Ride to End Alzheimer’s 2023
/Observations from a Wimberley Hill Country Ride
My brother, Carroll Simpson, and I rode in the November 2023 Ride to End Alzheimer’s in Wimberley, Texas. A fund-raising ride, we did it memory and in honor of our mother, Lenelle Simpson, who passed away with Alzheimer's in July 2014.
It was a great event. There were plenty of smiling and helpful volunteers, the course marking was the best I’ve ever seen (which includes races I used to put on), and the aid stations were friendly and fully stocked.
The ride had over 530 cyclists who rode one of five different distances (10, 20, 40, 60, or 100 miles), and raised nearly $640,000 for Alzheimer’s research. Carroll and I rode 60 miles together; with a total elevation gain of 3,461’.
Carroll and his son, Evan, designed custom cycling jerseys for us. On the front was an anime-style skunk, chosen because our dad used to give mom small ceramic skunks whenever he found them. And on the back was printed “New-Tex Salvage.” The actual name of our parent’s service company was New-Tex Lab, but Carroll changed it to salvage since both of us are full of artificial replacement parts (knees, hips, screws, etc.)
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A few observations from Carroll:
We always yo-yo on these rides, and that’s okay. We both mostly “train” alone and while riding shoulder-to-shoulder is optimum, time alone staring at the pavement by yourself is welcome, maybe even crucial. Life isn’t always lived in the pack, even with adored family, and it’s just fine not to chase. We’ll always catch up to each other, coming back to the pack better for it after a lot of deep breaths and spinning out the legs at our own pace.
What’s interesting is when I move in front, it’s typically from chasing the speed and fun of a downhill. When I’m chasing you, it’s because you motor away steady-as-she-goes on the uphill grind.
We didn’t talk much about Mom, our Alzheimer’s connection. I think that’s okay, I think she would rather us get the work done, and sappy sentiment was never really her style.
I got a lot of heartfelt “I’m proud of you”, but is it weird that made us almost uncomfortable? This wasn’t about tilting at the Alzheimer’s windmill for mom. We were grateful for comments; just casually conflicted.
Never, ever make hot chocolate at home with hot water ever again.
I very clearly under-prepared physically, that is a lesson painfully learned and to be remedied.
An oversized beef rib with my clan, both old and new, is a very grateful way to wrap up the day.
Riding myself into oblivion is something I hope I can do with my brother until the day when our wives have to hide our bikes from us.
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A few observations from Berry:
This was one of the few occasions I’ve had to use every single gear on my bike, over and over. I bottomed out into the lowest gear several times, and then had to mash the pedals the rest of the way to the top.
Sadly, there was one hill I had to dismount and push my bike up the last hundred feet because I couldn’t breathe deep enough to keep pedaling. My legs were still working, but my lungs quit. In the group we were (loosely) cycling with, the only one who rode all the way up was a woman on an e-bike. She was very proud of herself. Good for her.
We went past one aid station two different times. The first time they had a horse, I suppose it was their petting zoo, and the second time they had hot chocolate. I didn’t bother with petting the horse, but the hot chocolate was perfect.
When we rode up to the station Carroll noticed the crock pot right away. It was full of steaming milk for hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was perfect, and I never got chills after that.
The weather was cool and slightly damp. The only time I got cold was when I was off my bike at the aid stations.
I was surprised to bump into an old friend at one of the aid stations, Jeff Byrd.
I think all those years running long distances helps me ride up hills. That makes me happy. I was never much of a runner, I just kept doing it. At least it finally counted toward something useful.
I think your (Carroll) background of BMX and mountain biking make you braver (or in the eyes of our wives, more reckless), and so faster on the descents.
I would like to go downhill faster. After all, I earned it, going up.
My legs felt fine on Monday while driving back to Midland. I might have had a different story had I tried to ride. The issues that will linger a bit are saddle sores, which reminds me I didn’t do enough long training rides. I often forget how much extended time in the saddle matters.
One of the most comforting things to see on a bike route is a Continue Straight sign. Because what it really says is: You are fine, you haven’t made any wrong turns or gotten yourself lost. Proceed ahead. It's nice to have confirmation you’re still on the route.
I remember doubling back at about mile 22 of the Ft. Worth Cowtown Marathon because I feared I’d missed a turn. As it turned out, I hadn’t. I was on the route. But your mind plays tricks on you after that much running. You aren’t at your cognitive best. I would’ve welcomed a Continue Straight sign.
It’s worth the money to travel and ride together with Carroll. I’m glad we have these stories in our memory banks.
Because I take after my mom in personality and temperament, I was concerned I might be especially susceptible to Alzheimer’s, too. So my response after she passed away was to do the 23-and-Me DNA analysis to see if I had higher-than-normal likelihood of Alzheimer’s. It turned out, I don’t. In this category, I was happy to discover I’m simply normal.
I used to visit my mother in the Manor Park Younger Center for patients with Alzheimer’s. I don’t know if she recognized me as her oldest and most cherished son, but she wasn’t afraid of me and would tell me stories from her day. Afterward I’d ride bikes with my father. It’s interesting how those two things (Alzheimer’s and bikes) have circled back around, together.
