DATELINE: Philadelphia, PA, June 4-7, 2015 Habitat for Humanity Ride for Homes
As the sun set on the 19th century and the new age dawned, bicycling was all the rage. Everyone was doing it. Doctors enthusiastically approved. One Philadelphia physician concluded from his observations that “for physical exercise for both men and women, the bicycle is one of the greatest inventions of the nineteenth century.” Prendergast, “The Bicycle for Women,” American Journal of Obstetrics and Diseases of Women and Children, August 1, 1896
Change inevitably meets resistance. “Voices were raised in protest. Bicycles were proclaimed morally hazardous. Until now children and youth were unable to stray very far from home on foot. Now, one magazine warned, fifteen minutes could put them miles away. Because of bicycles, it was said, young people were not spending the time they should with books, and more seriously that suburban and country tours on bicycles were ‘not infrequently accompanied by seductions.’” Cincinnati Lancet and Clinic, September 11, 1897 From David McCullough, The Wright Brothers
Oh. My. God.
I should have read McCollough’s latest page turner about the bachelor bicycle makers who devised the greatest invention of the twentieth century( in their spare time) BEFORE setting out across suburban and rural Pennsylvania by bike. I didn’t realize my virtue was at stake. And though I did arrive home sore in places that shouldn’t be, I attribute my condition to activities on the bike, not off.
This year marks the third that employees and supporters of Habitat for Humanity have gathered near Philly to begin a roundabout journey past Main Line mansions, fertile farmland, and free standing silos, all to raise money to build and improve housing for those in need in Pennsylvania’s largest city. The ride is capped at forty lucky participants; sum total raised in 3 years: $100,000.
I’m not a serious cyclist. Until I had the (good?) fortune to tear my ACL and have to bike to rehab it, I kind of hated to ride bikes. Since then, I have ridden a couple of 50 mile charity rides, and once completed a metric century, 100 kilometers, in pancake-flat Delaware. Years ago. So when my friend Graham asked me to come out to play on this ride, I had serious doubts. I was away for ten days in April, and couldn’t start training in earnest until late in the month, leaving me about five weeks to get ready to do 100k EVERY DAY FOR 4 STRAIGHT DAYS. So of course, I said yes.
Then I got to work. Habitat provided me with a coach, who told me exactly how to build fitness without overdoing it, suffering setbacks and well, just, suffering. I rode 443 miles in May, leaving nothing to chance. I rode every road I could find between Oldwick and Madison, NJ, in a 4 county area. Both ways, uphill both ways. Twice. And they don’t call it Bernardsville mountain or the Somerset Hills or the Hunterdon Hills for nuthin.
After a dastardly winter, the narrow, twisting, country roads are chock full of potholes, gravel, washboard pavement, and all manner of hidden dangers for cyclists. But the area is also home to the North Branch of the Raritan River, birdsong, fragrant hayfields, Gilded Age summer palaces, and Revolutionary war history. I love biking around here, and some of the best connecting routes are freshly paved and rolled, but I must admit, by month’s end I was souring like a horse used only for beginner lessons.
To break up the routine, I left the house on Memorial Day with eight little American flags, and I rode 49.25 miles, cemetery to cemetery, decorating the graves of veterans. Then, five days before the start, Graham and I met in Stockton, NJ, along with our spouses, Betsey and Kip, for a final training ride. Graham and I chose 31 hilly miles, which broke my spirit and reduced me to walking my bike for the first and only time. Graham felt badly, but I said no, this will make everything on the Philly ride seem easy by comparison. I hoped… A lovely dinner in Lambertville, canal-side, iced my bruised ego.
The night before the ride, I stayed with Graham and Betsey in the Mt. Airy neighborhood of Philly, and at 5 am, was awakened by a loud, repetitive, flopping alarm clock out in the street. A pick- up truck wobbled past the house, tire utterly flat and protesting angrily every time it hit the pavement. I took it as an omen…
We gathered at Chestnut Hill College and broke up into three pace groups, the proverbial A, B, and C. As are As, they embrace it, why not? But the B and C contingents alliterate and anthropomorphize, Bunnies and Cheetahs, though C eventually skipped on down to Dragonslayers and Bs became Brains and Brawn in the home stretch. I chose Dragonslayers, lacking in experience, confidence, and clipless pedals. I don’t like to be tied down to anything. Also, M, Mo, CoCo, and Susan told me that this group was the fun group. And that is exactly what I was looking for.
Blessed with a cloudy, cool start, we rode 58 miles that first day, but we ran into problems within a half mile. A woman was walking her bike up toward C Group looking pained and struggling. We assumed she was a B rider who had encountered some kind of mechanical problem, but she was not with our group. She had been STRUCK by a truck, hit in her tail by a trailer. She was ok and close to home, but it’s hard to imagine a more sobering reminder that many drivers do not even see bicyclists out there.
I buddied up with M and Corinne and we made our way out of the suburbs and into gentlemen’s farm country stretching out along Main Line. The vistas proved lovely, the horse and dairy farms flew by, and the hills were manageable, until the area marked on our cue sheet as Huff Church Road, a seven mile stretch, billed as a steady climb. We came up with some choice names for it on the way up.
Our daily pattern emerged- 20 miles to a well-stocked water and snack break hosted by our Habitat Restore truck, aka Mecca, lunch at a halfway point, Second Coming of Mecca 15 miles further on, and then Nirvana- which is like Mecca, only with beer. Beer is essential for hydration and carb loading. Nirvana is the end of the daily line, close to showers, dinners, and beds.
Habitat has wonderful relationships with churches throughout the state, and we were guests of three congregations for our evening meals. Cyclists eat. A LOT. Amounts that would be unconscionable for regular folk. It’s hard to stop eating when everything is homemade by people who really care, and appetites are fueled by hours of exertion. I had seconds at the first dinner and five desserts. Initially I took four, but I sneaked an extra slice of salt pie on the way out the door to make sure I didn’t succumb to starvation on the three minute walk to my dorm room at Kutztown University.
We felt like college kids, bunked up and living in coed suites. My roommate, Marty, was on the support team and enjoying time spent with her daughter, Emily. We discovered on day 2 that we went to the same college and graduated 2 years apart. In the olden days, this would be coincidence, but we were googled. Marty was chief cowbell ringer and very helpful and encouraging to all the riders. She was so inspired that she is going to be a rider next year, and I hope that we can get in some training rides together and, of course, bunk up again. Though she may get the top bunk next year.
Day Two took us from Kutztown to Hershey, 62 miles. Lunch was at the Heidelberg Family Restaurant, a homey diner that truly rolled out the red carpet for us. They provided us with cheerleaders, made signs, and gave us a huge private room, which probably was a good idea because we are a rather ripe group when you get us indoors. One of our younger riders, Charlotte, treated us to a piano concert in the ladies’ room. The ladies’ room? Sure. Doesn’t every restaurant have a piano in the ladies’ room? And if not, why not? Sorry to say, I overindulged and regretted it for the first hour back on my aluminum steed. Maybe I didn’t need both the salad bar and the grilled cheese. But at least I skipped dessert, and I didn’t have a milkshake…
Approaching Hershey, we hit our first real traffic of the trip, and by the time we rolled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, I had little interest in amusement parks. Shower, church dinner, walk home, chit chat, bed. Yeah, that’s about right. But I was growing into the ride, getting stronger. And birthday cake for the pastor was the only dessert.
Day 3, hot tub, swimming pool, Fired Up, Ready to go! Uh oh, Graham had a flat before wheels down. I filled my tires to 100 pounds of pressure and watched him change the tire, glad it wasn’t me. As we left the driveway, Jeanne exclaimed, “Kerry, is your front tire flat?” I admitted it probably was, flashing back to the ominous crippled truck two days prior. The first few pedal strokes of the day are so wearying that even perfectly inflated tires feel flat as a Wisconsin accent. Luckily, Sally, Chief Dragonslayer, has changed oodles of tires and immediately called for a pump. The support on this ride was the BEST. We had two mechanics, tons of expertise among the leadership, and full sag support. That means vans, not bras and girdles. So when you sign up, it’s BYOBAB- bring your own bike and bra. Everything else is provided.
Day 3 was a short riding day for studs like us, only 47 miles, so we had plenty of time to explore Lititz, PA halfway through. The irresistible aroma of chocolate hangs over the entire town. Lititz boasts a real live chocolate factory, succulent ribs, and tomato pie, a local delicacy. Chastened by the previous day’s experience, I maintained some semblance of self -control amid these temptations.
Climbing back aboard, with only 20 miles to go until New Holland and no Mecca planned, we were feeling so fit and accustomed to the work that we described a 20 miler as a short Saturday morning ride. Our cockiness is evident in the photo:
My favorite memories of Day Three are of the Amish families. At one farm, I saw a furrowing machine, made of wood, pulled by a horse hitched to a mule. The farmer stood straddle- legged atop the machine, and beneath him, legs stretched out straight in front of them, black ankle boots poking out beneath gingham dresses, sat two little girls. Seedlings of squash between them, first one, then the other would place a plant in the furrow. Across the street, a young mother leaned up against a push mower, resting in the shade, her lovely pink apron sweeping the grass. A baby of 18 months sat in the clover nearby. She smiled and waved.
Day Four was our Longest Day, 68 miles of hills. Sally warned us that we should not plan to rest on the way down, but stay in a gear that offers some resistance and keep going, because these were rollers, a sine curve of continual effort. I decided at the start to ride with the Bs, to join Graham, who was their fearless leader, and, honestly, to see if I could do it.
Many in B, myself included, felt that the first 12 miles of the day were something more than rollers. To describe the ride, I’m going to defer to a letter written by Wilbur Wright to his sister Katherine, describing a 31-mile round trip ride to Miamisburg, Ohio that he took with his brother Orville:
We ran around the track a couple times, then started South and began to climb the “classic heights of Runnimede.” In the language of the lamented A. Ward “they are a success.” We climbed and then we “clumb” and then climbed again. To rest ourselves we called out one name awhile and then the other. The process was exactly alike in both cases and looked a good deal like this only I had to foreshorten the top of the hill when I came to the writing instead of continuing it up about four feet past the north east corner of the paper. Finally we got to the top and thought that our troubles were over but they were only begun for after riding about half a mile the road began to “wobble” up and down something after the following fashion.
I thoroughly enjoyed the day, shaking out somewhere comfortably in the middle of Group B, working hard, keeping up momentum between the rollers. I rode with the breakaway group for a bit then settled in with Ed, who has been riding since his boyhood paper route, and has crossed this great land by bicycle. Three days before that trip began, he broke his wrist. He was told it was impossible for him to go. He looked at the doctor, and he said, “I have a recumbent bike…” and the doctor said, “That would work.” So he crossed the Rocky Mountains on a recumbent. This amazes me.
Ed and I shared a flat section before lunch, with intermittent hills. When the headwinds were strong, Graham sidled his bike in just in front of mine and let me draft. Jesse also helped with drafting. I took my turn and helped Elizabeth for a time, not that she needed it. I got to know more people, met Kate and chatted with Emily, marveled at Sarah’s work on the hills. And I started to dread the end of it all.
Brains and Brawn and Dragonslayers met up a couple miles from the finish and we pulled the last big hill together and arrived back at Chestnut Hill to the cheering of our fans and support staff and the peals of the cowbell. We saw hundreds of cows in our travels, but there was only one cowbell. Group A finished a few minutes later, and everyone was there to watch Tom and Sally stand on their pedals and complete our peleton one last time.
In all, we rode 241 miles, ate 241 pounds of pasta, 241 desserts, and raised $40,000 for Habitat for Humanity Philadelphia. A huge THANK YOU to Sally, who came up with this idea, to Henry, who took charge of it at Habitat, to Linda, hug dispenser, to all of the support crew, to each and every rider who offered encouragement, expertise, and companionship, to all the Dragonslayers who had to put up with my singing and my inability to read a cue sheet or turn my head to the side, to Emily and Kristin who willingly?? took over responsibility for this first time group rider on Day Four, and to everyone who ever yelled HOLE! or GRATE! or GRAVEL! to keep me out of trouble. It was a privilege to share the highways and byways of Pennsylvania with you all.
I am proud to have ridden farther than I ever thought I could, and prouder still to have raised over $1,000 for Habitat. I am hoping to go out on a Habitat build soon, perhaps on a reservation in South Dakota, and further the work by pushing a wheelbarrow. As a former horsewoman, I have plenty of experience.
Even after solving the mystery of powered flight, Wilbur Wright never lost his love of the bicycle. When he was in France, conducting demonstration flights for 200,000 people over 6 months, he had a bike with him. “Only by escaping out into the countryside on his bicycle could he have time for himself”( McCullough, p. 206 ).
True, the possibility of seduction does lurk out there. Try a multi-day ride, and you very well might find yourself seduced: by the lure of the open road.
www.habitatphiladelphia.org