Profile

About: Riding bikes is a hobby that's been becoming a larger and larger part of my life over the last few years. I started off with mountain biking, and I bought my first road bike last summer. After I got over the sore muscles and started going on some group rides with the UT cycling club, I really started to enjoy road cycling.

I'm 21 years old. I just got my B.S. in Physics from UT Austin in December 2003, and I'll be attending UT Dallas in Fall 2004 to get a Ph.D.

Why I Ride

Your heart is racing. Your hands won't stop shaking as the doctor walks into the room, and you can tell just from the way he walks that the news isn't good. In fact, it's the worst. You have cancer. How could anyone survive that?

One fall afternoon, there was a new flyer posted on the door of UT's physics building. "Ride a bike from Austin to Alaska and raise money for cancer research," it said. "That's crazy," I remarked to my friend. "How could anyone ride a bike 4,000 miles in one summer?"

The doctor walks out of the room, and the door softly clicks shut. You're numb. Time seems to stop, and you're not sure how long you sit there with your head in your hands. Your three year old daughter walks in and slips her hand into yours; she doesn't understand, but she can sense that something is wrong. "We're going to make it through this," you mumble.

Little did I know, the idea planted in my mind by that little flyer would grow to a near-obsession. "Why couldn't I ride a bike to Alaska? I'm going to do this."

You're sitting in an examination room, and the pain has been especially bad lately. You grimace as the doctor walks in, but the mood lightens a bit as you tell him about these crazy kids who came through town the other day. They're riding their bikes across the country, raising money for cancer research. Such indomitable spirits, and their uplifting outlook on life is infectious.

I can see myself struggling to pedal up a seemingly insurmountable mountain in the Rockies, my jersey drenched with sweat and my legs screaming for relief. I'll turn to the rider next to me, and see that she's got a huge grin on her face. "What are you smiling for," I'll ask her, "Isn't this hill killing you?" "Oh, I was just thinking about that guy we met in Stillwater. You know, the one with the beautiful little daughter." I'll smile, downshift, and we'll crank to the summit.

It's a few years later, and the cancer has gone into remission. You're just about to ship off the last batch of Christmas cards when you spot a postcard sticking out from a pile of papers. It's from a Texas 4000 rider; you copy the return address on an envelope and add a card and photo of your family, including your newborn son. You'll never forget all the people who were there to lend you strength in your time of need.