"Neither rain, nor snow, nor heat, nor gloom of night...." so goes the creed of the postal services of the world. But in the cold rain, of what masqueraded poorly as early morning, stood; not postal workers, but cyclists, awaiting the start of the 1998 Houston MS 150. Cold, wet, wind-blown, resolute.

Just before leaving my house on Saturday morning, I looked at the weather report on the Internet. A long band of rain extended west of Houston for what appeared to be 50 miles. The radio reported winds of 15-25 mph. My thermometer indicated 60 degrees. "No biggie," I lied to myself. My friend, Linda, and brother, TJ, and I loaded and left for Tully Stadium the starting point for the 1998 MS150 Houston to Austin bike ride.

Having checked all of our gear and a rigorous training schedule behind us, we felt prepared for the miles that lay ahead. What we were not prepared for was worsening conditions. An even bigger problem was the ever-decreasing temperature. Nevertheless, we were upbeat when the mass of cyclists oozed onto Dairy Ashford signaling the start of Texas' largest 2 day cycling event.

The MS 150 is a spectacular ride, made possible by thousands of workers. A mass start of this magnitude requires a major coordinated effort. In spite of this effort, it is very easy to get separated from your riding companions in the starting melee. S0, our preplan included regrouping at the first rest stop. Riding ahead of my friends, I was unaware that a flat tire on TJ's bike had brought them to an early halt. When I stopped at the first rest stop and they didn't show, I assumed they had skipped the stop due to the freezing downpour. From that point on, I rode alone in the rain, ever trying to catch up with my friends who were now falling farther behind.

Falling into a mindless pace, I pressed on in the rain. The only thing I remember is how cold I became at each successive rest stop. I think it was Rest Stop 3 or 4 that I had (what I hope will be) a life-changing experience. While freezing in a Port-o-Can line, I joined a couple of hundred riders in a chorus of whining that rivaled a Jumbo Jet engine. Looking around, I saw a child with Multiple Sclerosis being helped from a truck. Never in my life have I been struck so hard. I realized then how fortunate I was. I was able to stand in that rain. I was able to take part in a 150 mile bicycle ride. I knew all to well that the child would have traded places with any of us. After this experience, I could find nothing to complain about again, even in Bellville, where the conditions worsened.

I entered Bellville with a feeling of relief. Here I expected to rest, eat, and recuperate. My relief quickly dwindled as I saw the looks of despair on the faces of those who had arrived before me. What I had hoped would be a haven of rest, resembled a refugee camp. There the masses of trash-sack clad riders huddled. Everywhere a collage of brightly colored jerseys sought shelter from the elements. It was in Bellville that so many abandoned the first day's ride. Before the day was through, some 2000 riders would board busses for LaGrange. I came so close to making that decision myself. The skies were still weeping steadily as the wind attacked. The temperature fell into the 40s. It was decision time.

I believe I was approaching hypothermia when I remounted my bike to ride on to one more rest stop. At the next rest stop, I would decide to either stop or go on. What happened next came as a total surprise. Not 5 miles past the lunch stop the rain quit! Five miles more and I was riding in sunshine! People were "Yoo Hoo"ing! One lady was crying. The feeling of golden sunlight flooded my arctic bones and infused life into me.

We had persevered, overcome, beat it! What a great feeling! I think the ride into LaGrange and into Austin the following day, no matter how fulfilling, was secondary to this experience. The elation I felt, when I burst into the sunlight outside of Bellville, was the pinnacle of my ride.

Day two was beautiful. It was everything I had hoped for when I registered for this ride. I realize now it was also the least memorable part. It falls far short of the feeling of riding out of 60 miles of cold, wind-blown rain and into the sunlight. It falls short of the feeling of triumph I have, for forcing myself back onto my bike in Bellville, where the relief busses sat beckoning. And it especially pales next to the feeling of thankfulness to God, for undeserved good health, and the ability to ride a bike when others can not.

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