As had happened before, I got a bee in my bonnet about helping--
I wanted to contribute by doing a bike-a-thon to raise money for charity--
It was a twenty-five mile course--
I'd never ridden that far--
I wasn't in the best of shape--
My bike was less than impressive--
Warped frame from numerous wrecks--
The front wheel rubbed as I peddled--
But, I wanted to do it--
I wanted to help--
It seemed like it meant something to me deeper than anything else--
I felt the connection--
Like I had with the telethon--
I could help in someway--
A little--
All those littles add up to a big--
All those grains of sand make a beach right--
So I signed up--
Got a wealthy aunt to pledge--
A few other people too--
Every mile I completed the charity got money--
So Dad said he'd take me in his truck--
Get me there on time--
The day came--
I paced and whined at Mom--
She said he'd get there soon enough--
It was time for the bike-a-thon to start and I was failing--
Failing because I wasn't even there--
Mom finally tossed my bike in the trunk of the car and took me--
No one was at the starting line--
Everyone had left--
I was anguished--
Failing at something that was to be a challenge anyway--
Failing to help--
The officials let me start late--
I did not stop for the juice, water, snacks and breath at the rest stations--
I had to make up for lost time--
How could I ever live it down--
I would not stop--
I was embarrassed--
Failing the sick because my Dad didn't keep his word--
I was a mess--
I was angry--
Angry enough already--
Then my Dad and my brother-in-law pulled up beside me in the truck--
How he convinced them to let his truck on the bike route I still don't know--
He rode beside me--
Telling me to just give up--
That I'd never make 25 miles--
Just put my bike in the truck and go home--
I wasn't going to make it--
Part of me was already weary from pressing on--
Peddling up hills like I had never seen--
My front wheel catching with each stroke--
Resisting--
But what would I say to all the people--
What about the sick people who were needing me--
Needing my donors to pay--
I told my Father I wouldn't stop--
My brother-in-law laughed--
My Father bet me then--
He bet me that I wouldn't make it--
He bet me a brand new bike--
One with three speeds--
One that wasn't warped from numerous wrecks--
He bet me that I would fail--
I continued--
The new bike was not my motivation--
Now it was about my pride--
I forced myself on--
Even with the obstacles--
I finished in the first 100--
I was supposed to get a commemorative t-shirt for finishing in that number--
But Mom grabbed my bike--
Grabbed me--
And took me home--
I told her of Dad's bet--
Of the new bike--
That would serve as my trophy then--
That would prove I did it--
That I didn't give up--
And when he went to by me that 3-speed--
All he could find was a 10-speed--
(PS)--
I kept that bike--
I kept it for 30 years--
Its rotted tires--
Its rusted spokes--
Because I never gave up--
My trophy--
I threw it away this week.
True
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