The Ass. What is it good for?
Physiologically, I won't go there. But Physically, I could rave about its functions long after the sun goes down. Offering the constant support needed to rest the sit-bones when you tire, the Ass makes a wonderful seat. While standing, the ass provides balance, so that your upper half doesn't topple over. At any proper Dwyer family reunion, the Ass is an amazing expression of endearment. And while slow dancing with your sweetheart, the ass always makes for a delightful hand rest.
This weekend, my Ass-appreciation was taken to a whole new level.
'Team Jewels' has been riding in the MS 150 bike ride for well over a decade. Inspired by a sisters devastating diagnosis with Multiple Sclerosis, Kitty LeValley and the familial entourage have spent every last weekend in June, raising money to solve all the mysterious questions linked to this perplexing disease. How in the hell can we treat it? Where the F!!! does it come from? And why, of all places, does Salt Lake City have such a high incidence...especially among women?
We all know that the first moments on a bike seat don't bother the Ass too much. You slip your feet into the pedals, place your wrists shoulder distance on the handlebars and away you go, one knee-bending rotation at a time.
The route winds the Logan Valley like warm caramel drizzled over a sundae. Looping streets climb the Cache county hills to offer breathtaking views of green pastured farmland dotted with old-school dilapidated barns. The bright red paint that once covered the splintered wood has seen its days of weathering seasons and now shines a rusty orange. Rows of miniature houses that shelter little piglets and chickens border fences while simultaneously emitting gaseous fumes of Pig pooh. Refreshing gasps of air are interrupted by inhales of post-consumption farm feed, while your legs are in overdrive, pumping your body weight up a steep incline.
I have ridden the ride once before, but it was years ago. What I remember, other than riding on a fairly crappy bike that clanked the entire 150 miles, nicely commented by everyone that rolled by, was that my brother suffered some serious swelling of his gonads. A result of sitting for hours on the family jewels. When I asked Charlie if he was coming home this year to partake in the family festivities, he simply remarked, "Are you kidding? Don't you remember what happened to my nuts?"
I had every intention of investing in a solid saddle that would cradle the ass (as in mine) from start to finish. The seat I had was by no means what we call "comfortable" but I decided it would suffice. Bad choice all around. As mile 23 snuck its way into my life, watching riders nestled on top of what looked like a cushioned bench comparatively, I shook my helmeted head in regret that I didn't splurge on comfort. Lesson: always splurge when it comes to comfort.
An ailment that attacks the central nervous system, Multiple Sclerosis is on the rise. Scientists, doctors and researchers have theories; environmental, hereditary, hormonal, autoimmune, bacterial, viral.....but to this day, even with $500 million annually being fed into the land of research abyss, the ever so vague Question Mark still looms in the illusionary bubble above our heads. How frustrating.
Anticipating that the lunch tent was near, a woman rode next to me asking what mile marker marked her next meal. I shrugged and apologized for my lack of knowledge of the map. It is not that I hadn't looked but merely because I couldn't read it. Seriously, it was a difficult map. (Am I dumbing down as I age?) Small talk about teams and good weather turned to Big talk about diagnoses and treatment plans.
Karen started riding and raising funds for the MS society 11 years ago. What first started out as Good Samaritan way to kill some extra time, surprisingly turned essential when her doctor read her the results of her MRI. Many scars appeared on her brain and spinal column. She explained to me her devastation and even though a headwind was smacking our bikes from the west, I could hear the pain in her tone. I could see the tears drip down her sun-blocked cheeks. She had recently conquered a battle with cancer and now, what was supposed to be a downhill coast to retirement, was another giant mound of dirt that needed to be climbed.
Her story went from sad to straight up bizarre faster than you can say chaffing butt cheeks. Karen, raised and university educated in the Eastern state of Connecticut, lived with three roommates in college. Each consecutive year after her diagnoses, each roommate was handed their X-Ray. Each one revealed dark spots on their brains and spinal columns as well. Four women, same house, same disease, broadcasting somewhat at the same time. The only common denominator in the equation was their house.
My curiosity receptors went from tickled to stimulated. I was baffled. It was incredible to me. I immediately wanted the answers to so many questions. What brand of paint? What scent of dish soap? What same boy did you all makeout with? Who was their local grocer? What is in the water? Where did they buy their furniture? Central Air? or Swamp cooler? Vanilla or Chocolate? Dust busters or Hoover? I wanted to analyze every millisecond of their time together.
She was strong. Biking hard to keep a steady pace, she reiterated her drive to live each day as if it were her last. She hasn't altered her eating habits or vices to make way for new habits but rather surrounded herself by all things positive. Each of her roommates have chosen different modes of treatment. One, no medication at all, another, a 100% pro-biotic diet and a third, full throttle: western medicine style. Sounds like good material for a book one day...
I thought about her and her roommates the rest of the ride. I thought about Kitty and how her ironic diagnosis, after years of sweat and work for her sisters cause, turned much more personal just a few years ago. (Kitty's energy alone could sustain five rocket launches from Cape Canaveral.) I thought about my sore (getting more sore) Ass and was feeling lucky that the numbness, from practically sitting on a shovel all day, was temporary (or at least I really hoped it was).
Later that night I modeled our jerseys on the MS catwalk. Apparently choosing me for this was a bad idea because I was beat by a bunch of Donkeys. Literally, The Bad Ass Coffee Company has a donkey for the mascot and a pack of bikers that do century bike rides on their days off. Surprising right? As we have a naked, flaming woman on both front and bike. But everything about them screams Bad Ass. Not fat ass, sore ass, numb ass...just Bad Ass.
Sunday came and the attraction of golf and sleeping-in stole a few of my fellow cyclers. But camping must have been the secret trick this year because Kitty and I rallied. After a night of watching bugs scuttle across my tent, I woke up ready to endure another long day in the sun. The second I lowered onto my seat, pain immediately shot up my spine. It felt as if I was straddling a pogo stick....if you can imagine. Swinging boring golf clubs didn't seem like such a bad idea after all.
But than I got a glimpse of Kitty. She was rounding up her gear, cleaning up the campsite, packing up the car. Even after all these years of planning, scheduling, fundraising, organizing, team captain-ing, she still wore the spandex diapers and Velcro-ed the clunky shoes when all others were exhausted. And I thought about Karen and her 3 sclerosed roommates. And about Paul Matlin who can not feel sensation when he touches things with his right hand. I also thought about the 25 pound ice-pack I will be needing but it seemed so insignificant when held against such inspiration.
With SPF 32 smothering my skin and Mike Grisley making me laugh with every comment he uttered, we rode the last day bitching the entire time about how much pain we were in. But our asses will heal and next year we will don the ugly shorts, and I am sure I will still be too cheap to buy a more suitable seat, and I am sure Kitty will still kick everyones ass.
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