Friday, September 26, 2008

Tribute to Volunteer

Perhaps some may recall a photo taken on May 11, 08 of a rider who threw himself on the ice atop Stevens pass during the SIR 3 passes 400k. I cannot locate that photo now, but the picture, actually the whole day is clearly embossed in my mind.
That ride brought into sharp focus quite a few things, however most deeply etched in my memory (worth more than gold), the selfless and often nameless Volunteer.

Where do I start?
The gentleman who inflated my deflated front tire atop Blewett pass during the SIR spring 08 400k while I cooled from the rising temperature on his supplies. I was so grateful I told him that if I was a French man I would kiss him. He politely recommended that I offer the kiss to the young lady nearby.

The one speed wonders that revived me with food and water at the secret control at Dubuque cutoff and then felt it their duty to inform me that I had already spent more than 15mins in the control.

"The man with the hammer" endurolytes at Maltby as the shadows of the day were growing longer. I was very surprised he knew my first name.

The other gentleman that took the co2 out of my back tire and pumped in 120 psi of air as I flatted again atop Blewett pass, this time on the SIR June o8 600k. He reassured me I was making good time while I refueled under the shade of his canopy.

"The voice" that called out "are you OK Vincent" from his truck as I temporarily dismounted to offer truce to the windgusts past Selah.

The crew at the secret control on the US12 that used their vehicles to create a windbreak and ladled out home-made chicken soup that got me to Rimrock in new form.
The early birds with the blankets and hot beverages at the bottom of a freezing descent from White pass.

The Inn-keepers at Rimrock, Pateros and Darrington that fed and bed me and got the bleary eyed rider out early enough.

The Ancien who loaned his Dear Bike so a rider could complete C1200. Who with his wife and others fed the whole group those 4 days.

My kind and jolly companion in the baggage truck who drove mile after mile while I sat and dreamed of riding the "Big One" someday.

The concerned face that got me back on my way at the Mickey Dee's at Granite Falls during the permanent from Mazama to Monroe.

The "Buff Guy" who sat patiently by his car with gas stove and noodle soup (I had a second helping) waiting for four apparitions to appear on two wheels at Marblemount.

The anesthesiologist that roamed interstate 36 by Last Chance with his truck full of "pain relief".

And on and on, where do I stop?
You are Safety Rock!

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