And the final numbers are

Good morning to everyone that donated the final numbers are in for a total collection of hard work and efforts:

The results are in for the 2025 Great Cycle Challenge...

Together, we have raised $7,198,581 to fight kids' cancer! 🎉

Not to bad at all! “Thank you all”

Bill

“The Ride Ends, But the Mission Rolls On”

So the goal was 250 miles… and I ended up riding 260. Apparently, I don’t understand the concept of “stop.” Guess my legs decided, “Hey, while we’re here let’s tack on a bonus 10.”

But here’s the real kicker — today the 2025 Great Cycle Challenge comes to a close, and together all the riders managed to rack up some absolutely crazy numbers:

🚴 1,608,489 miles ridden (for reference, that’s basically circling the Earth about 65 times, or just trying to find a parking spot at Costco).

💰 $6,800,096 raised (which, in today’s economy, buys about 12 gallons of gas or a dozen eggs— but in the fight against childhood cancer, it’s priceless).

Let’s be clear: those numbers aren’t just impressive, they’re life-changing. Every dollar, every pedal stroke, every time I got off my bike looking like I’d just got trampled at the all you can eat buffet— it all mattered.

So from the bottom of my tired legs and grateful heart: Thank you to everyone who donated, cheered, tolerated my whining, and believed in this mission. You helped turn a crazy bike challenge into real hope for kids who need it most.

Mission complete. Heart overflowing!

Thank you all,

Already looking forward to next year 😄

205 Miles of Sweat, Snacks, and Sore Spots”

Well, here we are, folks — 205 miles into this 250-mile ride for children’s cancer. Let me tell you, my legs now communicate exclusively in curse words, and my bike seat and I are no longer on speaking terms.

I’ve got 5 days left, which means I’ve been doing math in my head like a Tour de France dropout: “If I ride X miles per day while eating Y amount of granola bars and praying Z number of times for a tailwind, I might just cross the finish line upright.”

The truth is, every single mile hurts in ways I can’t explain without a medical diagram, but every single mile also matters. This ride isn’t about me whining over sore quads — it’s about kids and families who fight a battle way tougher than a few days on a bike. They don’t get to coast downhill or shift into an easier gear, and that’s why I keep pedaling.

I’m thankful for everyone who’s cheered me on, donated, or just refrained from yelling, “Hey, Tour de France reject!” as I wobble past. Your support keeps me going — that and the promise of a celebratory cheeseburger the size of my helmet when this thing is over.

So here’s to the last 45 miles. Five days, one tired rider, and a whole lot of heart left to give. Stick with me, keep cheering, and if you see me on the road, maybe toss a Gatorade my way. Just don’t aim for the helmet — my balance is sketchy enough already.

Week Four: The Final Push

Well, here we are—week four. Out of the original 250 miles, I’ve chewed through 160, and I’ve got 90 left staring me down like the last slice of pizza nobody wants to admit they’re too full to eat. Except this slice is uphill, sweaty, and does nothing for my blood sugar.

I’m not gonna lie—my legs feel like they’ve been through a meat grinder, my butt is petitioning for emancipation, and I’m starting to think my bike seat is actually a medieval torture device designed by someone who really hated cyclists. But here’s the deal: I didn’t sign up for “easy.” I signed up to ride for kids fighting cancer, and let’s face it—they don’t get to tap out when things get tough. So I’m not either.

This last stretch—90 miles—means every crank of the pedal is one step closer to proving that stubbornness, sweat, and maybe a little stupidity can add up to something meaningful.

So if you see me out there this week, don’t be alarmed if I look like I’m auditioning for a zombie apocalypse movie. Just honk, wave, or better yet—throw snacks. I’ll catch them. Probably.

And hey, if you haven’t already, consider tossing a donation into the pot. Every mile I ride is for the kids who can’t, and every dollar helps keep the fight alive.

90 to go. Let’s finish this thing strong.

Children’s Cancer Ride – Rolling Into Week 3

Well folks, I’ve officially pedaled my way through 123 miles of this 250-mile ride. That’s right — I’m past the halfway mark. My legs are somewhere between “Tour de France hero” and “old man yelling at clouds.”

So what’s left? Just 127 more miles. Piece of cake, right? Except the cake is made of asphalt, sweat, and me cursing at hills that seem to get taller every damn day.

But here’s the thing — every push on those pedals matters. Every sore muscle, every groan when I sit down on a hard chair, it’s all for something bigger than me: fighting childhood cancer. Those kids don’t get to tap out when it hurts, so neither do I.

If you’ve already donated, you rock harder than AC/DC on a Friday night. If you haven’t yet, well… consider this your guilt-trip wrapped in sarcasm. Toss a few bucks toward the cause — it’ll go further than my hamstrings ever will.

Now buckle up, because Week 3 is where I either become a legend… or a meme.

🚴week 2: Rolling Strong, Closing in on 100 Miles 🚴

Two weeks down, and the legs are starting to get that familiar burn that says, “Yeah, you’re doing something that matters.” I’m closing in on 100 miles in my ride for children’s cancer, and while the saddle time is no joke, it doesn’t compare to what these kids face every single day. That’s why I keep pedaling forward.

This week had its share of sweat, heavy legs, and a few mental battles, but every turn of the crank is fuel for the bigger mission: raising awareness and support for children fighting cancer. Heading into week 3, the momentum is there, the miles are stacking up, and the finish line at 250 miles is looking a little closer.

If you’ve already supported this cause—thank you from the bottom of my heart. You’re part of this ride. If you haven’t yet, there’s still plenty of road left to jump in and make a difference. Every little bit adds up, just like every mile on the bike.

Onward to week 3. Let’s keep those wheels turning.

Week 2: The Grind is Real, But So is the Goal

Alright, I’m officially past the honeymoon phase of this ride. The first 60 miles were pure adrenaline — the excitement of starting, the buzz of week one. But week two? That’s when the ride looks you dead in the eye and says, “Okay, tough guy, let’s see what you’ve really got.”

The legs are heavier, the saddle feels like it’s got a personal grudge against me, and the weather doesn’t always cooperate. But here’s the thing: every time I start thinking about how sore I am, I remember the kids I’m riding for. They don’t get a break. They don’t get to call “time out” on chemo, on treatments, on the hard stuff. And if they can keep pushing, so can I.

There’s something gritty and honest about week two — it’s not shiny, it’s not easy, but it’s real progress. The miles are stacking up, the finish line is still a ways off, but the mission feels stronger than ever.

So here I am, pressing forward. Another chunk of the 250 knocked down, another reminder that we’re all stronger than we think.

(If you’d like to back this ride and help in the fight against children’s cancer, any donation — big or small — adds fuel to the cause. No pressure, just impact.)

60+ Miles Down — First Week in the Books!

One week in, over 60 miles behind me, and I’ve got to tell you — I feel pumped. Not just “I had a good workout” pumped. I mean full-on, heart-thumping, legs-burning, this is bigger than me kind of pumped.

When I first set out on this 250-mile ride for children’s cancer, I knew it would be a grind. But what I didn’t expect was how much energy I’d pull from every single mile. Each push of the pedals isn’t just forward motion — it’s a reminder that kids battling cancer don’t get to stop when they’re tired. They don’t get to coast downhill when the climb feels endless. They fight every single day.

This week taught me something: the road is long, but it feels a whole lot shorter when you’ve got purpose riding shotgun.

So here I am, legs sore, seat definitely not winning any comfort awards, but spirit sky-high. 60+ miles down, 190 more to go. Every crank forward is for those kids and their families — because they deserve to see finish lines too.

Week two, I’m coming for you.

(If you’d like to support the ride and help the fight against children’s cancer, even a small donation makes a big difference. No pressure — just gratitude.)

Day 1: 16 Miles Down – 234 to Go!

Well, the wheels are officially turning. Today I kicked off my 250-mile challenge for children’s cancer ride and logged my first 16 miles. It wasn’t about speed records or showing off—it was about putting one pedal stroke in front of the other and starting this journey strong.

Every mile today reminded me why I’m riding: for the kids who can’t just hop on a bike and cruise down the road because they’re stuck fighting something much bigger. If they can keep battling every single day, the least I can do is push through the sweat, the sore legs, and the hills that feel like they’re out for revenge.

I won’t lie—16 miles is just the warm-up. There’s a long road ahead, but that’s the point. This ride is about endurance, not just on the bike but in spirit. It’s about showing that even when the miles feel heavy, we don’t stop.

So here’s to Day 1: the first pedal strokes of many. Tomorrow, the journey continues. Let’s keep pushing, keep pedaling, and most importantly—keep fighting for the kids.

🚴‍♂️ The Road Ahead: 250 Miles for the Kids Who Can’t Stop Pedaling

Most people think 250 miles on a bike sounds insane. I think childhood cancer is a hell of a lot more insane. So this September, I’m strapping on my helmet, climbing into the saddle, and grinding out every single one of those 250 miles—not for me, but for the kids fighting battles way bigger than sore legs and burning lungs.

This isn’t just a month or riding. It’s a statement. Every mile is a punch in the face to cancer, every drop of sweat a reminder that no child should have to fight for their life before it’s even really started. I’ve got a road full of asphalt, hills that won’t care about my excuses, and a cause worth every ounce of fight I can give.

I’m riding because they can’t. I’m riding because they deserve better. And I’m riding because together, we can turn miles into medicine, and effort into hope.