My boyfriend Doug is such a go-getter, such a team player, that I would always tell people, You want something done? Doug’ll do it. And I volunteered him for various tasks at Save One Life, which he cheerfully accepted and did. One year I even made magnets and lapel buttons for the Save One Life team that read “Doug’ll Do It!” as a joke.
It’s no joke now. Doug did it! He cycled 3,784 miles coast to coast—from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine, arriving Thursday, October 5 on a grey and windy day in Maine, to dip his wheel in the Atlantic Ocean. It was an incredible feat, for someone who is 66, and only took up riding nine years ago, when he first met me. Combined, his efforts and those of our community around the country who participated in the Wheels for the World campaign, raised over $230,000 to support the mission of Save One Life, the nonprofit I founded 21 years ago. It was our biggest fundraiser ever.
Doug is inspired by Save One Life’s mission, to give direct financial support and medicine to those with bleeding disorders in developing countries. Save One Life assists over 1,200 people who live in poverty, in India, Pakistan, Nepal, Kenya and ten other countries. It offers direct sponsorship, college scholarships, microenterprise grants, camp support and millions of dollars worth of blood-clotting medicine.
But Doug was also inspired by an incredible individual: the late Barry Haarde.
Barry was an avid cyclist with hemophilia who completed six—six!—long distance tours over six years to raise money for Save One Life. From coast to coast, with his final one dubbed “Call of the Wild” from Dawson Creek, British Columbia to Anchorage, Alaska. His tours totaled over 20,000 miles and raised over $230,000 for Save One Life!
What was remarkable about his achievement was that Barry had hemophilia, HIV and a contracted knee joint… health issues that would stop most people from considering this audacious ride. But Barry was not most people…he was driven by memories of the brother and brother-in-law he lost to hemophilia and HIV, and all the friends in the community lost to HIV. In addition, he knew firsthand the pain suffered by those in developing countries who often lack access to blood-clotting medicine.
Doug met Barry twice, and both learned that they loved cycling, both worked at Hewlett Packard, and both admired the work of Save One Life. Doug was in awe of Barry. Barry passed away in 2018, and no one since has dared to fill his cycling shoes. But Doug’ll do it! And he did. I’m so proud of Doug: the time he invested in training all year, the time spent away from me and home, his dedication and discipline, and his accomplishment.
Thanks to all who donated to this cause, thanks to our major sponsors, Sanofi and CVS, and for all the prayers. Through the Rockies, the cornfields, the highways and hills, he was safe and is now home. And Save One Life continues on, to help the needy.
Yesterday was a celebration of his accomplishment and a surprise announcement! We have a new volunteer for next year! James’ll do it! James is from Texas and was a friend of Barry’s. So the torch has been passed and we wish James much success in 2024!
A year ago I was a contented jogger and sometimes mountain climber. Not often, but enough to say I can do it. I also cycled about once a week using an old hybrid bike, which means that it’s not as slick as a touring bike (those skinny bikes with skinny people riding them who have Lance-Armstrong-like ripped muscles and wear cool shirts) but not as bulky as a mountain bike (which have really thick tires and usually young, crazy males riding them through forests). I wasn’t too competitive.
Then Barry just had to go and cycle across America in 2012 (3,700 something miles) to raise money for the nonprofit I founded, Save One Life. And when he hit New York, he emailed me that I was going to ride
the last 50 miles with him to dip our wheels in the Atlantic Ocean, at Rye beach, in New Hampshire, not too far from where I live.
Oh really? I couldn’t refuse; he shamed me into it.
So I did have a top-notch Spanish touring bike, an Orbea Diva, though dusty and stiff, hidden in a closet. It was in storage for the past four years, after I bought it as a consolation prize when I turned 50, fell in the middle of the street on its maiden voyage, and put it away, too scared to ride it. Well, that’s all chronicled here. https://www.blog.kelleycom.com/2012_08_01_archive.html
Today, I continued what has become an addiction. (Barry, you knew this was going to happen.) I hopped on my baby (the Diva, which used to give me nightmares as it sat eerily waiting for me in my cellar closet, like some haunted, phantom thing from a Guillermo de Toro movie) at 9:30 am and headed out for Route 1A, and cycled along the Atlantic sea coast for over four hours, covering 64 miles, the most I’ve ever done. Yes, it hurt after a while, but you just can’t stop it. Whatever it takes.
Last week, if you are friends with me on Facebook (you are friends with me, right?), you might know I spent four days solo in Sedona, Arizona, where I indulged my new addiction. I checked in last Sunday into my hotel in Sedona, a mere two hours after the Arizona Hemophilia Association meeting, and almost immediately went for my first mountain bike trip. Why? I
was surrounded by majestic Boynton Canyon, with the desert and all its twisting, red-dusty paths calling to me. Something different and new. And kinda scary. Mountain biking is very different than touring biking. It’s like the difference between riding a Mustang with an attitude using a Western-saddle, and sitting all pretty and proper on a fast thoroughbred (well, not that fast when I am on it) on an English saddle.
The day was hotter than I thought, and it would be easy to dehydrate.
I slipped on a new backpack, very small, with a built in “Camelback”
water pouch. This has a tube connected to the “bladder” (I know, sounds gross) from which you can easily drink water.
I set out on the bike, hit “Deadman’s Trail” alone, and pounded my way through red dust, over lots of stones and sand. Sedona sits at 4,500 feet, and my heart was soon thumping in my chest. To my left, the massive sandstone wall of Boynton Canyon, with towering red rocks. Cacti and scrub bushes fringed the trail. After 30 minutes, I felt I was in the middle of nowhere, alone… the path was steep. I stopped, chickened-out (it is DEADman’s Trail, after all), and decided to turnaround the way I came: downhill, rocky, exciting!
My heart was pounding furiously, meaning that I
was overheating. It was trying desperately to circulate overheated blood from
my midsection, where it was “cooking” my internal organs, to the extremities. (I recall all this from my Outside magazines, when I used to enjoy reading about other people doing stupid things outside) This is about the only cooking I am ever successful at. Rest in the shade and water would take care of that. I took off my helmet, and my backpack, to allow my sweat to do its job and cool me.
The next day, after four hours of hiking Bear Mountain and Devil’s Trail in the 96-degree heat, in which I drank perhaps more water than in my whole life combined, I actually went for another mountain bike ride, on Cockscomb Trail. Who would be crazy enough to do this after such long and superheated hikes? People with bicycle addictions.
George, the Native American guide from the bike rental shop, gave me excellent tips on biking the trail. It was much better than Deadman’s Trail; more trail than steep rock steps, exciting. I found the trail head off the highway, entered, and was frustrated to stop a few times as I
didn’t have my rhythm down yet. Don’t power up the hills, George had said. That’s what you
“touring” people do. Just sit back, go in your easiest gear, and pretend you are walking “up” the hill. The hill with lots of rocks, you mean?
Yes. When I got through the rocky part, the trail smoothed out and became like the Run Away Train ride at Disneyworld. I marked the trail as I went with the contents of my stomach. I guess I pushed myself too hard and was so spent. But it was fun!
Boynton Canyon
On Wednesday I wasn’t sure at first how to start my last day. Swim in the pool? Attend the yoga classes? Leisurely breakfast? Nope. Up at 6:30 am, made some tea, ate a banana and some berries, checked email, wrote to my daughters to tell them to come and find me if I disappear, threw on my riding gear and headed to the Activities Shop. By 8 am, with some cloud cover thankfully, I pumped down the road, to the Fay’s Canyon trail head, and dove into the
outback again to Cockscomb. I was going to nail it this time, and make George proud of me. No more walking my mountain bike. I did so much better; only had to stop twice as opposed to three or four times on Sunday. At times I felt like I was on a runaway horse, recalcitrant and skittish, as I bounced over the rocks, fishtailed in the red, fine dust, and then rolled up
and down the roller coaster trails. It was challenging, exhilarating, dusty, dirty, sweaty. And did I mention addictive?
After that, I came back out to the road, and then pedaled back towards the hotel, first taking a side tour to Deadman’s Trail again, determined to see it through the end. It was so much harder than Cockscomb, but I did much better this time. I actually pumped up the first very hard incline,
with many rocks, doing just what George had suggested. And in 20 minutes got to the tricky part where I gave up on Sunday. It was better after that, but still challenging. It suddenly got scorching hot as the sun rose, and I was sweating and drinking tons of water. I felt like I had leaks in my skin. Water in, water out. I had to stop now and then, and rest or walk the bike. At one point, the bike seat (which had a loose part to it that stuck out) caught on my shorts, tore a small hole in them and wouldn’t
allow me to hop off when I needed to, so down I went in the dirt, the bike landing on top. The handlebar jammed into my thigh, causing instantly a raised hematoma. Ouch. At that very second a runner swept passed me (out in the canyon?), a Matthew McConaughey
lookalike, tanned, trim, ridiculously handsome and fit, and half naked. We said
hello… instant painkiller. Back on my bike, finally reaching the road, and aimed for the turnoff for my hotel.
Wipe out!
But I didn’t want to go back, as it meant I had to leave tomorrow for Boston! I still had half an
hour so I swung the bike around, pedaled back to Cockscomb Trail and did it again, and this time only stopped once! It was such a great feeling. I was so incredibly hot, my heart was pounding, sweat
pouring out of me, my legs all banged up and bruised, and I never felt better in my life. (Well, maybe if I saw Matthew McConaughey’s look-alike again)
After the 64-mile ride today, I came back, lay on my bed still in full biking gear, and passed out for an hour. How will I make it to 100? Because I have to do 100. What good is an addiction if it doesn’t keep pulling you to push the envelope?
So here it is: On September 21, I will ride 100 miles to raise money for the Springfield Police Department, in honor of Officer Kevin Ambrose, who was killed in June 2012 in the line of duty, the first officer in that city in 25 years to die in action. My brother Tim, also an officer, was a good friend of his. So he and I will ride together, along with 200 other officers, with a full State Police escort. I might need it.
And, Barry, who got me into this mess to begin with, is going to ride with me, Kimberly
Haugstaud (executive director of Hemophilia Federation of America), Vaughn Ripley, and Allie Boutin of HFA (and a neighbor of mine!) and more, to raise funds for HFA on September 27. “Gears for Good.” Want to sponsor me? Take pity on me and my addiction, and think of a pledge. It’s all for a good cause—for HFA. And it’s only a few days after my 100-miler (my “Century”)—so I will be primed and ready! Or totally passed out somewhere in my gear. What I fear most is not the these two rides, but Barry whispering how I should do the cross-country ride with him in 2014… Barry, it’s not nice to take advantage of someone with an addiction!
This book was a best seller, and recommended by my favorite magazine, Outside. In 2002, Rory, a
free-lance writer, decides to walk across Afghanistan just months after the Taliban were deposed, retracing the path of a former and ancient ruler, Babur. He claims to be researching a book about Afghan history and Babur, but this book is mostly about the people he encounters and the extreme physical hardships he endures. The problem is his writing is mercilessly dry, without emotion or sentiment, and seemingly for no purpose. Why does he undertake this trek? Just to see if it can be done. There is no setting up of girls’ schools, as in Three Cups of Tea; there is no bonding of humans who endure outside exposure and
survival. There is barely even a bonding with the faithful and suffering dog he adopts and who accompanies him. While he does have potentially an interesting story, it is told in such a way as to make the reader wonder why he or she is reading it. To what point? There seems to be none. And there is no excuse for mediocre writing; Rory had plenty of time alone to conjure up literary references, flowing of words, rhythm. It’s flat, uninspiring writing. I learned a bit about Afghanistan but didn’t enjoy the trip much. Two/five stars.
Kiss Laszlo lives in Romania. He’s the father of Daniel, who has severe hemophilia A. I’ve been to Romania twice– a beautiful, pastoral country, with rolling mountains and quaint villages. I’ve visited with the hemophilia patients and doctors, and helped out with hemophilia camp in 2006 on the Black Sea. We donate quite a bit of factor to Romania. Only recently has the government begin to buy substantial amounts of factor for its people. A lot of patients, despite the excellent medical care from its wonderful doctors, are crippled. You just have to have factor to keep joints in good shape.
Kiss knows this and knows we need to raise awareness of hemophilia needs. He came up with a brilliant idea– to bike all the way from Romania to Istanbul, where the World Federation of Hemophilia starts its biannual Congress next Sunday. “I decided to do this trip not only for my son, but for the whole hemophilia community. I shall do 1089km in 14 days,” he pledges on his blog, which you can read at
http://kkisslaci.blogspot.com/
Kiss is blogging along the whole journey! You can read about his exploits right now. “During my trip I shall stop in each important town, no matter if it’s Romanian, Bulgarian or Turkish. There I shall meet the local hemophilia associations and the local media too. Once arrived there in the name of our association I want to get in contact with other similar organizations to build common actions and develop a partner relationship over the medium to long term.”
What a wonderful idea and what devotion! I cannot wait to meet him. I will be off to Istanbul myself on Friday, and will also be blogging about my trip. Please tune in and see what is happening in the world of hemophilia.
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