The nervous energy was palpable as hundreds of cyclists, wrapped in colorful Lycra clothing, awaited the start of the 50-mile Half Century Ride from the Santa Fe Railyard, a hub for art galleries, restaurants and a weekly farmers market in Santa Fe, N.M. . Then, finally, we were driving through town as eight policemen on motorcycles jumped ahead to guard the intersections.
We drove past the Roundhouse, where the New Mexico Legislature meets. We passed Museum Hill, where four museums explore the Native American Southwest, the Spanish colonial past, and more. Then finally, after about a dozen miles, the Santa Fe was well behind us and we were alone, riding the rolling ranch.
It was the second day of a two-day cycling event that each spring attracts more than 1,500 participants, who come for the camaraderie and challenge of riding together through a high desert landscape rich in history, art and indigenous traditions. Of all those who had turned up for the Half-Century trek, I was the only one on a bicycle.
Hand bikes allow riders to sit or lie on their backs, turn the cranks with their hands, and move with arm power instead of leg power. My hand bike, a lightweight Swedish model, was equipped with an electric assist motor — essential for people like me who can’t move their legs.
My hands were going to feel it
Twelve years ago, while leading a climb in Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California, I made a costly mistake and plunged 40 feet into unforgiving rock. The fall broke my spine and severed my spinal cord, leaving me a paraplegic.
What I discovered after my long rehab was that of all the things I could no longer do, cycling was the one I missed the most. Riding was a big part of my life before my injury, ever since my parents gave me a three-speed Raleigh when I was 12 years old. I later cruised the coastal mountains of Southern California, belonged to a cycling club and even tried bike racing.
Handcycling was a way to experience the freedom and adventure that was missing from my life after the accident. It was very difficult at first, but with the help of an electronic assist engine, I found that I could keep up with my able-bodied friends. Still needing to prove to myself that I could do a long ride, I signed up for the Half-Century.
The ride would take me through terrain that varied from flat to hilly before returning to Santa Fe. My hands would feel it until I finished hours later.
‘On your left!’
I was going hard for the first few miles of the course, determined to save the e-assist battery for the bigger hills ahead. I had been preparing for this ride for months, knowing that arm muscle training can improve strength and power on a hand bike. But they will never produce the power that leg muscles can, according to Paul M. Gordon, chair of the department of health, human performance and recreation at Baylor University in Wako, Texas, largely because of the difference in the amount of muscle mass.
But with electronic assistance to replenish that missing muscle power, riders with spinal cord injuries can keep up with riders who use their legs to pedal. My tricycle has an electric motor in the front wheel that is powered by a lithium battery behind my seat. Power is added only when I turn the cranks and a switch allows me to adjust the amount of assistance.
But I wasn’t ready to crank up the battery power just yet, even as I was overtaken by the fastest riders. I resisted the competing urge to chase after them as we passed horse ranches, an old cemetery, and churches reflecting New Mexico’s Spanish history.
The long line of cyclists snaked along Highway 14, the Turquoise Trail, a scenic byway between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, named for the region’s rich history of turquoise mining. Windmills turned slowly, drawing water for the cattle scattered in the piñon and juniper forests.
After about 22 miles, I stopped to get peanut butter sandwiches and guzzle Gatorade at a food stop staffed by friendly volunteers. We then continued on, passing signs for a pottery studio and craft breweries. This area, including the village of Galisteo, has long been a favorite of artists, attracted by the light of the desert and the intersection of Spanish, Native American and English cultures.
We passed the turnoff to Lamy train station — where 80 years ago physicists disembarked a train from the East and headed to Los Alamos to help Robert Oppenheimer build the first atomic bomb. At this point, as a Tesla driver far from home, I was anxious from a distance and keeping an eye on my battery. I had used about half of his power.
Spring is usually the windiest season in New Mexico. Today was no different, and now we were driven into a headwind. My hands were pounding and I decided it was time to increase the online help to make up for the additional work.
I started passing other riders, feeling more confident knowing I had enough battery power to help me up the hills. Still, my arms got tired on the uphills, though they recovered as we hit the downhills. “To your left!” I called out to the other riders as I passed them.
Handcycling as therapy
Five years ago, I tried handcycling at Craig Hospital near Denver, where Tom Carr is the director of therapeutic recreation. Handcycling is an important tool in Craig’s rehabilitation program, which specializes in helping people with spinal cord or traumatic brain injuries.
“We can get people with a spinal cord injury on a bike and be safe and successful very early in their stay,” Mr Carr said. “Having the wind in your hair is something patients don’t know they’ll ever get again.” He added that he had become a huge advocate of online help, “especially for first-timers.”
But hand bikes don’t come cheap. They can cost $10,000 to $15,000 or more. Fortunately, people with spinal cord injuries or medical conditions that prevent them from riding a conventional two-wheeled bicycle can try one before they buy it. For example, Bike-On, a bike shop in Rhode Island that specializes in hand bikes, provides test clinics at various locations around the country. And the Vermont-based Kelly Brush Foundation, founded by an athlete injured in a skiing accident, provides grants to help with the cost of adaptive sports equipment. Her website has links to organizations across the United States that provide manual cycling experiences.
An adventure is complete
We were nearing the end of the ride, and as much as I had enjoyed the camaraderie of the group, after three and a half hours of cranking, I was ready for my cycling adventure to end. My arms were tired. My battery is dead. However, I knew I would make it to the end.
The final miles of the drive followed the Old Pecos Trail and portions of the original Route 66 through the winding streets of old Santa Fe. Long before European settlers arrived, the trail served as a route for trade between the Pueblo, Apache and Comanche tribes. Now it passes some of the fine hotels, restaurants and art galleries that make Santa Fe a prime tourist destination. I cycled forward, getting closer to my goal.
Then I finally got back to the Railyard area and a volunteer was handing me a finisher’s medal on a ribbon. I accepted it, happy, tired, proud. I had felt the wind in my hair and discovered that feeling of accomplishment that comes with completing a long bike ride, even though my legs were no longer moving.
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