Riders made GOBA an adventure

by Les Avery After driving 1,025 miles yesterday and 275 miles today I find myself sitting at the computer reflecting on GOBA, The Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure. It was a wonderful week of cycling, as well as the opportunity to revisit my hometown and experience anew the love and hospitality of family and friends.

The ride was spectacular reminding me anew of why the state is called "Beautiful Ohio." If any cyclist could not enjoy this year's GOBA, they have no business on a bike.

I observed hybrid road bikes worth thousands of dollars, cross bikes, tandems seating as many as four, mountain bikes, just plain old bikes worth a few hundred dollars, as well as three wheelers, four wheelers, and even two Kona bikes. Built for missionaries and doctors in Africa who need to travel to remote villages, Kona bikes are very sturdy, most having only three speeds.

What impressed me most about the week were the people I encountered. Some just hilariously funny, others leaving me wondering if I really had seen what my eyes told me I had witnessed.

A group of older riders known as "The Clump," intrigued me. When I inquired what "The Clump" meant, Claude, Jay, Jim, Fred and Walt informed me that a clump is composed of dust particles that just manage to gather and hang together. So the five of them are a leaderless group of individuals that ride together to form a clump, and somehow manage to arrive at the same place at the end of the day.

Parked by the entrance of a school building where lunch was being served was a bicycle with the following sign hanging from the back fender. "Slightly imperfect single white male looking for a girl 40 plus for world travel. Apply in person or via e-mail." The rider's e-mail was at the bottom of the sign. I wonder if he got any takers?

The oldest rider was 87-year-old Don Wenner from Columbus, the youngest seven-year-old Isabella from Cincinnati, who rode with her dad, uncle and four older siblings. All agreed in signing on for the ride that Isabella was to set the pace, so she led their pack, peddling every mile of the ride.

Over and over again I found myself encountering courageous people one would not expect to be on such a ride. There were the "Flying Eagles," from Fairfax, Va., composed of four mentally challenged riders, Khang Le, Tony Ward, Jonathan Gonzales and Bruce McGibbony. Ranging in ages from 18-31 they were a part of a cycling club of 25 mentally challenged riders that leader Nancy Julia has been coaching for 21 years, and Jeff McGibbony, the father of Bruce, for 11 years. To qualify for riding GOBA the four had to know the safety rules; know how to ride in a group; and be able to care for themselves. Only four had qualified. The dedication of Nancy and Jeff touched me deeply.

At a rest stop I met Jeff and Joyce from Pittsburgh, Pa. His white cane let me know he was blind. The two rode a tandem, Joyce in the front captain's seat as Jeff sat behind her, both peddling up and down the hills of Ohio.

Four hearing impaired individuals made the ride. One deaf-mute was so helpful to me in taking me to a faucet where I could get water. Realizing she was deaf and mute, I pantomimed what I needed and with joy she showed me the way.

A one-armed man as well as a man with a prosthesis, his leg having been cut off below the knee, made the ride. All these individuals were a source of incredible inspiration.

One morning found me riding beside a woman who I judged to be in her forties. As we talked I discovered her husband had died in March and she was taking this ride in memory of him, as well as a way of working through her grief. Their seven-year marriage found them cycling and skiing together and then came the diagnosis of cancer. He was active until two weeks before he died.

There often is the impression that those who ride week-long bike rides like GOBA are in perfect health and superb condition. There were few riders I encountered like that. Many were dealing with major health issues, some were obviously overweight, others suffered from arthritis, one rider had difficulty turning his head, many found themselves pushing their bikes up hills, but all were out there doing it and for that they were to be admired.

As a friend of mine suffering from continual and unrelenting arthritic pain said to me when I asked her why she rode when she was in so much pain, "I am in pain whether I sit on the coach in my living room or on my bike saddle. I prefer to be out in the open smelling the smells and enjoying the beauty. Pain is a given. I have a choice in where I am going to endure it. I choose the bike."

I struck up a friendship with Mike, who was doing a daily report on the ride for The Cleveland Plain Dealer. He has ridden all 20 of the GOBA rides. Now in his early fifties, six years ago he had a heart attack. Two months later he rode GOBA. Two years ago he went into septic shock following a urinary tract infection and it was touch and go for a few days. Five days after leaving the hospital he was back on his bike. Such uplifting and inspirational people made for an incredible week. Add to that the great scenery, the phenomenal route, the tremendous support and dedication of the GOBA staff and I had a week never to be forgotten.

Carrying the riders in our group, ranging from 72 to 80, through the inconvenience of tenting, using Porta-Johns, and standing in long lines for a shower was an abundance of humor. As the oldest member of our party, Chuck from Mentor, Ohio, said one day when he bent over to pick up the fork he had dropped on the dinning hall floor, "I might as well use it, it couldn't be dirtier or stiffer then my socks."

Five of us competed in the talent show on the last night of the ride. We sang a song written by one of the members of our group to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," the final chorus going like this: "Glory, glory GOBA twenty. Family friends and food a plenty. Glory, glory GOBA twenty, can't wait for twenty one."