Lisa Ragghianti, Mother of Rider Mario Ragghianti, Reflects

When my son, Mario, began talking about this “ride across the country,” I did not take him seriously. I thought, Oh, this will pass.

I also had the rationale that it was too dangerous, and you should finish school, work this summer, etc, etc, etc. Mind you, it wasn’t that I was against the cause or anything, it was more about his, and others safety. I thought that if I just didn’t talk about it, it would go away. Not so.

When I realized that it was going to happen, I had that punch in the gut feeling. But I knew then that it was time to jump on board and support my son as he was about to begin the most incredible adventure of his life to date. Riding a bike across the U.S. for Lasallian Volunteers seemed so big and so scary.

The movie trailer did it for me. From that moment on, I began to see the amount of work that had gone into this adventure. The website, the planning of each day’s ride, each night’s place of rest and the places of service along the way.

Once the ride began, each morning’s text to Mario included good luck, prayers, blessings, encouragement, and always a “be careful” for him and all the riders. It became a morning ritual. As the ride progressed, I watched and read everyday. I waited for blogs, tweets, the occasional phone call or emails when service was available. I enjoyed the pictures and articles on the web, and loved the weekly recaps. Nishant’s pictures and videos along with Ed’s writings kept us in touch with the ride.

I increasingly became enamored by the cause and the determination of the riders enduring the elements and sore bodies every day to spread a message of hope for the poor across 3,600 miles.

I am happy that my son was able to complete the ride. I am glad that he got to experience each day’s uniqueness and visit with amazing people along the way. LVs Ride was a growing experience for me as I am sure it was for each rider, and an experience that none of us will forget. I am glad I got on board and supported this incredible group of people. It was pure pleasure to witness the last day in New Jersey. I was blessed to be able to be there for the dip into the ocean—3,600 miles from the start. Wow!

I am proud of my son, Mario, all the riders, and those who worked incredibly hard to make LVs Ride so successful.

LV Kenny Latta (10-12) Reflects on LVs RIDE

“We travelers, walking to the sun, can’t see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
That blessed light that yet to us is dark.”
- Wendell Berry, Given

The bike ride is over. Sort of.

You see, I can’t seem to get LVs Ride out of my head.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the asphalt shoulder of some highway in Ohio whirling past my front tire. Or I see the odometer on the handlebar slowly (oh so slowly…) making its way towards 85 miles, where I know I’ll be finished for the day. Or I see myself riding over the peak of a hill, and gripping my handlebars, white-knuckled, on the way down.

Sometimes I’ll be walking around our neighborhood in the Bronx and see a hole in the sidewalk ahead, and it’s all I can do to stifle the instinct to shout “Hole!” and wave my hands wildly around, desperately trying to get the attention of the family behind me who, I’m sure, can see the hole quite well for themselves, thank you.

Most nights I have dreams about peanut butter. Seriously. Globs of peanut butter. On bread. On English muffins. On potato chips. On ice cream, carrots, spoons. You know — the kind of stuff you like to put peanut butter on. I once dreamt that we were finishing the ride at the Atlantic Ocean, and we ran out onto the beach, all smiles and laughs and tears, and triumphantly dipped our front tires into roaring waves of peanut butter.

Oh, and I have such great memories that it’s really become hard not to overburden every person I meet with biker stories. I remember riding away from Lewis University in the morning of my first day, nervous like I was going on a first date with a girl that I knew was going to kick my butt in about 60 miles. And I remember 80 miles later, with the sun of the late afternoon burning through my helmet, telling Mario that I needed to take a break, and falling—and I mean falling—asleep in some parking lot somewhere, knowing that I wouldn’t be getting back on my bike that day.

I remember the next morning and the fear I felt as I looked back to see Kelly stumble and fall on those train tracks with the red lights blinking and the train coming, and how helpless I felt with my stupid bike shoes clipped into my stupid bike pedals and falling onto the side of the road. And I remember Mari’s heroic rescue, watching her and Kelly limp off the tracks just before the train rushed by.

I remember the feeling of joy and sense of accomplishment that came after the first time I finished a whole day of the ride—coincidentally the first time I realized that accomplishment tastes a lot like soft-serve ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. And I remember riding out of Ohio into Pennsylvania, and it dawning on me that I had just crossed an entire state by bicycle for the first time.

I remember the complete and utter misery of climbing the Appalachian Mountains, and the complete and utter amazement of discovering that I had, somehow, reached the top. Then I remember rushing down the mountains at 35 miles per hour, wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth, only to see Tom Ludzia pull alongside and telling me that I had (unfortunately) missed a turn at the top and would (unfortunately) need to turn around and climb back up.

I remember riding through Amish country, and sharing a watermelon with Mario and Ed that we’d bought for a dollar from some Amish family’s front yard, and making a monument to the moment with our rinds and some flowers Ed picked from the side of the road.

And, of course, I remember the excitement building as we approached the end—the sound of Zac and Rich laying into their bike bells, the sound of Karen and Glenna and Alyse singing that song, the sound of the waves crashing on the sands of the Jersey shore, and the sound of all the friends and family cheering us on as we came around the corner and dashed to the ocean. I remember how happy Glenna was to introduce me to her family, who had driven all the way from Wisconsin to surprise her for this moment. I remember the confused faces of our fellow beachgoers as we went for a swim with our bikes. I remember our laughter as Nishant, desperate to protect his camera and get the perfect photo, was beaten senseless by the waves. And I remember watching Mario’s mom announce to everyone around with ears to hear that we—the Lasallian family—had just biked over 3,400 miles.

There is one other memory that has become particularly meaningful for me as I reflect on my two weeks with the ride:

I remember the sunrises. Each morning, riding east, we would find the sun low on the horizon and right in our faces. Sunglasses were little help, and I know that many of us were completely blind to what was coming up ahead. We proceeded on faith; trusting in the riders in front of us to make the right turns, point out obstacles, lead us over hills, up mountains, through valleys, and to the occasional Dairy Queen. And, being ignorant of the road ahead, it was only on looking back that we could really understand how far we’d come, and see clearly all of the things we’d passed.

Now that the ride is over, I’ve said that LVs Ride is on my mind, and that I can’t seem to think of much else. But I’m not complaining. I realize that I am just looking back, evaluating how far I’ve come and beginning, as best I can, to fully appreciate a path paved by blessings and memories; friendships, smiles and laughs; bikes and sore butts; challenges, triumphs; and, well, one hell of a good time.

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Brother Rich Galvin Reflects on LVs RIDE

(8/14/11)

Yes, my ride is now complete. About 20 riders arrived at Long Branch yesterday at approximately 4:30PM. This included national riders, regional riders like myself, and a couple of day riders who joined us yesterday at La Salle College High School.

Riding was a little crazy trying to get out of Philadelphia. There were lots of twists and turns, traffic lights, and even a few unfriendly motorists. So, New Jersey was a welcomed site. The reception at Long Branch was terrific! Friends and family gathered to recieve us and the beach was filled with sun worshippers who found our arrival curious. Each rider dipped his/her tires in the ocean and then we each took a plunge as well.

We were then driven to the church next to the provincialate where we boarded our bikes one last time. Aproximately 100 or so people were cheering for us as we entered. Real cool! We then cleaned up and enjoyed a meal in the CBA cafeteria. Several riders had an opportunity to speak about their experiences and each rider was presented a comemorative plaque. A great evening!

I was looking so forward to this past week and can hardly believe it’s over. The 700 miles I rode prior to this ride was a life saver for me. I expected to walk my bike up hills and need to get in the support van at times. Thankfully, neither was necessary. I definitely held my own and I am proud of that!

Thanks to all who supported my ride financially and to those of you who supported me with thoughts, prayers, calls, and texts, before and during the ride. Your support was much appreciated.

Live Jesus in Our hearts……..FOREVER!

 

Mari Anzicek Reflects on LVs RIDE

Since the ride finished last Saturday, I have been hearing many of the same questions.

“How do you feel? Are you tired? Are you glad it’s over? Are you going to do it again?”

Most of the time I say something like, “I feel great. I slept a lot the first few days and took a few naps. Am I glad it’s over? No, this is easily one of the best summers of my life.”

LVs Ride started out as a simple dream to bike cross country and hopefully raise awareness about poverty, and encourage funding for the Lasallian Volunteers. The reality of what this ride actually became is overwhelming and incredible to me. The ride started with two people pitching an idea and turned into over 50 people riding or driving some or all of the way, hundreds of hosts around the country, service in soup kitchens and homeless shelters and touching the hearts of countless individuals across the country. I might even be so bold in saying it created a wave of enthusiasm and support among Lasallians and new friends across the country.

I am incredibly grateful and humbled that so many people sacrificed their time to make this ride possible. So many hours were spent calling churches to host us, making a website, designing PR materials, connecting us with newspapers and other news outlets, planning routes, and so much more so we could ride our bikes . . . every day.

In addition, we were treated to the most incredible hospitality of people all over the country, over and over again. We would enter the churches and homes of our hosts as strangers and come away having shared great conversation, learned about each other and been able to call one other a friend. We also met others traveling by bicycle who in turn started following our journey and progress across the country. All summer long I kept thinking folks are going out of their way to host and feed us for the night, drive our van, or send an encouraging note—and we are just riding our bikes. In some ways it still feels like a dream.

Since the finish on Saturday, I have been tying up loose ends, returning borrowed equipment, sending thank you notes and trying to find time to reflect on what this summer meant for me. I am not sure I will ever know the full impact of this ride, but I can say one thing: thank you for believing in us. Thank you for thinking this ride and the Lasallian Volunteers are worth your support. Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for letting a group of people come together as strangers and leave as family. Thank you for believing riding our bikes to spread the message about poverty and service was worth it.

The simple act of riding our bikes from Pacific to Atlantic wasn’t as simple as we initially thought. But, wow! Was it worth it! And yes, I hope to do it again.

Saul Almanza Reflects on LVs Ride

I would like to say thanks to all of the riders for organizing and taking part in the ride. Doing a thing like that is not an easy task. The time I spent with them was some of the best times I’ve had.

Please continue to help others in need, and I hope to do the same. But for now, I will go out the back porch and have some rye whiskey and listen to Bob Dylan, a hard rain is gonna’ fall so to all the riders . . . SALUD and god bess you all!

 

Mike & Stacy Leard Reflect on LVs RIDE

Many folks want to know how it feels to have crossed the country by bicycle…
To have woken up with the sun and ridden an average of 75 miles for several days in a row;
To have spent the whole day outside, making sunscreen a habit and changes in weather a daily concern;
To have climbed mountains and coasted down them, going from 5 to 50 MPH in a matter of seconds;
To have watched the corn grow on small family farms and expansive corporate fields;
To have met new people – kind, considerate and generous folks – in cities, towns and country;
To have gotten lost and found our way, navigating new roads and improving our map-reading skills;
To have eaten more than we ever have… and found ourselves hungry 2 hours later;
To have learned how to fix a flat, change a tire, replace a spoke, and other roadside repairs;

To have reached our destination, the Atlantic coast, and when asked, “So how does it feel?!” we answered, “Like just another day on the bicycle.”

Our summer was amazing – from the changes in landscape to the interesting people and turns of events. We live in a beautiful and awesome country, and we couldn’t be more certain that cycling is the best speed at which to experience it.

Physically, we obviously feel like we’re in great shape. We’ve lost a few inches in some places (like the waist line) and gained a few in others (like our quads!). We have to be very conscious of our diets now that we’re not burning an average of 6,000 calories each day, which mostly means we need to focus on portion control.

So what’s our next step? When we created and named this blog, we did not intend for it to only refer to this cross-country ride. We’re setting our sites on new adventures and more travel so that we can continue to coast cross country.

Al Cassidy Reflects on LVs RIDE

I got the call late one afternoon in September 2010. I had recently completed work on a new Lasallian Volunteers’ website, and was on to other things—primarily any assistance I could offer with the LVs running in Memphis, TN, for their upcoming annual marathon fundraiser.

“Al,” Mari Anzicek began, always mispronouncing my name Ale with her Michigan accent, “Mario and I are planning a cross-country bike ride and need a logo. There will probably be more to follow, but for now, we really need a logo. Are you in? Can you help?”

I’ll admit I was a bit burnt. We put a lot of energy into that new website, and there was a whole host of other things since early 2010 we created new to help promote the future work of this 20+ year program. I needed a break. But, I cannot say “no” to a challenge… albeit slightly unclear.

“Why don’t you and Mario do some additional planning, then check back with me in, say, November?” I suggested as my temporary mental leave.

No good. They already had a rough route planned, were getting in touch with a friend who led bike tours, and picked the brain of Brother Ed Phelan about his 2001 ride across the country (the Spoke ‘N Word Tour). We needed to get going right away simply because this thing was really going to happen.

So, I put my head to it and came up with a few options. After some discussion and tweaking, we had our logo. Let’s move on, we said: we need a website, we need flyers to promote the ride, we need email blasts, sell sheets, business cards . . . whoa whoa whoa! Slow down!

“I’m actually not crazy about this logo,” I told Mari one morning.

“So,” she said, “we’re announcing the ride in the newsletter this month, and it needs to go to print by Friday.” And in typical Mari fashion, she followed with something like, You have until the end of the day to come up with something new or we’re just sticking with this one.

Gotta’ love Mari. To the point. Since we (Mario, Mari and I) had already pored over enough biking logos to give us a lifetime of dreams about cranks, derailleurs, and cogs, I had some additional ideas sitting around. After a few sketches and some tweaking, I switched the logo to black and red, and voila! — it was complete.

“Looks good!” said Mari. “Let’s get this newsletter to print!”

With this new logo icon established, it really set the groundwork for how all the advertising materials were going to look. A website came together quickly and roughly by early November (just after the arrival of my 2nd son). Right after Christmas, we had a well-formed brochure telling about our journey, the cause and the need for funding. Come March, we had enough riders to start the trip. Bike jerseys and t-shirts with the icon emblazoned on them were ready to out the door. We were ready to leave our mark on this country. Things were going fairly well. But what was that about the well laid plans of mice and men?

Mari gets the call from the courthouse. She is summoned for jury duty, a major case. Could be a long one. I take the helm on the communication efforts, among other things. While trying to encourage additional fundraising pre-ride, finalizing the bike jerseys and t-shirts, I helped solidify a van & trailer with graphics, secured a videographer capable of creating a remarkable documentary of the trip, and planned a basic road map for capturing the day-to-day ride through an online journal. It was a lot of work. Then came some relief.

I already had the brain of Brother Ed by my side whenever I ran out of fresh ideas, now I was getting another brain familiar with communications. Elizabeth Jodice, from the D.C. office, was tasked with securing media attention and (as if that wasn’t enough) she even volunteered to update the journal on a regular basis. A break from the daily grind (not a single cyclist left for Oregon at this point mind you) of LVs Ride was in sight!

Once Mari was released from her jury duty and I saw the van wrapped with new graphics —then helped Tom Ludzia off from St. James School in North Philadelphia in a freshly-packed van filled with camping and bike supplies—all I had to do was get behind the wheel of my email and phone for updates along the route. But they never came. Silence.

“What happened?!” I wondered aloud. The ride planning was off to such an amazing and providential start, and then darkness settled above, clouding the promise of progress. The ride seemed to go dormant within the first few days. I was so completely concerned that somehow we had failed to do something right. The icon we created and placed on every last bit of material was lost in the mountains of Oregon, never to see daylight again. Okay, I wasn’t that concerned. But it had dawned on me that when you create a campaign based on a single icon, and you hope it will reach many eyes so that it reaches a purpose, you tend to get a bit frantic when it disappears.

But after learning how blessed (perhaps cursed) some of us are to live in these highly connected cities where internet and cell phone signal peak at a constant, I learned that the upper midwest is quite dark and free of such modern-day triumphs. I look back and realize how the riders truly struggled from more than just aches, pains, sleepiness, thirst, hunger, lack of motivation and more. I also realized how unimportant that icon really was in the grand scheme of things, but somehow it found a new role. The icon wasn’t just to simply identify the ride, it helped many remember they were pedaling for this common cause.

Cycling the final two days of the ride—no, I wasn’t biding my time to await the final glory, mind you, it was just convenient for me living in the Philly area—it made me realize how incredible it is that we received any update at all from the road. Riding your bike can be a lot of fun on any given Sunday—the wind gently blowing through your hair, the sun beaming in the midday sky, swans swimming in the pond as you pass by. But try cycling for upwards of 12 hours a day, and add continual requests for stories and videos on how you are feeling about it all, you would probably be about ready to toss your cell phone into a ravine or push the camerman down a dirt hill.

From the time I began working on LVs Ride until the day I joined them in dipping our tires in the Atlantic Ocean, my 2nd son is almost a year old. In the time they set out to ride, so much more happened than just a stop in some new, unkown city greeted by complete strangers every day: my fist son recently turned 3, I spent my 4th of July with family in Virginia, I visited a camp for Philadelphia children a few days per week, I got to see “The Bean” in Chicago and watch a tv show filming, I celebrated with my father his 81st birthday, my sister her expected daughter, and I spent time with my own family nearly every single day of the week. That’s not a terrible summer when you consider that the team of riders dedicated 60+ days of their life to pedal nearly every single day of the week until they felt they could do no more. And each day when they were done, they slept. And when they were done sleeping, they either got up and did it all over again, or they went to a most needed part of the city where they helped aid people who in need of assistance. I only did the riding part for two days, and I was still recovering days after. If you were include even one of those service days in between my two days of riding, I’d be out for a week I think.

My two days riding next to the national team made me realize a lot of things, but mostly that I’ve missed a ton of opportunities to be selfless in some important ways. I learned that life will work out the way it is supposed to (thanks Brother Rich) so long as you are willing to put in the effort each and every day (thanks Tom Ludzia). I learned that when things get really difficult, you need to: get a song in your head (thanks Kenny Latta), shush your restless soul and consider how others are feeling (thanks Beth Ford), have a laugh and smile (thanks Alyse Gay, Zac Ufnar, Melissa Spahr, and Glenna Krzyzanowski), take a quiet moment aside (thank you Karen Giroux), think and reflect and respond delicately (thanks Tom Cook), stick together through the thick and the thin (thanks Mike & Stacy Leard), keep it loose (thanks Kelly Towns and Casey Wilson), worry less about the end and be in the present moment (thanks Mario Ragghianti), be positive, hilarious, and insightful (thank you Ed), take the lead even if everyone can’t stand what you are about to say though you know it may be best for the group (thank you Mari). I also re-learned that no matter what icon or imagery I come up with to help reach an audience, what lies beneath a sunburst of gears, spokes and a red star is the heart and soul of every person who gave whatever they could to make this thing real.

I have also continued to reaffirm my forever belief in “providence.” I’ve called it many things in the past: coincidence, karma, fate. But it all means the same to me. All roads lead to the same place, and so long as you are willing to allow the road to take you there—you will be cared for. Though the cue sheet may lead us astray from time to time, the destination is always the same, and we must have faith we will eventually find our way.

As we’ve heard it all before, it is the journey—the people met, the places seen, the food eaten, the games played, the needed helped, the curious entertained—that matters. But it doesn’t hurt to have an icon at your side.