Editor's note: Bill and Dillon attended the Ride for the Roses in Austin, TX on October 26, 2003

Roses in October

by Bill Garrett

Oh, what a time it was. The first real cold front of the year came blowing through Saturday night, and kept on blowing all day Sunday. I had luckily brought all of my cold weather gear, so I could outfit Dillon in appropriate attire. Dillon and I had bought his first cycling jersey so I layered over that with my arm warmers on his legs, Santa Rosa Cycling Club arm warmers on his arms, glove liners and the polar plus vest that I bought for him in San Francisco. I had on many layers as the 50 degree day was embellished by a 30 mph north wind. The light drizzle as we queued up for the start made me regret not having bought a second rain jacket while shopping on Saturday.

As we stood shivering on this cold Sunday morning, I could site many reasons for participating in this ride: perhaps see Lance; attend a big bike ride; support cancer research; honor cancer patients; remember cancer victims; celebrate cancer survivors. All of these applied to me. I had been diagnosed with tonsil and lymph node cancer in January of 2002. The cancer had not affected my health, but the treatments were caustic and hideous. Recovering from two weeks of chemo and 35 days of radiation kept me off of my bike for six months. My friend Mike had succumbed to mesothelioma just two weeks ago. Roelof was currently undergoing chemo and radiation. I had participated in the Ride for the Roses before, but it was a little different this year. I carry with me this scar in my life, and I was doing the ride with my son on a borrowed tandem.

We grouped up with the other tandems and awaited the appearance of the great lycra clad one. Lance showed up on time, the drizzle ended and we awaited the start of the ride - for about 25 minutes after the scheduled start time. Dillon was very excited and was not shivering uncontrollably like the rest of the crowd. The big money raisers rolled out with Lance and the tandems followed closely. The roads were damp and I was very cold.

As we rolled off with the other tandems, the magic and wonder of the moment began to sweep us down the road. Many of our cycling comrades bore placards honoring cancer sufferers or remembering cancer victims. I wore a yellow sign that proclaimed, "I am a survivor". I have participated in many cycling events since recovering from my cancer treatments, but none moved me so deeply as this ride. We started down a three mile stretch into a screaming head wind and when we took a right, the shoulder on highway 290 became our home for the next 15 miles, accompanied by that ripping cross wind. The rolling hills let me warm up a bit as Dillon and I attempted in vain to catch up with the pack that contained Lance.

Some of the riders and groups that overtook us in the next few miles were a bit discourteous and unsafe as they passed us. On an eight foot wide shoulder I captained the tandem in the middle of the right half of this space. The cross wind was throwing cycles all over the road, and people were passing on both sides within scant inches of us without the least verbal warnings of their intentions. One rider in particular swerved directly into my path as passing and I couldn't help but notice that this rider was wearing a sticker that said "Safety". We saw him hit the pavement a few minutes later.

But Dillon thought it was all a marvelous experience. He has never attended a large cycling event before and he greeted the cycling mobs passing us with humor and charm. Some riders greeted us with congratulations or other supportive comments that must have been in response to my "Survivor" placard. Others expressed delight at Dillon's obvious enjoyment of the day. All these comments added color and texture to the myriad emotions running around inside me on a gloriously magical day. The riding conditions were substandard due to the cold, the damp and a relentless north wind blowing out of a dark gray sky. Dillon, my stoker, didn't complain at all about the weather but was rather insistent about needing donuts

The rest stop at mile 20 supplied this vital nutritional requirement. I mentioned to Dillon that 70 miles would be a long day in such conditions and that I would not be disappointed at all to ride the 40 mile route. He wanted to do the 70, but saw the reason in a shorter ride followed by a large lunch.

We charged in the last 20 miles of the ride as the roads became less packed and turned directions that worked more with the wind than against it. We were both a little sad to be ending the day with just 40 miles, but also so glad to be able to get off the bike and out of the wind early. A few decent hills let us touch speeds in the high 30s and the re-convergence of the 25 mile route put many slower riders on the road whom we passed vigorously. The last three miles were back into the teeth of that ripping north wind, but did not diminish the enjoyment that we felt as we crossed over the finish to the yells and applause of the gathered crowd.

I was an incredibly emotional dad when I reached a hand back for a "one potato-two potato" with Dillon as we rolled to a stop. It's been many years that I've been showing up for rides and seeing what the day would hold for me, but this one will stay with me always. Dillon realized the special implications of the first bike event with me as we headed off to find more donuts. As I collected a cancer survivor rose, it would be less than honest to say that it was just the cold north wind that was bringing tears to my eyes.

And I shared it all with my boy, Dillon: stoker and donut hound.