Over the past few months and weeks, we’ve been planning our ride to Alaska. There are obviously a lot of logistics that go into running a 4,500 mile bike ride. But I’ve been reminded that, above all, we ride for those who can’t. The letters that I’ve received, asking me to ride in honor or memory of someone who has been affected by cancer, have been so motivating. It's been really inspiring to read these messages and stories. Here are just a few excerpts:

“Dear Lisa, I am so proud of you for making this journey. I am very grateful for the hope and awareness and funds that you will spread this summer...My aunt was on the beach...and her arm went numb and [she] had a seizure...She has cancer: two tumors in her lungs [and] she also has six tumors in her brain. They rushed [her] to MD Anderson in Houston for tests all weekend. On Saturday night, we received the news that [she] has nine months to live. She begins radiation treatment for the tumors on her brain, only to improve her quality of life and prevent, well, brain damage or another seizure...For this reason, your journey to Alaska to fight cancer and fund cancer research has become especially important to me. I was of course very proud and told everyone I knew what my best friend was doing, but now I need you and your team's help. Among all the people, victims, and family members you are supporting with your love and hope this summer, please think of [my aunt] too. I believe that the more people (especially your team whose soul focus is fighting cancer) that are thinking positively and for the cause of life the better it is—the power of community is great. Please send hope as you ride through the Rockies to [her] to overcome and bear what she will have to endure in the time to come.”

“Dear Lisa, we lost a very special person to cancer a few years ago. Mary Gleason was Stephen’s babysitter; she was really an angel on earth. She was all set to start watching Zachary when she was diagnosed with a rare, very aggressive soft tissue tumor in her lung and spine. She fought very hard but left behind a very loving family and friends who miss her so much. Please think of her battle against a cancer that was too much sometime while you bike this summer. Thank you.”

“Lisa, Thank you for your post. You are so awesome. That ride in the sag wagon is like a scar on a soldier. A badge of honor. My girl, you are giving it your all in this challenge before you. Thank goodness for your friends, who are your support, your strength. The ones who will never let you down. They are, you are, 2009 Texas 4000...You and your team are in for the adventure of a lifetime. I am so serious...You will remember the most extraordinary experience of your life. You will be touched by angels. And you will raise the spirits of strangers along the way. Those who appreciate what Texas 4000 is all about. Within hours you will become their champion. They will become your cause. I rode with your team on your first training ride in February and I hope to see each of you at Atlas. You are my champion.”

Today was another reminder of why—and for whom—we ride. Our teammate Jon Stringer invited us on a ride in memory of Christie Constante. She lost her battle with cervical cancer on May 7, 2009 at only 29 years old. She was an avid bike rider. One of her last wishes was that her friends and family get together and ride their bikes around Austin; so a few of my teammates and I met over on 31st St. and started an easy, relaxed ride with them.

Most of the time, we ride to improve our fitness level. After all, we are riding 4,500 miles and we need to be in really good shape. But sometimes, we lose sight of why we’re on the bike in the first place; it’s not about hitting 47 miles an hour going downhill (even though, yes, that is very fun to do!). And it isn’t always about climbing hills, or sweating and exerting ourselves; today was a poignant reminder of that. Today’s relaxed ride was about celebrating the life of a great woman.

When we all made it back to the start of Christie’s memorial service, Jon asked her family if we could ride for her this summer. Tears flowed during our conversation and it was emotional, but her family agreed, thanked us, and kindly offered us food and drinks. Later, I thought about how even though I had never had the honor of meeting Christie, I could feel her friend’s and family’s sense of loss; it was intense. She was obviously loved very, very much and it was unfair that she had gotten sick with this awful disease—and even more unfair that her friends and family had to lose her to it.

The whole morning, I had a song stuck in my head that summed up why I was riding to Alaska: Stephen Kellogg and the Sixer’s Pedal Steel. The lyrics go something like this:

“In this whole crazy life, so big and so small, there’s so much to enjoy, but you can’t do it all. So you start every day with a choice to decide; you think of the others who’ve lived and who’ve died. And you pray you’ll take as much away—you’ll have lived it as well as the end of the day...maybe if I do my best, if I do everything I can do, I’ll consider my life a success, if I’m anything like you.”

The pedal steel is a type of a guitar, but I’d rather think of it as how strong I’ve become on the bike; not through practicing hills or sprinting during intervals—but by dedicating my ride to those affected by cancer and remembering those who have lived and died from this terrible disease.

And yes, I have stumbled a little bit along the way (for instance, I couldn’t make it up Jester hill in Austin yesterday), but I'm still working hard and doing everything I can do to make sure no one, like Christie's friends and family, has to suffer again. Every day that I can get on my bike is a chance to live life in constant consideration of those I have met and the other people that I'll meet along the way. So this summer, I'll get up each morning and ride, making the most of each day in honor of the courageous individuals who have all dealt with cancer in one form or another.

So here is my call to please keep these inspirational stories coming, so I can keep my eyes set on why I ride in the first place; it’s not a fast race to Alaska.

It’s a ride for those who can’t.