Maria's 2022 Pan-Mass Challenge
Here's the full report on how this grueling (but very fun!) ride went.
The Pan-Mass Challenge, aka the PMC, is a charity bicycle ride that raises more money than any other charity event in the US — not just bike event, but of all charity events overall. Yes, it’s that big!
In 2022, the PMC was August 6 (Saturday) and 7 (Sunday), and I rode its original, longest route across Massachusetts, from Sturbridge to Provincetown. This ride is 109 miles on the first day and 77 on the second.
I’m writing this on August 18. I sustained a nerve entrapment injury during my ride which made two of my fingers on my left hand numb and painful, and typing was basically impossible. (Yes, the dreaded cyclist’s palsy.) I’m just about healed now, though my left hand is still a little wonky, so if you see weird word omissions or typos, I pre-emptively ask forgiveness.
Here are all the details of my ride, day by day and stop by stop, with some things I learned at the end. This is mostly for my own record-keeping, but I hope it might also help other future PMC riders, or anyone else who is attempting a bicycling century for the first time.
⚠️ This is a REALLY LONG post so please don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Day 0 — Friday, August 5, 2022
The night before PMC
Location: Sturbridge, MA
Temperature & conditions: 88°F/31°C, 55% humidity, mostly sunny
The ride starts extremely early on Saturday so most riders stay at a hotel near the starting line, and accommodations are handled by PMC as they book out most of the local hotels.
For some reason my registration with PMC wasn’t found when I went to rider check-in. And then for some reason there also was no record of where I was supposed to stay Friday night. I was already very nervous about the weekend’s ride, especially given the predicted extreme heat and humidity, and these two technical snafus at check-in amped my anxiety to 11. That said, I have to give credit to the PMC volunteers who helped me sort it all out — I eventually got my official bike credentials, event jersey, and a place to stay for the night.
So with that, I gave my husband Eric and daughter a kiss goodbye, and my little one gave me a hug and told me “you’re going to do great, mommy,” and I tried to remember her confidence to help calm my nerves. She and Eric would be meeting me in Provincetown on Sunday after I’d finish my ride and when I was, presumably, aglow from my accomplishment. (Spoiler alert: That’s exactly what happened!)
Still I was pretty rattled. And nervous, so nervous! I’d never ridden more than 75 miles in one day, and I was mere hours from attempting over 100 miles. The weather reports showed an extreme heat advisory for Saturday and Sunday as well, and I’d had a run-in with heat exhaustion on a training ride in similar conditions just two weeks prior. So many what-ifs were knocking around my head. Was I fit enough to do the mileage? Had I trained hard enough? Would the hills destroy me? Would the heat prevent me from hitting my goal? Would I embarrass myself in front of everyone who was cheering me on and/or who had donated to my fundraiser? Would I prove my worst critic (a.k.a. me) right?
I couldn’t sleep, and with every hour that I couldn’t sleep I’d get more and more worried about my performance the next day. I needed a good night’s rest, stupid anxiety spiral! I got perhaps four hours of sleep that night.
But the best thing I’ve found for anxiety is getting in the saddle and moving my legs in circles… so off I went.
Day 1 — THE BIG DAY! Saturday, August 6, 2022
The Starting Line
Sturbridge, MA. 3-5:30am.
67°F, 66% humidity, clear skies but absolutely soupy!
I woke up at 3am, not nearly as rested as I’d like. The shuttle bus from my hotel to the starting line left at 4am sharp, and brought us to the starting line hotel for a really good breakfast — I loaded up on carbs and proteins (half a bagel, some multi-grain cereal, a banana and a yogurt) and tried to avoid anything that would upset my stomach.
…Did I mention I was nervous?
The official starting time was 5:30am. PMC is a ride and NOT a race, so this starting time is due to logistics and not for anyone trying to win anything. I’d been told — and would learn that day — that the entire route is very well attended by police officers and volunteers who stop car traffic to make sure you can proceed without needing to stop and dismount. (It’s absolutely amazing!) The officers and volunteers can’t stand around all day, so by starting all the cyclists at the same-ish time, PMC can plan out when and where the traffic calming is needed.
If you look carefully underneath my arm (your left, my right side) you can see the lucky banana I stashed in my jersey pocket, theoretically in case I started to bonk and needed food… but more honestly, it reminded me of my daughter.
The national anthem was sung, we got on our bikes, and when 5:30am hit we slowly started our ride out the starting gate.
A person in front of me said “let’s ride some bikes! wee!” when we all started moving, which made me laugh, and reminded me of the joy I feel when I ride my bike. That helped calm my nerves a lot and put a smile on my face.
Of course, things got a little congested at the start with that many cyclists moving at once. Unfortunately I fell quite hard just as I was starting out — a dreaded zero-speed fall as I couldn’t clip out (release my bike shoes from my pedals) fast enough when everyone suddenly slowed to a stop around me. I got a nasty road rash on my knee and unbeknownst to me, thanks to my adrenaline, my bike’s left hood got shifted inwards in the fall. As a result I rode both PMC days with my left hand in quite a bad position and didn’t even realize it! So… this is why I ended up with the nerve entrapment injury in my left hand, that shifted hood messed up my otherwise dialed-in bike fit.
Due to the fall I had, my knee was dripping blood and throbbing a bit, but pure adrenaline helped with the pain, and I kept saying to myself that if my road rash was the worst thing that happened to me all weekend I’d be in really good shape.
Once I started moving, I was floored by how many people lined the road so early in the morning to cheer us on. Hundreds of people, lots of families with little kids my own child’s age, holding up signs, whooping and cheering and ringing cowbells. Wouldn’t you all rather be asleep? No? Instead they’re all cheering for us and our mission to fight cancer. I’ve never been cheered for doing anything remotely athletic in my life, let alone on my bicycle! What an incredible feeling.
Near the start, firetrucks held aloft a giant US flag between two firetruck ladders. Riding underneath that felt like the blessing starting us on our journey. In front of me, I saw the thousands and thousands of blinking red brake lights of the cyclists with me, completely filling the road and lighting up every hill in front of us. Between the encouraging signs, the enthusiastic cheering from the people along the road, the spectacle of seeing so many cyclists, the camaraderie of chatting with other cyclists I was keeping pace with, and the sheer beauty of the scenery along the route as the sun rose… I was smiling ear to ear and tears were flowing.
Throughout the weekend, I found that this would happen a lot.
Shout-out to the spectators at mile 5 that kept saying “You’re almost theah!” in glorious Massachusetts accents and black humor. Yeah, 5 miles down, 104 to go.
The first 25 miles of the route contained most of the harder climbs for PMC day one. I was elated to find that my training was more than enough to tackle these challenges, though it didn’t hurt that it was still early morning and while the humidity was disgusting, it wasn’t too hot yet.
First waterstop. 25 miles complete.
Whitinsville, MA. 7:25am.
71°F, 93% humidity, sunnier, not a cloud to be seen, but not that hot - still soupy
Right before the water stop, the ride went through some stunning central Massachusetts lake scenery. There were folks cheering us on from their lake boats (with Polish flags adorning the sterns), blasting early-morning Polka and waving. That early morning joy reminded me of my half-Polish husband, who I knew was cheering me on. A little extra wind in my sails.
Once I arrived at the water stop, I went to the medical tent to have my road rash treated, grabbed some food, refilled my water bottles with ice water and electrolytes, and tried not to linger long as the weather was still manageable. I knew I had some serious hills coming up, and that there was at least one doozy climb at about mile 30. (Like a good nerd I had extensively studied the route maps ahead of time, including terrain, hill climb lengths and difficulty of gradients, and trained accordingly.) By this point in the ride the faster riders were separating from slower riders like me. I still had plenty of company on the road but most of the faster guys were already quite far ahead of me. And that was A-OK!
Second waterstop. 42 miles complete.
Franklin, MA. 9:15am.
85°F, 70% humidity — feels like 93°F. Officially in the National Weather Service’s light orange “extreme caution” zone for heat.
I’d now conquered the worst of the hills successfully, cheered on by bystanders who encouraged me to keep pedaling even when the grade hit 8% and I was probably going 2 miles an hour. But I kept going. “Just keep looking at the front wheel and keep your legs moving!” one woman told me, and that is exactly what I did.
Another spectator saw the lucky banana in my jersey pocket during one of the harder climbs (thank you to spectators that line the route at the really hard parts! you really make a huge difference in morale!). She asked if it was a banana in my jersey pocket or if I was just happy to see her. The answer was both, of course! 🙃
There were some subsequent hills that were smaller after the biggest climb… a few of those, especially the ones that had no shade, I did have to dismount and walk. I feel no shame about that — I’d rather safely walk up when needed than pass out from overexerting myself in the heat.
Between the climbs the scenery I passed through started to change from campgrounds, forests, and lakes, and became more open rolling hills, horse and cow pastures, produce stands, and farm lands. Absolutely stunning scenery and just a joy to ride.
By the time I reached the second water top, I was getting nervous that this early in the morning it was already feeling hot as hell. At this stop, I saw many people lying down in the shade with their feet elevated — combating the cardiac stress and dizziness of heat exhaustion. Seeing that before the ride’s halfway mark was a sobering reminder to me to do everything I could to maximize cooling with cold drinks, proper breaks at the rest stops, pacing my efforts in full sun, and using evaporative cooling to bring my body temperature down:
This makes people wonder what the heck I’m doing, but pouring cold water over your head is great for bringing your body temperature down and feels so great, seriously. And if you’re in head-to-toe sport gear, it’s all going to dry easily, so who cares if you’re soaked for a bit. Yeah, a soaked bike short chamois does feel like wearing a soggy diaper a bit, but again in that heat it dried pretty fast. (Squish.)
Eric had reminded me to drench myself at every opportunity, and at this rest stop I packed an extra ice bottle in my jersey pocket (bringing me to three water bottles total). The back-pocket bottle was meant as an emergency-drencher if I felt myself overheating on the road. The other two bidon had electrolytes and were for drinking… though later in the day and on Sunday I didn’t care what water I used anymore. I happily drenched myself in pink sport drink as long as it was cold and cooled me down. In dangerous heat that’s all that mattered.
I fueled up with a little more food than I did at stop 1 as I knew — again, this good nerd studied the route — I knew the next water stop was 30 miles away, the largest gap between stops for the whole day. So if I was going to make it all that distance without bonking or passing out from heat exhaustion, I needed to be ready.
As I left this second waterstop I soon rode past a young lady who was in chemotherapy, sitting in the middle of a big party of her friends and loved ones, as they all sat by the side of the road holding signs and cheering on us riders. She had a bubble machine and it felt like she was giving a blessing. She and so many others who are actively in cancer treatment are why we ride. No matter how uncomfortable I got at times, my discomfort was temporary. We have to keep it all in perspective, especially in those quiet moments when the legs (or undercarriage) start to complain.
I soon encountered the famous Cherry Street of Wrentham. The residents of this street make PMC a big block party! Balloon arches, a steel drum band, a bagpipe troupe, tons of funny signs and cheering families, what an incredible community turnout and great way to send riders onto the third leg of this ride, when things start to get really quiet and hard.
For the most part at this point in my PMC ride I did a lot of my riding by myself without any other cyclists in front or behind me. Sometimes I wondered if I was dead last! (I wasn’t.) A lot of this pre-lunch stretch had no shade and there were a few times I had to get off my bike and rest a few moments under a lone shade tree to cool down. I’d pass someone watering plants or their lawn, and they’d offer a squirt with their garden hose and I’d happily say yes (I’m sure a few folks worked out some aggression based on where they aimed with the hard jets but hey, in that heat, cold water is cold water…)
All the while, I saw support vans zooming back and forth on the ride, and I knew they were transporting the many, many people who were succumbing to the brutal heat. I was determined to pace myself and not be one of them. So sure, my overall speed and time suffered, but PMC’s not a race so… slow, steady, and rubber-side down!
Third waterstop. 70 miles complete — lunchtime.
Dighton-Rehoboth, MA. 11:50am.
90°F, 72% humidity — feels like 107.3°F! Officially in the National Weather Service’s medium orange “danger” zone for heat. Any clouds in the sky are a mere suggestion.
As the time got closer to noon, I was still at least 5 miles from the lunch stop and I completely ran out of water. So when spectators offered water bottles, sometimes I took one to drink or drench. I was even offered an ice cold beer, which I have to tell you was sorely tempting, but I couldn’t risk doing anything that would dehydrate me. Maybe next time.
The fatigue at this point for me was mostly minimal. It wasn’t my legs, feet or saddle that hurt, but my hands. There were a few turns and stops that I’d had to make that were at the bottom of large hills. One of the benefits of being a heavier rider is that downhills are really fun and fast, you can just coast down and let gravity be your helper. The scary part is if you have to brake! You squeeze those brakes with everything you have in your hands but it might not be enough. I had to brake pretty hard at a few junctures due to emergencies at the bottom of hills — people taking turns too fast or hitting gravel and wiping out. So that took a toll on my hands to squeeze that hard, over and over.
That said, cycling this many miles, it’s going to be a strain unless you’re in superb shape, which I am not. Breathing through the heat and the strain, people would see me huffing and grimacing a bit, this slow lone heavy cyclist, and I’d see them get out of their lawn chairs and walk up to where I was and they’d clap and cheer me on that I was doing great. (And to be clear, I was feeling pretty great everything considered, but I knew my face was telling a story of pain!)
At one point in this stretch, a woman about my mother’s age made a quick jog from her front steps to meet me by her lawn’s edge to personally encourage me. She had a yard sign that said “a grateful cancer survivor lives here” and it really touched me that she went out of her way to be so kind to a slow rider like me, especially since most of the faster riders had long since passed by, and a lot of spectators were heading indoors to escape the now-dangerous heat… that people were staying outside for stragglers like me, it meant the absolute world to me in those quiet moments where doubt started to creep in.
I also met more cyclists here and there, as other routes started to meet up as we all converged at the same lunch spot. I rode for quite some time with a long-time PMC veteran cyclist who rode in memory of his son Jonathan. He had a photo of his son pinned to the back of his jersey, and he told me about how Jonathan had received treatment at Dana-Farber. What a beautiful tribute to his son that he rides to help others.
And the thing about PMC is there are thousands upon thousands of stories like this.
I don’t remember much from lunch. I ate whatever my stomach would tolerate (slight nausea is a sign of heat exhaustion, don’t think I didn’t know that!). I cooled off as best I could, and wanted to get on my bike as fast as I could. The longer I was out on the route, the longer I’d be out in the brutal heat!
But I was also eager to start on the next leg of the route. By the time I hit the next water stop, I would officially beat my own personal record for longest bike ride. I couldn’t wait to hit that milestone.
Fourth waterstop. 82 miles complete.
Lakeville, MA. 2pm.
91°F, 72% humidity — feels like a whopping 110.5°F! Solidly in the heat danger zone.
(For the record, my on-bike computer measured 98°F during this stretch, giving a real feel of 136°F/58°C, which is the “extreme danger” zone.)
This water stop will be forever seared in my mind for so many reasons.
One, this stop broke my previous personal record for longest bicycle ride. So, yay!
Two and much more importantly, this is the water stop where, if you’re a faster rider than me and on an organized team, the PMC “pedal partners” will be there to meet and greet. These are children in cancer treatment at Dana-Farber. Given the heat, understandably the kids were not at the stop anymore and were hopefully somewhere really cool and comfy. Along the road to the stop there are posters with pedal partner photos and names though, and I made a point to slow down and read every name. There are so many sweet faces and smiles. I hope with every atom in my being that the funds I helped raise might make a real difference to these kids and their families.
Three, this was the point in the ride that was scariest for me for heat exhaustion. As I sat down in the shade here, I felt a twinge of dizziness, and realized I was dangerously close to being overheated. So I stayed on the grass next to my bike, and a wonderful volunteer came over to where I was and offered me lots of snacks, sugar and salty both, and even sliced a fresh local plum for me! I’ve been in mom-mode for over 5 years now… as the fetcher of snacks and slicer of fruits, it was so nice to be the one offered sliced fruit for once.
This same volunteer even gave me some of her personal sunscreen — badly needed at this point as I’d definitely completely sweated off what I had put on, I was starting to feel singed, and the medical tents were all out of sunscreen (and the water tents here were out of ice! ack!!)
I felt really cared for though. When people say PMC is famous for being a well-supported ride, this is the kind of kindness folks mean that keeps somebody going. The volunteers are absolutely incredible and I can never praise them enough.
The ride at this point goes through cranberry country, so it’s quite flat and there are no big hills or climbs. So at this point it’s not technically hard, you’re merely fighting fatigue…which, in this heat and at nearly 100 miles, you are ABSOLUTELY feeling.
I will say that I was so well cared for at the Lakeville water stop — thank you for those plums! — that I got a sudden surge of new energy. I was absolutely amped for this next segment, and to hit my century goal. I rode about 2 miles an hour faster than my previous average speeds simply because I was feeling so great!
Fifth waterstop. 100 miles complete — my first century.
Wareham, MA. 3:30pm.
89°F, 70% humidity — feels like 103°F. Yep, danger zone heat.
Starting around mile 50 I started feeling shooting pains from my hips down to my left leg, which was new to me. I made sure to keep changing my saddle position and standing/stretching often and this helped. But as I got closer to mile 100 this pain was impossible to ignore (despite the two Ibuprofen I’d popped maybe 20 miles prior) and my goodness was I hurting.
When my bike computer triumphantly chirped that I’d hit 100 miles, and I soon rolled into the final waterstop of the day before the finish line, the bliss of hitting a century washed over me, and adrenaline helped with the pain.
I’ve been wanting to ride a century for nearly 20 years. But I didn’t have the right gear, skills, training, or fitness to ever get close. But I trained hard for this ride for 8 months to get my fitness up, and while I have a long way to go for my overall fitness and weight goals, I’ve made great progress since I started training in January 2022.
And I’ve been learning and practicing the technical skills of cycling over the past decade or so, which has helped me cycle smarter and with much greater efficiency.
All these factors came together at the right time and I was finally, finally, finally able to achieve this huge goal of mine.
So yeah, some happy tears.
I don’t remember much of the last 9 miles or so because I was so, so ready to be done. I counted every mile on my bike computer, trying to remember how many miles were left until I could get off this damn thing. (When you’re that tired, apparently basic arithmetic becomes a challenge.)
Since this stretch was right by the coast, of course I also had to contend with head winds. Of course.
And as Ornoth had warned, while these last miles are basically flat, they can be the toughest miles — not because you’re gassed, but because you are entering the very touristy and car-trafficked Cape Cod, after having just bicycled through largely car-free rural roads. Suddenly there are a lot of twists and turns, narrow roads lined with parked cars, and lots of unsympathetic car traffic. Navigating fast car traffic on a busy rotary on my bike when I’m that tired felt almost absurdly funny if it wasn’t also so dangerous. Adrenaline helped me keep my wits about me, as well as keeping pace with whatever other PMC riders I could find. Sticking together made us more visible to cars and more likely they’d let us bike ahead.
And then I saw the Cape Cod railroad bridge and signs telling me to take a hard right to the Mass Maritime Academy, and I knew I was finally on the home stretch.
Sweet, sweet victory.
109 miles and PMC day 1 complete!
Bourne, MA. Crossed the finish line at 4:39:01pm!
88°F, 69% humidity — feels like a mere 99°F. Back down to a mere “extreme caution” for heat, easy peasy.
I felt so strong and so proud at this moment. That I had done 109 miles (175.4km) in THIS KIND OF HEAT — the distance alone is an accomplishment, but in the dangerous heat even more so.
While I wish I had been able to ride with my husband or a friend, somehow I feel even more proud that I did this with no companionship. Don’t get me wrong, I had a ton of support along the road and at waterstops, but in those many hours of quiet riding by myself, I had to keep making those circles with my legs, manage my pace and my pain, and trust that my training would pay off.
PMC provided dinner for all the riders, I devoured a hamburger, hot dog, pasta salad and a big spinach/lettuce salad, as well as two Yasso froyo bars, and an ice cold Coke. Zero worries about calories after a ride like that. Many of my fellow riders were enjoying beers but I wanted to be in good shape the next day and didn’t know how alcohol would hit me after that much heat and exertion.
Plus after dinner, I had to hop back on my bike! Yup, I had to bike a few more miles to my hotel nearby. Most riders stay on the MMA campus in bunks in the dorms or in a tent. But when I booked I wasn’t sure what my COVID comfort level would be staying in close quarters, so I booked the only hotel I could find that wasn’t sold out… and got completely gouged on price. Ugh.
But after I took ✨THE BEST SHOWER OF MY LIFE✨, made some phone calls to my husband and kid, and then to my mom, I fell into that bed I paid way too much for and slept like a rock.
Day 2 — Sunday, August 7, 2022
The Rolling Start
Bourne, MA. 6am.
79°F, 74% humidity, not nearly as soupy as the day before as the ocean breeze helps a LOT, as does the cloud cover
Somehow 2 seconds after setting my alarm and getting into bed, it was suddenly 5am and I had to hit the road again. Everything hurt. Oh god, what am I doing??!?!?
I didn’t have much stomach for breakfast. I’m not sure why, it must have been residual nerves, but I felt nothing but happy for the day’s ride. I forced myself to eat my Day 1 Lucky Banana — yes, it survived my entire Day 1 ride! — just to get SOMETHING in my stomach to fuel the first segment of my ride.
Day 1 of PMC the event asks that all cyclists wear the official event jersey. It makes us easily identifiable as we wind our way through the state! On day 2 we are welcome to wear whatever we want. Most people wear their past year PMC jerseys, or they wear their team’s jersey. Being a first-time rider and a solo rider, I wore my favorite jersey, which is a galaxy patterned-jersey made by Primal. (Primal also makes the official PMC gear — I really love their stuff and appreciate their size inclusivity.)
The second PMC doesn’t have a starting line, but it’s a rolling start. Anytime between 5am and 6:15am the Massachusetts State Police shut down an entire lane of the Bourne Bridge for PMC cyclists to use — the only event where they do this. If you want to enjoy using the bike-only lane, you have to get on the bridge in that 5-6:15am window. The bridge is maybe 5 minutes from the starting line. So I woke up at 5am, got out of my room and on my bike around 5:45am, and made it to the Bourne bridge as the sun rose in plenty of time.
It felt a little cruel to have a long 6 to 7% grade climb first thing out of the gate, even though it was over the bridge. But you have to get across the Cape canal and this is how you do it. I used everything I had in my reserves to get up and over that bridge, just keep pedaling! I hadn’t eaten much for breakfast so as soon as I was safely on the next segment of the ride, I had an espresso Gu for the calories and the caffeine. Not a breakfast replacement, but hopefully enough to get me to the first waterstop?
I had been warned that there were two really nasty parts of day two, and the worst of it was after the Bourne bridge. A climb, I was told, that feels like it would never end.
It wasn’t long until I got there, and that climb’s beginning was heralded by a bagpiper stationed at the start to lift our spirits. The climb itself was not a challenging grade — around 4% — but it was almost two miles long. Just an absolute slog. THAT is the part that tests your mettle, and zero surprise many people needed to walk it.
I was encouraged by PMC vets who saw I was a first-year rider to also dismount and walk, “there’s no shame in walking!” a few said to me, but honestly I was managing just fine with the climb! And I made it to the top, completely in the saddle.
I was really proud of myself for making it, and got my reward in the next segment that might as well be called the Cape Cod rollercoaster. These steep rolling hills were a blast — the momentum coming down one carried me to the top of the next. This was the part where me being a heavy rider towards the back of the group was a massive gift, as I would regularly pass lighter riders who had to keep pedaling to try and keep momentum, and I had plenty of empty space to zoom up and down the hills with no other riders around to negotiate. I basically coasted the whole thing, it was an absolute blast. So yeah, if you were along the route, that was me you heard going “WOO HOOOOO!!!!”
In this segment, I also rode past a mother and father holding up a sign saying “thanks to you my daughter is 24,” with a photo of their daughter in her childhood while she was in chemotherapy. She looked about my daughter’s age. That got me right in the heart. I am so glad for that young lady and her parents, and heaven help me if something similar ever happened to my child I know I’d be out there every year cheering people on, same as these parents.
First waterstop. 25 miles complete.
Barnstable, MA. 7:30am.
80°F, 81% humidity, breezy and cloudy. While it’s technically humid, the sea breeze and the cloud cover make it feel air conditioned compared to the day before.
The first waterstop was where I got my very overdue breakfast. It was so nice enjoying my bagel and oatmeal bar on a patch of grass, feeling a breeze and enjoying the cool air. My spirits were really high and I was looking forward to what was to come, especially since a lot of this day’s route I’d ridden quite a bit on my family’s Cape Cod vacation in June.
The only downside was that my biker’s palsy was really bothering me, as I couldn’t feel most of my left hand. Even worse, the shooting leg/foot pain on my left side was already quite bad, so as I rolled out of the Barnstable stop, the pain was not something I could easily push to the back of my mind. I had to grit my teeth and kept going.
As I rode through to the next stop in Brewster I know the pain was pretty clear on my face as I got a LOT of enthusiastic encouragement from spectators. Many could see my name on my bike tag, and I got a lot of “you’re doing great Maria!” shouts and cheers. Quiet spectators who had been holding signs would start cheering really loudly for me when I’d pedal past.
If you’ve ever wondered if cheering for someone made a difference, please let me assure you that it does. It really did in my case. I didn’t want to look like I was hurting but it got so bad at one point that I was definitely moaning some expletives.
The most poignant bit for me was that as I biked through Brewster, a town I know quite well from spending time there in June, I was in a blinding amount of pain. I rode past the famous Brewster General Store, restaurants and ice cream stops I’d been to with my family, especially Cobie’s, which we visited daily in June and my daughter made fast friends with the kitchen and ice cream staff. I have so many wonderful memories at these places and I hate that now I will also associate them with the amount of pain I was in!
But a silver lining of knowing this area well is that I also knew that the Brewster waterstop in Nickerson state park was close by. I kept gritting my teeth and swearing at my pain, and was able to hang on until I rolled in at the second waterstop.
Second waterstop. 40 miles complete.
Brewster, MA. 9am.
82°F, 76% humidity, breezy and cloudy. Humidity is dropping and the winds are picking up. Overall still quite comfortable.
After refueling and sitting on the absolutely magical ice bench for a good while, I was feeling a lot better. The music playing at the Brewster stop was top-notch, and once I heard “September“ by Earth Wind & Fire (my unofficial wedding song, as I got married on the 21st day of September), I felt ready to take on anything.
The next stretch of the ride from Brewster to Orleans went on the Cape Cod Rail Trail, a path I knew so well I could probably do it in my sleep. My body went on auto-pilot and relaxed for this part, which was nice.
After Orleans we rode a bit on some gorgeous back roads by the ocean bay-side, and I could smell the sea salt. The weather was absolutely perfect and I felt elated. A spectator saw me climbing a hill with a huge grin on my face and shouted “That’s it Maria, you got the right idea girl! Keep smiling!”
Then, back onto the bike trail and along the beach, this time we were ocean-side. Up the “Alpe de Wellfleet” final climb of the day, and then onto the notorious tough hills — are we there yet? please, is this bit over yet? — before the final waterstop of the day.
Third waterstop. 58 miles complete.
Wellfleet, MA. 11am.
81°F, 79% humidity, breezy and sunny with a few clouds. The wind is picking up the closer to the finish line we get.
A bunch of riders breezed through this stop since the weather was great and this was the VERY LAST waterstop before the finish line!
I made use of the ice bench here, got a massage for my aching trapezius muscles, had a quick snack and headed out again. I soon rode past a road called “Eric’s Way” and knew I’d be seeing my husband and daughter in just a few hours, which put some wind back into my sails. Plus I was almost at the very end of PMC — just a few more miles and I could say I did the whole thing!
About 10 years ago I biked through Truro and Provincetown on the very same bicycle I was using for PMC. But I didn’t know how to use the bike nearly as well and it hadn’t been properly fitted to me. So while I’m older and a little heavier now, and a lot more tired after the previous day, I had an easier time overall with the gnarly hills in Truro and brutal crosswinds that nearly knocked us over as we rolled in Ptown.
I also had a nice chat with fellow riders in this stretch, many of whom were impressed with how strong I was riding at this juncture of the ride, especially given it was my first time. I got a lot of questions about who I trained with and where I rode and it was funny — I felt a little embarrassed to admit that I rode by myself almost all the time. But being the parent of a young kid I can’t really make a commitment to group training rides. I’d love the camaraderie while training, but that’ll have to be another stage of life. That’s okay.
Provincetown seems like it’s a million miles wide when you’re trying to bike to the middle of it. The longest 5 miles of PMC were these last 5 when I was trying to get to the damn finish line!
But just keep on pedaling, and eventually it comes.
I did it! I bicycled the entire Pan-Mass Challenge!
Holy cow, I can’t believe I rode the whole thing!
77 miles of day 2 and PMC complete! 186 miles in two days done!
Provincetown, MA. Crossed the finish line at 12:39:41pm! (Huh, both days I finished at X:39 o’clock… interesting)
86°F, 70% humidity — clouds gone, very sunny and getting quite hot again, but thankfully not humid. The crosswinds were just as brutal as I remembered, and actually even a little worse as there were whitecaps on the water and a high-winds warning for seacraft.
This was the best feeling. The best.
I parked my bike, took a shower and changed into loose comfy clothes and comfy sandals. And then I had a Coke, a burger and a beer and some more Yasso froyo bars. Called my mom and texted my husband, who was enroute via ferry with my daughter to meet me.
P-town monument and my trusty bike behind me, as well as the ubiquitous porta-pottys that seem to be in the background of every PMC photo in existence. Feeling a very dazed kind of tired. But immensely proud of myself.
I sat on a bench on Commerce Street in downtown Ptown and waited for my family to join me from the ferry. Once they arrived, we locked up my bike, got some ice cream (first things first!) and THEN had dinner.
And at dinner Eric presented to me a medal he made to commemorate my ride. He started the fabrication of this incredible gift back in January when riding PMC seemed like a complete pipe dream. This is how much he believed in me that I could do this. I am married to the best guy, I really am.
After dinner we sat on the Ptown pier waiting for our ferry back to Boston. I didn’t want to let go of my bike! I was so proud of what we’d just done together.
Throughout my training over the past months I’d been wearing motivational bracelets. I know it’s hokey but it’s what I needed. This bracelet was something I used to remind myself that I was attempting something new and hard, and even though I hadn’t done the hard things YET, it didn’t mean I never would.
I hadn’t ridden a century. I hadn’t ever attempted the Pan-Mass Challenge.
But now I have. And I can retire this bracelet 😊
❤️ Thank you to all my donors who supported my PMC 2022 fundraiser! ❤️
You all are wonderful and beautiful people, thank you thank you thank you. So many of you wrote meaningful notes and messages in your donations about your experiences with cancer — some of you are in treatment now, or supporting a loved one who is, or wanted me to ride in honor of, or in memory of, your loved ones. I carried all those stories in my heart, and it means a great deal to me that so many of you shared your pains and hopes with me.
This was one of the most challenging and meaningful experiences I’ve ever had, and that’s all thanks to your support. Because of the incredible generosity of everyone who donated to my PMC ride, we are closer by the mile to a cure for cancer.
Answers to inevitable questions
Q: Will I do PMC again?
PMC’s cause is incredible and I absolutely want to help as much as I can. Fighting cancer! Supporting the incredible cancer research at Dana-Farber, whose work supports the latest and greatest in cancer treatments around the world? Who hasn’t this terrible disease touched? So many people riding are survivors, or riding in honor of or in memory of loved ones. Certainly I carried a lot of names in my heart as I rode — plus so many of my supporters sent me personal stories about their experiences with cancer. My god, for the first time in my life I can say I’ve done something materially helpful in the fight against this evil disease. That is an incredible feeling.
Plus, the event itself, the support, the crowds. The positivity and joy. There’s nothing like it.
Now that I’ve done this massive event, I have the institutional knowledge that’s helpful in planning and navigating it. There would be far fewer unknowns to deal with next time — the PMC is great at planning, but some things are always going to slip through the cracks, and I think many people ride in teams and get the institutional knowledge download from more experienced riders… I didn’t have this, so while I had some teething problems, I figured it out.
When I registered for PMC 2022, I genuinely thought this would be a one and done event for me, but now I'm thinking I'll wait and see how I feel about it in January when reg opens again.
I am concerned about the fundraising requirement. Thanks to the incredible generosity of so many family, friends, colleagues and especially podcast listeners — Smashing Security and Sticky Pickles! I love you! — I managed to hit the $6000 fundraising goal. Yes, it’s for the best cause imaginable, but I’m not entirely confident I could replicate this fundraising success year after year. (And if I don’t raise the funds, I have to pay for it myself… and $6k is not a small amount to pay up as a freelancer.)
Short answer: I don’t know yet. Ask me in January 2023.
Q: Any tips for heavier riders?
Yes! I have a lot — and honestly I have so many that I’ve written it up in a separate post, linked here. If you are a heavier rider, remember that you belong on a bicycle, and you absolutely SHOULD do events like this if you want to! Yes, you have to train and yes, you need to be smart about bike fit and gear, but if you prepare, it’s doable and fun. Event publicity photos might make it seem like everyone’s the stereotypical beanpole build, but I assure you the ground truth is that all ages and body types ride events like this. Bicycles are for everyone.
Shoutouts to:
Every single person who donated to my PMC fundraiser. Raising funds for Dana-Farber is what it’s all about. Smashing Security and Sticky Pickles listeners especially — your generosity made up about 60% of all the funds I raised, which is seriously incredible. My heartfelt thank you to each and every person who donated!
My husband Eric for believing in me, giving me bike mechanical support and training advice, giving me gentle reminders to get back in the saddle when a rest day went on too long, and generally being the most amazing partner I could ask for.
My mother Katina whose childcare support was absolutely critical in getting in a lot of my grueling training rides. Σ΄αγαπώ μαμά.
My friend Ornoth for encouraging me to ride PMC back when we worked together in ?2011? I never forgot his encouragement. When I finally committed to PMC this year, Ornoth was one of my first donors! His post-PMC ride reports and general PMC wisdom on his website were absolutely priceless in helping me prepare, and I recommend anyone else who’s a PMC newbie to read what he’s generously put online.
My friends and podcasters-in-arms Carole Theriault and Graham Cluley, who have been so generous in letting me plug my PMC ride on Smashing Security twice, and have been cheering me on this whole time. Carole especially — thank you for the pep talks, text messages, and checking in on my training.
My brother, my cousins, aunts, and uncles for cheering on in the family text chains as I was riding!
Every single PMC volunteer. Every single person who tailgated in their front lawns, handed out water bottles from their cars, made signs, got up at ungodly-early hours to shake cowbells, cheered as you passed by in your cars. The PMC staff.
Thanks for reading, and keep the rubber side down!
Great job finishing the ride. We don't ride the PMC because it's easy; We ride it because it's hard.
Maria,
Your selfies brought me to tears when you were riding the PMC, and you’ve done it again with this amazing report. I wish I could thank all the people along the route who cheered you on!
Your very proud Mom