“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.