I will trade my classic bleeding eye flag for your story and a DPF donation

I have a terrible memory – all the more so for recall of pain and suffering! Poor memory doesn’t make for good story telling but here goes.

It was August 10, 2016 and my Maiden and I were in upstate NY USA for a Wednesday evening sprint tri. First I’ll mention her – the distinguishing characteristic of a beautiful maiden? You’ll find chain lube under her nails. I introduced her to tri and instantly she took to it like a ball bearing sits in its cup. Meaning the student far surpassed the teacher and she became an All-American in her first full season and she’s repeated that Honor every year thereafter. Me, I need the SUF Mental Training Program. She has a biker’s lineage – her Grandfather’s brothers were all winning bike races 120 years ago. Me, I’ve crashed more CAT 5 crits than I can count (so much so that I began bringing a “crash bag” of medical supplies to races). And that’s made me a bit of a connoisseur of road rash – I work in road rash “the way other artists master clays or oils” (see movie: A Christmas Story). The study of the coefficient of friction between skin and asphalt is my monumental achievement. Body placement, square inches and particularly abrasion depth are the key variables in how long one will be knocked down for. The impractical solution of full body armor works well on a horse but gets in the way of pedaling.

So why would I recall August 10, 2016? Because it was exactly 10 days before my Maiden and I were to be wed. I’ve heard many triathletes say “I can’t swim” - let’s just say I’ve swum into safety boats and routinely stop to cough the water out of my lungs (I also wear a full scuba mask). Consequently, my Maiden regularly beats me to T1 and she did that evening as well but not by much (it was a short distance). Her bike is the secret weapon that crushes the competition - cruise missile-like she says “give it ALL up on the bike” and she does while retaining the ability to still run after. On that particular day I was cruising feeling I may have been experiencing my life’s strongest effort. “I can catch her – can I?” “I’m gaining on her – no, wait now I’m falling back on this incline.” We climbed a small mountain and by the top I’d overtaken her – my first time ever doing so. “Yes, I am on my best effort ever!” “Keep this up exactly as I am.” I’m as high as a kite and plan to get my heart rate down with a quick break in aero for the upcoming descent. Reckless. “Now I can open up even more distance.” Garmin says 40mph. There’s a tight S-turn section with a steep blind dip leading to a long straightaway. Later, I’d recalled I may have been airborne off this lip on previous trips down. Anyways, I panicked the instant I knew I had too much speed and grasped for brakes. Next frame, I’m sliding down the road on my backside. Two ambulances eventually arrived and I refused a trip to the local hospital. I asked for Tylenol/Advil/anything really and was informed I couldn’t get any meds unless I got in for the trip. “Did you hit your head?” “No”, but the tip was broken off of the back of my helmet. This wasn’t one of those cases where you ‘rub a little dirt on it’ and mount up to ride back. My bike wasn’t even ride able (carbon aero rim = done – later a mechanic said that the tire would have had to have been flat first before the rim could’ve taken the blow – did my frantic braking pop the rear tire?). My Maiden drove us the 4 hours home while I wore nearly nothing. By midnight my road rash was singing and I decided to go to local hospital. Clothing sticks to ooze. I walked into the ER nearly as indecent as possible without arrest – no wonder I had zero wait time in the crowded open area of the lobby. For the next 10 days I lay immobilized on the living room floor barely dressed. The best part of the entire incident was I got to watch a ton of the Summer Olympics during these days while my Maiden changed my bandages. After the 10th day, I’d healed enough to put on a shirt for the first time and met my Maiden on the altar. And since then my Queen and I have lived Happily Ever After. THE END.

$30.00

Footnote: To tell a story of road rash is to tell a story of Pain. But to tell a story of falling from one’s All-Time Best Performance to road rash is to tell a story of mental anguish and Suffering.

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My story is why I burst into tears when I see the Arc de Triomphe. It happened today during Half The Road and badly last week during Chasing Legends. I’m not a French patriot but riding the Avenue des Champs-Élysées was my Mount Sufferlandria and I achieved it in September 2019.

It started after my first cancer in 2012. I was in my early forties and trying to be the best father to my girls of one and three years, best husband, best colleague, best professional etc. I was working hard and not paying myself any attention. I got really really ill and ignored it. I had Burkitt lymphoma which is the fastest growing cancer in the human body. The tumours double in size every 14 hours and the ones in my femur and humerus were huge and agony. By diagnosis I was very late stage and they admitted my straight into hospital and started chemotherapy treatment within hours. No one expected me to live but I suffered then to make sure I would be around for my family. In the first week of treatment I lost 14kg in weight and looked emaciated, and it kept falling. After 4 months in hospital I got home and began to rebuild.
I’d had to eat a lot to avoid losing more weight and got to enjoy donuts and donuts and donuts. In 2014 I was strong enough but very unfit so needed to get off the sofa. But what to do? Runners always look miserable but cyclists often look happy, so I decided to get happy and bought a road bike. To my surprise I found I was a decent cyclist and was quicker than most of the people I met. I did a few century rides raising money for Bloodwise, the blood cancer charity in the UK. The ultimate fundraiser for Bloodwise was the London to Paris ride and I knew I could do that and set pace in the fast group. I signed up for the 2018 ride.
Now they say pride comes before a fall. I started to struggle with my fitness in 2018. I got pneumonia and this started a series of tests which led to a diagnosis of osteosarcoma in my left humerus. I had to have surgery, followed by more chemotherapy. Ironically the chemo started the day I was meant to set off from London with Bloodwise. Chemotherapy is tough. There were days that even a walk to the bathroom was my limit before collapse to recover, but I was determined. I finished chemo in January 2019. I got back on the bike in February. Riding is a lot harder now as I have no shoulder on the left side. I can place my hand on the bars and use my fingers to walk the hand to the drops or back up. My friends were great and encouraging as I got some fitness back and I was determined that I would ride to Paris in September. I’m now permanently anaemic which is frustrating as I suspect this will always limit my fitness but I just have to work harder and train smarter to compensate. I did ride from London to Paris in September 2019 and I even got to lead the front of the group of 160 riders for a short spell.
As we rode the last few miles towards the Arc de Triomphe with the cars beeping at the sight of 160 riders of varying shapes, sizes and ages, it hit me that I really had ridden to the summit of my Mt Sufferlandria and floods of tears came out.
In the process my pal and I raised over £10,000 for Bloodwise.

Future goals.
I’m intending to attempt to become a Knight of Sufferlandria. I’m going to wait until after Covid as I’m only going to do it when I can attain the most local publicity and raise as much money as possible for Bloodwise. Hopefully later this year.
And I want to ride London to Paris again but do so in 24 hours as a much bigger challenge. Again I’ll be fundraising with this, maybe May 2022.

So I would love to have the flag as it does inspire me and I’ll pledge $50 for DPF.

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I believe we can all agree that @Fantom quests in life and achieving glory on the Champs Elysees makes him a worthy recipient of my flag.

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Absolutely no objections, well deserved.

Moving story @Fantom, thanks for sharing! All the best for your Knighthood quest, and future goals!

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I’ll trade my bleeding eye flag for a Ducati Panigale.

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Fantastic. I’ll send you my address. I’ve already made my DPF donation.
I will treasure the flag. Thank you.

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Agreed. And Thanks Sir Eric for your challenge.
However, it still leaves me with a little problem =No flag and no one else who wished to take down their flag - which does make me chamois sore.
The truth is all these other apparently “I’m offended by Nazi’s” flag flyers don’t feel quite so bad about the Nazi similarity when it comes to giving up their treasured flag as evidenced by the many flags I’ve seen displayed in pain cave photos.
I’ll rub a little chamois butter on it and make a full recovery. And then maybe one day I’ll even come around to accepting the laser goat…

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My hardest day on the bike was August 11th, 2018. I signed up for the Pain in the Mass 150 ride. I’m no stranger to long, hilly rides, but this was a big stretch for me. The organizer asked for your Strava link in order to verify that you had the ability to complete the ride before they allowed you to sign up. The ride started at UMass Amherst, and went to the top of Mt. Greylock (the highest mountain in Massachusetts), and back. The course had almost 12,000 ft of climbing through out the day, many of the climbs were Cat 1 or 2. The day before the ride, the forecast called for rain…lots of rain. We rolled out around 6:00 or so, with about 30 or so riders qualifying for the long route. After the first two climbs, the group thinned out to five or six others. I had never climbed so many feet, in so few miles. The half way point was the top of Mt Greylock, and naturally we were venturing up the more difficult north side and descending the south side. I smartly had my WiFli 32-11cassette on my bike, but was hurting. As I reached the summit, it began to mist and my legs were on fire. I thought I might have to throw in the towel for the first time in my life. As I began my descent, the rain came down in sheets. I regrouped with my group at the bottom and we soldiered on. Biblical rains came and progress slowed. Flashing road signs warned of flash floods. I had never been so wet, so cold, and so far from the finish of an event with so many feet left to climb. Eventually, I fell off the back of our group with two others. At the last rest stop we refueled and promised to finish together. With about 10 miles left, the torrential rains seemed to stop in an instant. Then I double flatted. I packed two tubes, but of course the valve on one failed and the tip of the presto valve went flying. After taking the tube of one of my new friends, I managed to make it to the finish line…barely. I was going to return to do the ride in '19, but had a hamstring injury and wasn’t able to train hard enough. I’ll return one of these days after the pandemic and do it right.

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@cvtrapp Wow - what a story. I have climbed Greylock a few times but never in the pouring rain or after riding from Amherst. Maybe I will see you in August 2021.

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I’m back.
I’m a little ashamed to say that the parcel arrived several weeks ago. Thank you Eric. However, I’ve had a bad back and haven’t been able to ride, indoors or out. I felt unworthy and didn’t open the parcel, but I’m going out to ride tomorrow morning as we’re allowed to meet outdoors in the UK with up to 6 people again. I hope once I get home tomorrow morning I’ll feel I can open up the flag and display it in my pain cave.

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