Epilogue

It’s Monday evening, two days after I crossed the finish line in Niagara Falls. Sunday was spent on a bus heading back to our starting point at Wagner College in Staten Island. My friend Jim’s wife was there to drive us and our bikes back home.

I didn’t anticipate causing such alarm when I walked into the house, but I did. Cheryl reports I looked drugged, expressionless, blinking slowly, as if I were barely alive. I’m better after a day of rest and two pieces of toast, but still lethargic.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. For the cause, firstly. We collectively raised nearly $2 million, and these funds are saving lives. Because I’m too stubborn to quit? Maybe that, too.

Postscript

It is Wednesday evening, five days after my Night of Hell and four days after the final day’s ride, fueled only on (empty) guts and determination. My still feeling poorly today, with new symptoms of a bad cold to accompany the ongoing gastrointestinal distress, led me to the obvious: a COVID-19 test. The sharp line showed up in seconds. I immediately alerted my riding crew and hope they all have escaped. For me, sipping ginger tea between coughs in a room away from the family, I think about how if the friendly nurse on Saturday morning had given me a COVID-19 test instead of two Imodium pills, my ride would have ended on Day 6.

I”m glad she didn’t, and glad I was able to ride. If the ESR team decided to give me a medal for finishing, I wonder what they would call it?