Hate cancer? Love free stuff? This post's for you!

With the PMC 11 (!?!) days away, we're going into hardcore final countdown mode. And with a bit of fundraising still to go, I found myself contemplating the best way to inspire people to give to the cause.

And then it came to me... the perfect storm of people hating cancer and loving free shit...

Starting today, until the PMC kicks off at 5am on August 7th, if you donate $15 or more, you get yourself a handmade "fuck cancer" shirt!!!


(Thanks to Brian for inspiring me with his homemade Fuck Cancer shirt at our fundraiser the other month, and Barack Obama for inspiring me with his ability to draw way more donations from me than my income justifies simply by offering cool swag.)

UPDATE!!! The shirt is now available with slightly toned down messages for anyone who was worried about getting strange looks in the supermarket. Now take your pick from the following designs: "fuck cancer", "eff cancer" or "suck it cancer ".

You know you want one! So contribute and get yours today! 100% of your donation still goes to the Jimmy Fund, and you'll be contacted about size and color preference after the donation is processed.

And then, if you feel inclined to send a picture of yourself in your fuck cancer shirt for the blog, well, I would fucking love that.

CLAIM YOUR FUCK CANCER SHIRT!

Not much has changed in 15 years

This past weekend I went back to dirty Jersey to celebrate my dad's 60th birthday. Every time I go home I'm amazed at how my bedroom has slowly evolved from a tranquil personal space to an impromptu museum showcasing the Life and Times of Danielle Cerny. If I thought anyone out there cared about seeing a framed copy of my first work of art, the voodoo doll we used to pump ourselves up before field hockey games in high school, or the stacks of broken boards that chronicle my rise from white belt to red, I'd forget this whole school thing and base my retirement on admission and tour charges.

If only.

Well, this weekend I stumbled upon something I think people might actually care about - or, in the very least, get a good laugh out of: my 4th and 5th grade reading journals. These bad boys are choked full of goodies, but the entry that really jumped out at me was about a family trip to Maine back when I was 11. Here's an excerpt:










[The text in case it's hard to read: In or out of the pool it was a very peaceful place to be. But after the first day of sitting around we needed from exersize! So the next day we all rented bikes and went for a 40 mile bike ride. BEFORE... And AFTER... Very few survived. But going back in time this is what happened inbetween. We all started at a steady pace. We stayed together at first. But then my mom and I on our tandom raced ahead. Others got tiered. And we all needed a break here and there. When the bike trip ended we all spent the rest of the week in bed! The End!!!]

And there you have it, in 15 years very little has changed: I still love biking (and beating people on my bike), I still like to present my stories in before and after format, and I still have the same sense of humor (which I don't think my teacher even got from the looks of her notes!)

I dunno if that bodes well for the 11 year old version of myself, or poorly for the present day me ... but points for consistency I suppose! And definite extra credit for 15+ years of rocking the spandex.

DONATE

Helping bike lovers find love since 2010

Les and I have made no secret of our desire to land hot bicycling boyfriends who court us with strolling rides through the countryside, trips to the repair shop, and outdoor weddings where we walk down the aisle in our finest spandex before riding off into the sunset on matching his and her road bikes.

Okay, perhaps we haven’t been that specific in the past, but that’s definitely the scene that plays out in my head whenever I reference my future PMC boyfriend(s).

Well, believe it or not, Les and I aren’t alone in our bike boyfriend fantasy… the French – arguably some of the world’s greatest romantics – are also embracing the concept of roadside romance.

The Frisky – an online news source that has covered pressing questions like “Are all your friends lying to you?” and “Would you rather appear completely naked (we’re talking full-frontal, vag-in-view nudity) on the cover of Vogue, or appear fully-clothed in a Playboy spread?” – recently reported on a hot new French dating website devoted to bicycle love.

Thanks to my sis for finding the link, and so that you don’t have to click away from our page, here’s the short blurb that they published:

“Nothing cuter than a cute girl or boy on a bike, right? A new French dating website works off this principle. Called Velibataire, it’s a play on the French word for single (célibataire) and the name of the Paris public bike system (Vélib’). Because so many Parisians use these park-and-ride bikes to get around the city, it makes sense that you might cross a few hotties on your ride, just as you would on your daily subway commute. Velibataire lets users find other bikers closest to their neighborhood Vélib’ station, signal when they’re about to leave the house to pick up a bike (because maybe you’ll happen to “bump” into someone there), or organize bike ride dates with potential mates. Kind of a cute idea, n’est-ce pas? Think an online dating service like this would take off in the U.S.? [Velibataire]”

And here’s a screen shot of Velibataire’s homepage:


Now I don’t speak French, but I'm confident that photo speaks for itself. And the concept definitely translates – I don’t think anyone gets on the T expecting to catch a love bug (though other communicable diseases are pretty much implied). A scenic bike trail, on the other hand, ripe with picnic tables and trees for carving in your lovah’s initials, well, that’s a different story.

So in response to the “article’s” final question – heck yeah I think that kind of service could take off in the U.S., and if I was capable of creating a website that involved more than picking a template from Blogger’s fine array of aesthetic alternatives, I’d be all over this.

So here’s what I’m thinking instead – I’ll supply the catchy website name, main graphic, and first dating profile, and someone else can do the dirty work of writing the html and finding me a biker boyfriend. Sound good?

I sure hope so, cause I already did my part of this assignment:

---------
Website name- Bicyngle (Get it? Love it? Good.)

Main graphic-


First Personal Profile-

Name: Danielle Cerny
Birthday: 3/3/84
Likes: Hydration, Helmets and hot chiseled men
Dislikes: Potholes, Port-a-potties, and pigeons, parakeets or really birds of any kind
About me: To be honest, I’ve already found love, and it came in the form of my Giant Avail. My Giant and I have shared many beautiful weekends together, but it has come to my attention as of late that my bike has found love with another:


At every water stop, the two seem to nestle up together, unconcerned with the backlash caused by their flagrant PDA. It was a hard reality to accept at first, but given the recent rumors that they’re expecting twin tricycles in the fall, I’ve come to terms with the need to find a bicycle boyfriend of a less literal sense.

On that front, I’m not asking for much- just someone who will hold my bike steady when I’m changing a flat, and agree to travel hand-in-hand with me down the bike trail of life.

Suitors should be in their mid- to late-twenties, capable of maintaining a minimum 16mph average on the road, and look damn good in spandex (photos required).
---------

And there you have it. I’m confident one of you oh-so-clever blog readers can make Bicyngle a reality, but in the meantime, feel free to post your own profiles or, even better, responses to my profile, in the comments section of this site. And, just putting this out there- I’m completely open to bribes, and will give dating preference to the biggest donors ;-)

Let the bicycle lovefest begin!

DIRECT YOUR BRIBES HERE

Killin diseases one mile @ a time

Getting rid of MS before we knock out cancer!

Father's Day

So.

My dad's cancer is back. And it's spread.

I haven't told many people yet, but Les keeps saying I need to talk about it more. Let it out.

And she's right.

I guess by posting it here, I'm telling everyone and no one at once.

It's a start.

The situation isn't great but the doctors are optimistic and the Cernies are fighters. We've beaten cancer before and we'll do it again.

To help in the battle, they've put my dad back on bi-weekly chemo, and we're trying to optimize family time while he fights: his birthday next month, a vacation in August, and Father's Day just this past weekend.

So after Friday's PMC Fundraiser (thank you again to all who came out) I jumped on a train and headed back home.

If you don't know my parents, they have a somewhat unique relationship. As my dad recently put it (and he meant this lovingly, I swear): he's the logical half of the couple to my mom's illogical side. The Jack to her Locke (pre-Smoke Monster), if you will. A constant source of conflict, to be sure, but a much needed balance that's not easy to find.

In keeping with their relationship's constant back and forth, I came home to find my mom - a nurse who has studied Reiki and references her "energy healer" in conversation without batting an eye - trying to convince my dad - a by-the-book doctor - that a complete natural overhaul of his diet was integral to a smooth recovery.

Not surprisingly, my dad was resisting. And I don't blame him- if I was already being subjected to chemo, I wouldn't exactly be in a hurry to give up little pleasures like a beer with my dinner or a steak when I go out. But my mom wasn't giving up, and while he was out running errands, she showed me the spices and oils she'd been slipping in his food based on tips from countless cancer-related books she's read since he was first diagnosed.

She's happy to do this for him, but as we sat down to play Mexican Train Dominoes (a game my dad insisted we try after learning Ashton Kutcher is internationally ranked - "if that guy can do it, anyone can"), I looked at my dad - exhausted from chemo - and my mom - exhausted from worry - and decided that reinforcement was needed.


If my dad's gotta drastically change what he eats, why should he do it alone? Actually, I'm happy to join him in this endeavor. When Les's mom had cancer, she went all natural with incredible success, so I totally believe it's every bit as important as the more mainstream solutions out there. Plus, I'm not gonna lie, our growing family history of cancer incidents has me a little concerned about what lies down the road for myself. There's really nothing to lose, far as I can tell.

Before I rode back to Boston, my mom loaded me up with a sampling of vitamins, herbs and books, and by my dad's birthday next month I am determined to be well on my way to joining him in this lifestlye change.


So as soon as I finish the last fork-fulls of leftover Chinese food that I'm currently savoring, I'm starting a fresh page in our family's medical history.

Like I said earlier, the Cernies are fighters. So listen very carefully, cancer: We're gonna punch you right in the FACE. You hear me? In the face.

Before and After - Photos Have Not Been Altered - Results Are Real!

This past Friday, Les and I did something a little crazy- we rejected the prospect of another workday stuck glued to a computer screen, and joined an elite gang of bikers (gang symbol still pending) for an all-day training ride from Kingston to P-Town.


This seemed like a great idea… until I realized the following:

a)The ride was going to be 90 miles!
b)The longest training ride I’ve done so far this season was 55 miles, and that was only cause Les and I got lost!
c)We had to be at South Station by 6:30A.M. to participate!
d)We wouldn’t be “stopping” for lunch until the whole ride was done!
e)And yes, all of these exclamation marks were completely necessary!!! (Though the quotations around stopping are debatable)

I think this Before-Ride photo says it all:


(side note to potential PMC boyfriends: I promise, I clean up nice. Call me.)

But there was no going back once we’d purchased our ferry tickets and told our employers to screw. And since we’d be joined by 14 other hardcore riders - including Michael Augustine of Team Velox Rota and Bally’s fame - how hard could this ride really be?

Umm. Pretty. Effin. Hard.

The group was relatively cohesive for the beginning of the trek, but by 20 miles in we’d split into 3 distinct pacing groups, divided in large part by a slew of grueling hills. It was at about this point that my newly installed iphone mount decided to dislodge from my bike handles, sending both the holder AND iphone flying onto the pavement, where I immediately biked RIGHT OVER THEM.


Kerplunk!

Is that the saddest road kill you’ve ever seen, or what? No time to mourn, though – there were cold beers waiting for us at the end of the route! So after gathering up the pieces and confirming that the phone AMAZINGLY still worked, it was time to get back to pedaling.

Unfortunately, that pedaling remained extremely challenging, and after about 10 more miles, I had to stop and give my aching legs a pep-talk. This is when I discovered that my back tire had sprung a slow leak who-knows-how-long ago and was undoubtedly (at least this is what I like to tell myself) the cause of my struggles.

Thankfully, Ira I’m-Such-An-Intense-Biker-I-Don’t-Own-A-Car Kemp helped me replace my busted tube and gave me a fighting chance at finishing the ride alive. It’s worth noting that Ira used to (okay, still kinda does) scare the crap out of me. I simultaneously love and fear his spin classes because he demands the absolute best from himself and those around him. His approach certainly isn’t for everyone, but after watching him fix my tire and successfully intimidate an aggressive truck driver while on a bicycle – I can tell ya that Ira is a-okay in my book.


Ira – you da man.

The rest of the ride was filled with death-defying bridge crossings and more hills than my butt cared for, but by 4:30p.m. all 16 riders had successfully completed the route, and it was time for the real fun to begin.


$530 of bar tab, 90 minutes of ferry riding, 1 shattered iphone, and countless laughs later, we were back in Boston.




As it turns out, the night wasn’t quite over for me and les, but I’ll save my MBTA protest post for another day…

For now, an experience of Friday’s caliber deserves to end on a high note, and I think this After-Ride photo says it all:



Donate to Danielle
Donate to Les

Oh, what a difference a year makes

Well there's no denying it - training has officially begun! This time last year, Les and I were barely blogging, but so far this season, we already have a 55 mile outdoor ride under our belts and more spin sessions than our aching legs necessarily care for.

While we're definitely off to a solid early start, I realized today that all this focus on our training has had a glaring, negative consequence... we've neglected our blog! It's almost as though our blog - our first love child with the PMC - has become overshadowed by the allure of our comparatively younger road bikes; and by god, as a first born child who clearly harbors no resentment about having to share the limelight with a younger sister after 3 1/2 glorious years as numero uno ... I will not let this stand!

So we're bringing the blog back to center stage! And in an attempt to repair its battered ego, we're even springing for the blog equivalent of a nose job - yeah, that's right, a brand spankin' new Danielle and Les Ride Over Cancer logo! Suck on that one, bikes! Okay, hmm, I'm starting to question my future parenting skills, but we'll save that one for another day.

Here's the kicker - since everyone knows self-esteem is based on popularity - as it should be - we can't do this alone. Next week, Les and I will be revealing the contenders for this year's logo (one you will see on your Thank You postcards once you donate... hint, hint) and you will pick the winner!

So check back soon for your chance to help rebuild our blog's self esteem. And while you wait for the big unveiling, we encourage you to kill some time by donating to our fundraising efforts:

Donate to Danielle!
Donate to Les!

But please, try not to play favorites; we can't afford any real-life nose jobs.

My butt is cancer free!

I can’t wait to get old. In fact, I dream of the day I have nothing to do but sit on my porch and throw empty beer cans and disparaging comments at any young whippersnappers that dare pass by. When you’re old, you can get away with that kind of shit. And I intend to take full advantage.

Unfortunately, my genes have sped up the need for one aspect of old age I wasn’t looking forward to: The dreaded colonoscopy.

As most of you know, Les and I first got involved with the PMC because our lives were directly impacted by the bitch that is cancer. On my end, I lost my Grandma Murray 2 years ago to pancreatic cancer, and last year my dad was diagnosed with, and kicked the ass of, colon cancer.

We ride in hopes that someday no family will have to go through what ours did.

Problem is, this is a long-term goal. So when my mom saw a CNN report saying colon cancer was on the rise for young women with a family history of the disease, she decided that riding in the PMC wasn’t enough to keep our family cancer-free. Instead, she demanded I get myself checked out.

As awful as colonoscopies sound, I wasn’t about to argue with this request. I mean come on, I *need* my butt in tip-top condition if it’s gonna survive 192 miles of one-on-one time with my bike seat. Plus, I’m a big fan of my ass, so I take pretty seriously anything that threatens the junk in my trunk.

Setting up the appointment was easy enough, though I did have to explain on numerous occasions why a healthy 25 year old was seeking out an exam normally reserved for people who check off the 50+ box. Makes you wonder if “preventative care” is more of a sexy political talking point than a health industry standard.

But I digress. While my actual colonoscopy was Tuesday, the hardest part of the whole thing was Monday’s prep- You can’t eat any solid food, or drink anything that isn’t clear, for 24 hours before the exam! This did NOT mesh well with my constant-eater life style. The saving grace was advice from Les’s mom, who’s a nurse in the GI dept of an Indiana hospital. Her words of wisdom: Beer counts as a clear liquid, and green jello tastes better when made with a liberal helping of vodka. While the jello shots seemed like more effort than they were worth, a few beers mixed with my starvation-induced delirium helped me make the best of an otherwise unpleasant day.

Then came time for the actual procedure. Just like you’d expect, you get to the hospital and they have you strip down and change into a gown. Oh, let’s pause here for a minute actually. Ya know how your mom told you to always wear clean underwear in case you get hit by a bus… well here’s something she didn’t tell you- The only thing you’re supposed to keep on for a colonoscopy are your socks and shoes; information that would have been useful to know before I reached into my sparse supply of clean undergarments that morning and settled on a fluffy, hot-pink pair of socks. So much for getting through this procedure with my dignity intact.

I don’t remember too much once they hooked up me to the IV, but I know that about 45 minutes later, the nurse woke me up to announce that my butt was …. drum roll please…. Cancer free! And even better, I don’t need another colonoscopy till I’m the ripe old age of 45. Which is still a little young to get away with throwing empty cans at kids, but if the beer is part of my colonscopy prep, I would hope the neighbors could cut me some slack.

Our New Years resolution? KICK CANCERS ASS.

9:14 a.m. and Les and I have already accomplished a lot: Morning spin... check. Bagel and coffee reward... check. Sign up for the 2010 Pan-Mass Challenge... CHHHHHHECK!

It's pretty incredible going into this year's ride free of our newbie status. Actually, Les and I were just reminiscing about the first morning of last year's PMC when we stood amongst a mass of red jerseys, the sun barely visible, wondering what the EFF WE GOT OURSELVES INTO.

192 miles and countless memories later we know the answer: We got ourselves into one of the most empowering, cathartic experiences of our lives. And we can't wait to do it again.

So let the training and blogging begin!

Found: Camera with PMC pics

opening ceremony

name tag. lunch break day 1

name tag. lunch break day 1

70 miles in day 1!

Recaps

The PMC is still processing their stats on this year's ride, and Les and I are still processing the experience as a whole, but in the meantime, here are some nice photo and video recaps that have started to trickle in:

Billy Starr - My Road to the PMC from David Hellman on Vimeo.

From the official PMC highlight photos:

PMC ReMix

From

Ptown to Boston ferry

We were trying to keep a positive attitute, but after all the ferry
mis-information, the impounding of our bikes, the ripping of my bag,
and the physical and mental exhaution we were experiencing- we were
kind of grouchy. But, we finally managed to get on a ferry. Praise the
bike gods we were not stuck in ptown!
Danielle and I decided to get a couple vodka cranberrys and to our
suprise they were the drink special! Things were looking up!
Then we met a lovely woman by the name of Brenda. She had come up to
us and appologized for her leaving a towel next to our seats. We said,
no big deal, she sat, we started to chat and that's when I glanced at
her name tag(sidenote: I love name tags. Everyone should wear one) her
name was Brenda White. She was from Revere and this was her 29th year
riding. Wait, what 29!!!! This was the PMC's 30 year anniversary!
She invited us up to the top of the boat to join her other pmc
veterans. The rest of the trip was filled with amazing stories and
Brenda even made us her specail cocktail with vitamins and vodka.
Meeting Brenda was the perfect PMC icing on our amazing PMC cake.
We love ya Brenda!

Still smiling :)

Heading home

DC posting:
The photo is hard to see but that's Billy Starr making a scene- it's 3:04 and his ferry was supposed to leave at 3!!!

We're waiting for our high speed ferry on the dock. Billys "party boat" is for veteran riders. We'll have tickets for that soon enough.

For now, we're just lucky to have gotten on ANY ferry! We finished at 11 and with our ferry scheduled to leave only 45 minutes later, we knew there was no way we'd make it. We needed food, showers and most of all, we needed to enjoy the overwhelming moment that had just happened. So we approached a volunteer to see about bumping back our departure time (and I might add that these volunteers were AMAZING the entire time) but the news wasn't good... The ferry was over a mile away... and even though that's nothing compared to 192 miles of biking, the prospect of lugging our bikes, bags and tired asses another mile was just too much. Thankfully, after some cajoling, we landed ourselves a on standby for the 3:45 ferry, which will give us a minute to sit, relax, have a beer and revel in what we've just accomplished.

Then- Home. Sleep. Refuel. The last part will be helped along by Les and Danielle's Day of Pampering tomorrow- hour long massages, hair cuts, and a Coldplay concert (which we'll be getting to via limo!). After all that we'll do more thoughtful recaps. For now we're just happy to be heading home and thankful for an unforgettable first PMC weekend.

Done Son!

24 miles to go!!!

Dc posting:

My grandma would have loved this day- overcast and gray. And most
importantly for cycling, it's cool. Perfect for the final stretch.
Only 24 miles to go!! In theory we're racing to make the 11:45 ferry
but it's gonna be close... Plus we wanna hang out in p-town and soak
up what we just accomplised. Hopefully we can do standby and don't get
stranded on the cape cause there's nooo way we'll be biking back up to
Boston.

(the photo is of bikers sitting on packs of ice haha)

Half way done day 2

Sleeping Quarters..on top of desks, no pillows, dorm heat,