I am in Dallas where tomorrow I’ll address over 1000 attendees at the National Multiple Sclerosis Society National Conference. I’ll be on a program tomorrow night with Sue Thomas, a former FBI agent whose life was the inspiration for the PAX TV show. Also on the program is David “Squiggy” Lander from the 1970’s show Laverne and Shirley. Both live with MS.

I am as excited about this presentation as any I have ever done. In 1991, I started riding in the MS 150 bike ride in Northeast Florida. I rode on a bike that was as comfortable as a middle seat without a cushion on a cross-continental flight. I rode that year not to raise money but to have fun with my wife and a group of young friends. I continued to ride and eventually became one of the top fund raisers in the Northeast Florida Chapter. I raised thousands of dollars and rode hundreds of mile each year because of adversity – adversity faced by my sister-in-law and brother-in-law who lost men in their family to MS, adversity of friends and a neighbor who experienced the struggle of living with MS and adversity experienced by my dear retired motivational speaker friend Rosita Perez who inspired my annual “Ride for Rosita”. 

I didn’t know much about biking when I first started riding three years after knee surgery. Though I thought I trained well, within thirty miles of this first ride from Keystone Heights, Florida to Silver Springs in Ocala, I was off my 287 pound bike with a seat the size of postage stamp, praying for a sag vehicle and a treat. As I slowly and painfully walked, I observed a cyclist wearing the name of someone they loved on their bike jersey. I read the encouraging signs placed by MS volunteers along the road. I heard cheers and clapping as neighbors watched cyclist fly by. I made it to the rest stop and placed my knee on a glacier of ice and snuggled up to a Power Bar of Pain killer. I decided to continue to the lunch stop. On I rode, taking it one rest stop at a time until I finally finished the 79.5 miles of day one with a record setting average speed of 3.9 miles per hour, a police escort into Silver Springs at dusk and a crude certificate made by my friends that read, “Congratulations, you finished dead last!”