—big flamingo-like birds with bills shaped like soup spoons.
Another day, we rode near NASA in the Space Race. We practiced riding in one line, one teammate in front of the other. We learned to call the biking commands to alert our teammates- “Car back! Car up! On your left, slowing, stopping.” We sometimes rode next to bicycles with small music speakers on the handlebars, playing tunes to keep the cyclists company.
This is how most rides went—exploring new parts of Texas. And on these rides, we oftentimes found ourselves along a long, quiet, meandering road surrounded by fertile cornfields or pockets of trees shading our path like an umbrella. Above was the big blue dome of the sky and ahead was only a long stretch of pavement—a black road that leads to no finish line, only to the next farmhouse where people wave from the porch: “Have a nice day.”
And on these country roads we realized that silence was delicate.
In quietness, we heard only one noise: the noise of our rubber tires on the asphalt going round and round and round...Cars were seldom, so two riders peddled side-by-side encouraging a simple conversation. We talked about the typical American life—the barns and cows and dogs and goats and horses and roosters and stables and windmills.
But finally, our training had come to an end. We had beautiful bikes, cycling jerseys, supplies, along with enthusiasm, confidence, and wanderlust. Time for the big ride.
Our MS 150 trail began in Waller, Texas. In one straight line, we cycled as a team. Different from our training rides, we battled a silent enemy: the gusty, cold headwind. We could not talk to each other, because we had to concentrate on the road in front of us, avoiding a collision with the many cyclists around us. For two days, we rode more than eight hours each day. Every mile was hard work—each of us had to gather our strength to battle the strong wind and reclaiming will to climb the next hill. In looking back, this ride mirrored what people with MS go through each day: overcoming adversity and fatigue to find inner strength to go on.
“Look over there!” We came upon a field of bluebonnets—a glorious carpet of cornflower blue in front of a beautiful farmhouse and white picket fence. The lines of cyclists stopped on the road, hypnotized by the sea of blue that stretched for miles, pausing to take in the beauty of the painting.
Thankfully, there were rest stops every 10 or so miles, places for the cyclists to lay down their bike, get a snack, and fill up water bottles for the next leg of the trip. During these stops, we heard one word over and over: thank you. To the woman serving Gatorade on her church lawn, our enthusiastic coach yelled, “KIPP thanks you for helping us!” She replied, “That’s why we are here.” To the policemen in the road stopping traffic, we said thank you and passed through intersections safely.
The simple words “thank you” repeated over and over. A man playing a fiddle by the side of the road thanked us with a song—at the end of a two mile hill, a woman with MS sat in her wheel chair cheering for us—and with American flags waving, neighbors cheered as we rode through their home town.
But the most poignant gratitude came in the early morning of our second day. Our team lined up on the start line in La Grange, Texas, cold and anxious to get on the road. The announcer was staggering starts so there was not chaos. Just as we were about to begin, he handed the mic to a man. We could hear his voice tremble: My brother is from La Grange. He has a family. He was a great collegiate football player, yet early in his life, he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. He now sits in a wheel chair and cannot walk. I know we will find a cure for MS in his lifetime. Thank you for riding for my brother.
Our ride imitated life. Ahead the mountains beyond mountains loomed--the kind of mountains scientists face when trying to find a cure for the debilitating disease called MS. Yet with each steep hill, there was a downhill ride on the other side—the steep descent where you feel like you are flying.
And at the end of the day, we look back on our road...and found that pedaling together as a team and learning about life along the way is the only way to travel.
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(Writer's Note: Eight 8th graders and six teachers trained for the annual MS 150, a charity bike ride from Houston to Austin. At the end of the day, at the end of our last mile--each member of our team crossed the finish line in Austin. Throughout the experience, many people entered our lives and supported our team. We each lift our helmet in thanks to you.)
