Trek Across Maine 2013

 It is hard to be brief about the Trek Across Maine and today will be no exception.

 

I have been unable to start this post until now because there is so much to say that sometimes it is easier, in the short term at least, to say nothing at all. 

 

We dropped the girls off with Sandi's mom late on Thursday morning to allow ourselves time to pack and organize before boarding the bus to Sunday River at 2.  There were tears from Ella at departure and it wasn't without guilt that we drove the mile down the road to Finelli's (most amazing) Pizza and had a slice of pizza and beer.  Hey, we were going to go so we might as well have fun while doing it.

 

The Trek divides 180 miles over three days of riding.  Friday is the longest mileage (67) and the least steep terrain.  Saturday has less miles (58) and more hills.  Sunday is the shortest miles (55) and the most hills.  While the weekend forecast looked stunning, Friday was calling for showers and had me checking my weather app compulsively. 

 

Then finally it happened... Friday's icon turned from showers to clouds and eventually to sun.   And would you take a look at the perfect temperatures for riding?

 

 

I know others wouldn't agree, but for me the hardest part of the Trek is the 3 hour bus ride from Bangor to Sunday River ski resort in Western Maine.   I am very prone to motion sickness and the only way to prevent it is for me to drive.  I wasn't thinking the bus driver would be into this so I tried to sleep as much as I could.  Even turning my head to have a conversation is bad news for me. 

 

Sandi and I would be riding as part of the 21 member Gold's Gym Team.  I had ridden as part of this 10 person team last year (click here for that post) and we were all novices but we had so much fun. 

 

Thursday we had a team dinner and some team bonding at Sunday River and were in bed fairly early. We were at the starting line by 7, the atmosphere abuzz with excitement and nervous energy.  Day one is the only day that has an actual start line (done in heats to prevent cyclists from being too crowded) and the president of the American Lung Association was there to thank us and see us off.  Every single volunteer thanked us for what we were doing. 

 

 

Here's a map of day 1.  I truly didn't even get into my lower gears until after mile 50. 

 And we were off.  Apparently the significant downhill leaving Sunday River is the scene of many a cyclist pile-ups.  It was a little painful to ride my breaks but the fear of ending up in the ditch was enough to make me do it.  The morning air was chilly but a beautiful day was preparing to make a debut across the sky.

 

The whole time we rode I kept looking over my shoulder at Sandi thinking, wow, she is still right there...and a few miles later I would think the same thing and gratitude would wash over me that we had this time, this ride, this opportunity to something so cool and be together, working as a team every step of the way.  I feel like we have barely been able to string together more than a handful of hours at a time since she started school 22 months ago.

 

At every rest stop the I would thank the volunteers and they would, as last year, say, "No, thank YOU."  But I felt like I just couldn't make them understand.  I had the privilege of riding my bike while all they got to do was hold traffic signs or portion out Dixie cups of trail mix and animal crackers.  They totally seemed like they were getting the raw end of the deal. 

 

Neither Sandi nor I liked being in the throngs of cyclists, especially over the early, highly trafficked parts of the road.  We peddled hard and got in and out of the rest stops efficiently and soon found ourselves ahead of the pack, sometimes not passing anyone for a mile.  That is way more our style.  We flew along, enjoying the scenery and each other and when we rolled into the University of Maine at Farmington I was kind of sad and wished we could keep riding.  

 

We had made such good time that there were only about 10 cyclists there but the volunteers were cheering to beat the band. We stowed our bikes and went to get our luggage.  The volunteers were still unloading it and I jokingly said to one woman, "Wait, are you saying that we beat our bags here?"

 

She looked at me, slightly annoyed and said, "We were delayed an hour because of the accident."

 

This gave me pause.  We had seen a couple of state troopers fly past us with their lights and sirens blazing but we just hoped it was not Trek related.  Then she continued.  "A cyclist was hit by an 18-wheeler and died."

 

Oh no.  No, no, no.

 

Sandi and I kind of slumped to the ground, our previous flight up on cloud 9 abruptly over.   This could not be true.  We got our phones out and saw that our screens were filled with texts and calls from family and friends asking if we were okay.  Quickly, we began to collect any information we could and the Bangor Daily News had already published an article with the general detail of how David LeClair had died only 10 miles into the Trek.  Never in the history of the Trek had a cyclist every died. Apparently David was drinking from his water bottle, lost control of his bike and fell, hitting his head and ending up under the rear tires of a tractor trailer truck. He died instantly.   It was an accident in every sense of the word. 

 

I was riddled with relief, grief, guilt and fear.  Our finish line celebrations and the entirety of the Trek atmosphere was significantly dampened by this staggering loss.

 

The sun was shining bright, the DJ blaring a steady stream of high powered music and we cheered heartily for all the cyclists that made is safely from Sunday River. Somehow their safe arrival was even more cause for celebration than it had ever been before. 

 

As usual, the acknowledgment of the fragility of life is one that can cut you off at the knees.  It was difficult to move forward with any sense of lightness.  Organizers gave out red ribbons for people to wear in memorial of David and we vowed to be on the road as early as we could and to be even more careful about cars and passing other cyclists.

 

Day two dawned cloudless and crisp.  We were ready to ride.  

At about mile 5, as we were passing people and trying to find an open piece of road, we noticed there was a guy with an L.L.Bean jersey tagging along.  We turned and introduced ourselves to him (his name was Bruce) and he said he liked our pace.  So we got to know Bruce over the next many gorgeous miles of country roads snaking rivers, falls, gorges and endless acres of trees.

It turns out Bruce is one of those genuinely nice guys and we had a great deal of fun riding fast with him.

Leaving early meant that we got to the rest stops before they had been decimated by the thousands of hungry cyclists that pour through.  On the tables were neat rows of cups filled with animal crackers, chex mix, gorp and baby carrots.  There were juicy oranges and peanut butter banana sandwiches to make your mouth and body happy.  When the rest stops are crowded, I feel like a child in bustling group of adults with elbows flying at my eyes as I try to snake through the tall men to get a granola bar. 

I decided that leaving early was not only safer for riding (less traffic, less cyclists) but that I also really dig the tidy buffet of the untouched rest stop.  

 

Our friends Chris and Brenda, veteran Trekkers, were doing the Trek for the first time with their seven-year-old daughter, Emily.  I think this is amazing and inspiring and I admit a few times I thought better them then us.   I greatly admire the selflessness and parental generosity that go into peddling your child up large hills for hours at a time. 

 

Here they are coming into Colby College at the end of day 2:



After the fatality on the first day, which they passed just after the crash occurred, they were slightly panicked by the dangers of the road.  They got smart, very smart, and decided it didn't make sense to try to ride the entire course.  If it was meant to be fun, they would keep it fun.  They had a pit crew in the form of Brenda's father and they wisely skipped segments to shorten the day or lessen the danger.

What good moms.

I don't think I have been able to spend this kind of uninterrupted time with Sandi for about 2 years.  It was incredible to have her so close by, to talk to, to hold her hand or just to be near with no one else competing for her attention.  Well, except when we played duck, duck, goose with Emily but that was just fun.

 And check out this cool t-shirt:

 

In my opinion, day 2 has it all going on.  It is the most scenic ride of the three days and the afternoon spent at Colby College is the super fun.  There is pizza and ice cream at the finish line, live music and tent city.

 

Tent city occupies the sloping lawn that abuts the road leading to the finish line.  You have to have a large enough team that raises enough money to qualify for a tent at tent city.  This year Team Gold's Gym had a tent!!  (This basically means a place to hang out for the afternoon while people socialize, lay in the grass and play Frisbee.)  Due to several layers of organizational mishap, it looked like all we were going to have at our tent was us and the bottled water we got at the finish line.  Other people had grills, camp chairs and coolers full of beer.  The L.L. Bean team had a caterer.  Gritty's had beer coolers with actual taps on them.  

 

Then, by some miracle, two of our team's support people showed up with coolers full of beverages.  We had some snacks that Rachel, our captain, had purchased for our team and given out on the bus ride to Sunday River.  Once the finish line was closed, volunteers came and delivered us two large pizzas.  We were willing to slum it, but we didn't have to!  Our team is full of fun, spirited people who didn't need chairs or grills to have a good time.  This was the afternoon I fell in love with our team.

 

The American Lung Association had this brilliant social media campaign going where they wanted you to write why you ride.

After dinner, we went to a presentation called The Spirit of the Trek.   People from the ALA talk about how the Trek began and honor some of the its most seasoned veterans.  (There are some people who have done the Trek for 25 years!)  Two of David LeClair's teammates from Athena Health spoke about David and his short, but magnificent life.  Then they showed a video about the history of the ALA and what the funds raised in the Trek are used for- specifically research and education.  Seeing video of kids discussing what it is like to live with asthma and seeing pictures of their inhalers, the same ones Maya uses, thinking about Maya's airway crises, made me realize what this ride is about and why it is so important for me to be a part of it.  I cried through the whole thing.

 

The end of day 2 closed with drinks and live music at Colby.  Sandi wasn't so into dancing and I couldn't see myself going to sleep without one dance so I joined a group of women I had been watching all weekend-  The Awesomes Team- and danced with them.  They are so awesome they didn't mind.

 

Day three dawned bright and clear.  This was the day for us to wear our team jerseys and ride into Belfast together- or at least as together as our wildly varied paces would allow.

 

We had run a bake sale to fundraise for these jerseys as well as using them as ways to attract business donations to our larger fundraising goal.  If a business donated $200, we would put the logo on our team jersey.  Our friend, and Sandi's relative, Albert,  sponsored us with his Lobster Select business.  Looks pretty spiffy on here I think.

These jerseys were super cool looking and I was proud to have one.  However, the sizing ran much smaller than I had allowed for and I had a hard time pouring myself into my usual medium.  I felt slightly indecent and wondered if I might have a seam failure during the ride.  The only thing that allowed me to wear it was the awareness that cyclists take numerous liberties with fashion - from long socks, short jerseys and padded shorts- and that I was among friends. 

Here is a shot of Sandi wearing it:

Team photo!

 

Day three: get ready to climb. 

 

 Day three was as amazing as the others.  I could feel Sandi's exhaustion catching up to her.  We had peddled the other two days hard and she had, after all, only trained for 10 days.  We climbed and we climbed and we climbed some more.   Sandi was a rockstar on that bike and I couldn't have been prouder of her. 

As we got closer to Belfast, I was both excited and sad.  We had made it but I didn't want our amazing weekend to end. 

 

About two miles from the finish, cyclists can stop at a staging area and wait for their team members so they can ride to the finish as a group.  While we waited, I ate the best piece of watermelon of my life and discovered that my $100 bike shorts had met the fate of all my favorite workout bottoms.  I had blown a hole right through the inner thigh.  If I hadn't been so bummed about having to replace them, I would have been proud.  Friction is an undeniable part of endurance exercise and even synthetic fabric is not immune.

 

Within an hour and a half all the people that we knew would make it by noon were there and we set off for the finish line.   As we were leaving the parking lot, the road was lined with cheerleaders ringing bells, whistling and thanking us for riding.  As we wove our way through the side streets of Belfast toward the harbor, there were countless residents out in their lawn chairs cheering and thanking us as well.  I saw a man hooked up to oxygen and felt my eyes well with tears.  The Trek is an awesome ride but it is so much more than that.

 

Our team:

It is hard to capture the feeling of the Belfast finish line.  It seems impossible that people could be so happy for you to complete a ride that seemed like a gift all along. 

 

Sorry there are so many pictures of us looking happy and relaxed.  Actually, no I'm not sorry at all.

 

Rachel, our wonderful and devoted team captain, and her hilarious partner Robert.  These two are the heart and soul of our team.  Thank you for all you did for all of us!

 

As always, when you get in safely, you must check off your number.

 

We could  hardly wait to get our girls back in our arms.  How grateful we were to Sandi's family for taking such good care of them so we could be gone for four whole days.   The Trek raised nearly $2 million and I'm proud to say that we were a small part of that.

 

What is the very best thing you can do with a medal that you earn for riding 180 miles? 

 

I think you know.

 

In case you're wondering, we've already signed up for next year. Who wants to join us? 

MDI half: a race report and retirement party

You know that moment when something that seemed like a good idea months back is right before you and you question the wisdom of your plan?

This is what race plans have become for me.  I think that I like the idea of myself as a distance runner but the ongoing issue with my right leg and losing some of my distance running mojo have been getting in my way. 

In my opinion, if you are going to run 26 miles (or 13 for that matter) you have to really have a thing about running.  Perhaps you need not love it but the scale must tip into more gratification than consternation. 

I signed up for the Mount Desert Island Half-Marathon sometime last year when the registration opened (it fills quickly).  It is the only half I planned on doing this year and I was counting on my base fitness to carry me through. I knew I couldn't do too many long runs because running over 7 or 8 miles bothers the inside of my right thigh down to into my knee.

I have run 3-4 miles many of the early mornings this summer, mostly because I was limited in exercise choices and you can run in the dark but you can't bike in the dark.  I rarely got the coveted runner's high and mostly had a sense of well there that's done when it was over.  Running has been more a way not to lose my sanity, rather than practiced out of love for the sport.  I attribute some of my rocky relationship to running on the injury and the fact that discomfort/fear of permanent damage takes some of the fun out of it.

As the race approached I considered not doing it.  My friend Mindy said, "You might regret it if you don't but you probably won't regret it if you do."  Good point. 

Ella has had a very difficult transition into school this year and has been very homesick and needing me around.  I considered not going for this reason but in the end she felt okay with it and Sandi spent the whole morning playing with the girls. 

I stood at the starting line thinking well, I certainly don't feel on fire to run 13.1 miles.  I had two friends from the gym, Melissa and Judy, who I met up with and it was nice not to be entirely on my own.  Then I ran into my friend Wendy and her son Adam, who was running his first half marathon.  I was very close to Adam's dad, Bill, who passed away from prostate cancer a few years ago.  It was wonderful to see him looking happy and getting ready to run a race.  (Thanks Wendy for the picture.)

 

Also at the starting line I ran into Tia, a young woman I had met while running the Sugarloaf Marathon in 2011. She is a sweetheart and we  amicably chatted away the first 6 miles of the race.  I ran alongside her feeling good and grateful to have the distraction while my legs warmed up.  I find that the end of long run is way easier for me than the beginning and that period of time while I search for my stride makes me kinda sorta despise running.  But hanging out with Tia made me literally say at mile 5, "What we are already at mile 5?"

The MDI half is the only half marathon in the country that goes through a national park.  It is a beautiful run through dirt carriage trails, mostly shaded, around Eagle Lake.  It is a stunner of a run. 

My legs were finally warm and ready for the 1 mile climb from mile 7-8.  Tia and I each put our music on and I fell into stride right behind her as we climbed.  When I hit the sight-for-sore-eyes water stop at the top of the hill I began to lengthen my stride for the cruise downhill. My body literally opened, my inner runner emerged, I picked up speed and I felt the run take hold of me.  This would be a good race.

Except that about 30 strides in pain shot up my leg through my knee.  It was a gasping sort of pain that made me shorten and hop a bit, a pain that intends for you to actually stop.  I kept running, hoping to "run it out."   What I experienced for the next many miles was somewhere between dull pain and the seizing pain that takes your breath away and makes you perseverate on the names of knee injuries that require surgery.  The flats were easier than the downhills but at one point the pain was so intense I had to literally stop and try to stretch it out.  I didn't want to walk the 5 miles to the finish. I cursed myself for not taking Ibuprofen before I left as I usually do.  I didn't freak out, but I did start bargaining with my body.

Let's just run to the finish and I won't make you do this again.

You can run 4 more miles, right?  It's only 4 miles.

If you do this I will get you the best iced coffee money can buy.

There are no spectators to speak of on the carriage trails but as we neared the 10 mile mark where the course turns onto paved road, there were some tourists milling around.  I began to ask random strangers for Ibuprofen.  I saw a lady in a group of casual walkers with a purse and my hope soared.  No go.  I hobbled along another minute or two and felt a tap on my arm.  A man said, "Are you the one who needs Ibuprofen?"  YES!  He had run in the opposite direction of their group to give it to me.

Oh stranger of mercy, I do not know you but I thank you.

I'm pretty sure that Ibuprofen carried me through the last 3 miles.  I didn't walk.  As long as you don't consider the near crawling I was doing up the last hill walking.

There is something I am really proud about in this race and it has nothing to do with my running or my time.  As I watched people pull out ahead of me as I slowed to accommodate for the pain, I didn't feel envy or bitterness.  I lost Tia who I'd hoped to stay with and didn't get down on myself.  I really just wanted to run the whole race.  As I saw people around me start to break down, I did what I have always done at the end of a race, the thing that makes me most proud to be a runner among runners:  I began to cheer for and encourage the people around me.  I love to give a whoop out and shout, "Yay! Mile 9!" in a crowd of people that look like they might prefer death over running.  High fives, telling people they look good and encouraging them to run instead of walk distracts me from my own pain and suffering and gets the gritty feel of a race under my fingernails. I love it.

When I crossed the finish line in 2:19 (6 minutes slower than my best time and 5 minutes faster than last year's MDI half when I had been intentionally running slow to preserve my leg) I was proud to be running.  My favorite part of a race is about a half mile from the finish and, knowing this could be my last long race, I milked it for all it was worth.  I was cheering and hooting and carrying on and as I came through the woods into the finish line shoot I felt like, instead of the finish line of a race, I had arrived at a funeral.

A handful of the spectators were clapping mildly and the volunteers were distractedly talking to each other and I had to all but say, "Umm, do I get a medal?"  when I arrived at the actual finish line. There were no water bottles to be found, but giant water jugs you had to pump into a cup yourself at a table with a line 30 people long.  Because no one I knew was there cheering for me (a first) I found myself, sweaty and thirsty, wandering around the crowd. It was the most somber finish line experience I've ever had.

But, being the big girl I am and having prepared for this, I went to the car and got my extra water and my bag and went in to get a shower. I missed my family for sure but it just made me appreciate how supportive they always are of me. 

When I was heading back outside to find Melissa and Judy, I ran into my endocrinologist.  She has been hearing of my running escapades for the past few years and helping me manage the erratic effects on my blood sugars.  This would be the same doctor who called me when I was on the bus leaving for the Trek Across Maine last June and all but told me not to do the 180 mile bike ride because of my elevated thyroid levels. I knew that she ran a little but I had no idea she was a distance runner as she stood before me sweat soaked and medal sporting, I felt that once again, running was the great equalizer.  Fast or slow, doctor or patient, we were both out there for the challenge. 

Time for a quick picture and then home to my girls.

Departing thoughts:

There are few feelings that can beat the humming contentment of hard worked muscles and the sense of accomplishment you possess on the ride home from a hard run.

I think it's pretty damn cool that, despite having only done two 8 mile runs and one 10, that I can still go out and run (hobble) 13.1 miles.

There's a chance my contented ride home pounding the water, and eventually the iced coffee, eating salty tofu jerky (you heard me right) was actually my retirement party.  I think it will be short distance running and long distance biking for these legs.  At least for a while...

'Aye for love!!! (and an unexpected race report)

This weekend we made the three hour trek back to Eastport, Maine to march for marriage equality in the Pirate Festival.  We had gone to Eastport to march in the  Fourth of July parade which had been my favorite parade to date. 

(Some of these pictures I took.  Many of them I have stolen shamelessly off Facebook.)

Well, Easport was at it again.  This time busting at the seams with pirates and wenches.  The streets of Eastport were lined six deep with costumed people shouting and cheering and hooting in support of marriage equality. 

As Krisit said, if ever there were a time that we felt like a rock stars this would surely be it.

Sandi's grandmother's health has been poor lastly and Sandi felt called to spend the day with her on Beals which is on the way to Eastport.  It turns out her instincts were right and she ended up taking her grandmother to the ER in the afternoon and hopefully sorting out some solutions to her recent declines.

I met up with Sandi's sister Kristi and kids at the head of the peninsula to Beals Island, they switched cars and Kristi and I and four kids headed to Eastport for the day.

The pridemobile was decked out in pirate fashion for this final parade before the election as were the willing marchers which had swelled to five times the number we usually have.  It was incredible to look around and see the momentum, evident in sheer numbers of people, that Aunt Suzie and Uncle Buck started back in June when they decided to get the word out in Washington County.  Their passion, energy, motivation and vision was a spark that has ignited the area and has created a living, breathing community of gay people, equal-minded people, and those striving for change in a place where there really wasn't one. 

And they haven't done it by force or hate.  They have done it with love, enthusiasm and joy.


The family of activists looking like they stepped off the set of Pirates of the Caribbean.
 

 

 My friend Ashley and her family suited up and  made the three hour trip to support the cause.  Even their dog Lily was dressed like a pirate!



Ella took this picture of us and I'm pretty sure I'm telling her to watch out about her finger on the lens and not saying a 4 letter expletive to my seven-year-old.
 

 

Ella and Kaylee



Kristi made new signs to make the float sea worthy.



Noah, looking totally awesome, won first prize for his costume and received this cool sword.

I bought Maya a wig to wear with her outfit and she looked hilarious with a capital H.  And while she liked the idea of being funny, in practicality she didn't like the idea of all this hair.  I couldn't let it go unused, although it was regrettable when it came time to push the bed uphill and I had a steady stream of sweat trickling down my spine. (Maya also refused any photos this time around.  Who can blame her?)

 

Our group was so big this time, it took two pictures to fit everyone!

 

 

 



Aunt Suzie and Uncle Buck won "Most Thrilling" by the festival committee!

 

I love the faces of activists.

 

 

There was one small group of 3-4 spectators who gave us some thumbs down and some boos when we were stopped on the corner.  We all turned to him and just cheered loudly and held up signs. I gave him the peace sign.  There was no fighting, is no fighting, with someone like this.  Only love can really prevail when water meets stone like this.

It was hard to really see the expanse of our group while in it and it wasn't until after when Uncle Buck said we took up about a fourth of the parade that I understood the presence we had in Eastport.

 

Pushing the bed full of candy throwing kids.

 

Now, about the race report.  Aunt Suzie thought it would be fun to enter a team in the "bed race."  Uncle Buck designed this bed with old bikes he got at the dump.  I tell you, this man is brilliant.

 Our team was supposed to be Uncle Buck, Dwight (Sandi's dad), Kristi and me pushing and Sandi riding.  Because Sandi's parents had a funeral to attend and Sandi was with her grandmother we made some changes, our friends Katie and Alex graciously watched Kristi's and my kids, and we were at the starting line stretching our quads before we knew it.

In the front running were Uncle Buck (left) and Dwight Jr. who I'd never met and was full of steam (right) and in the back Kris and I.  Kathleen, donning a motorcycle helmet was the rider/flag raiser.



The race is a sprint to the flagpole pushing a bed, the rider dismounting and running to hoist our flag up the pole, running back to the bed and a sprint pushing the bed back to the finish.

None of us had ever done it or seen it done before.

Now here is where I pause to give you an exciting piece of information.  Apparently the Travel Channel was in Eastport filming a segment about the Pirate Festival.  There were men carrying professional grade video cameras crawling all over downtown near the start and we were making jokes about getting on TV.  The race goes in heats, two beds at a time, and we were in the last of four heats.  (And then the fastest two beds race off for a winner.) Who do you think we were racing?  Yup, the guys from the Travel Channel.

The rider must have been the star of whatever show they were filming for because there was a camera mounted to the front of their bed to capture his experience.  They had an ultra fancy bed fashioned to look like a pirate ship.  As we lined up at the start the pusher closest to me said, "Please don't make fools out of us." I told him we had never done it before, had no idea what we were doing and we were smiling and joking.

And then, just before the cannon fired to signal the start, the rider/show's star, took his water bottle and, in true pirate fashion, threw it all over me.  It soaked my face and down my clothes.  Right in front of the camera filming the whole thing.

I think I might be on TV.  And damn if I didn't have a single witty comeback to throw at him.  But before I knew it the cannon had fired and my irate energy funneled into my legs and we RAN.

Because I have a half marathon next weekend, I had squeezed an 8.5 mile run in before I leaving home that morning.  Now I feel embarrassed to even call what I had done in the dark dawn running because clearly what we were doing in the race was really what running is.  I'm surprised I don't have bruises from where my feet were kicking my ass with my heels.  I was sucking wind moving my (much shorter than my teammate's) legs just as fast as they would go, whilst pushing a bed on bicycle wheels.

And, despite the incredible craftsmanship, check out the angle of my wheel:

 

Flag up the pole and time to run back.  I was definitely at the peak of my anaerobic threshold.  I was honestly afraid I wouldn't be able to keep the pace and would have to let go, but I put my head down, told myself it was not far and ran hard. 

 

Clearly, all my previous experience with race mentality- digging deep at the brutal finish of a marathon- helped me finish strong in this most important race.

 

(See the TV crew?)

 

 

 

 

 I have to say, this was the most fun I'd had in a while.  It made me wonder why I would ever do any other sort of race ever.  It's official: bed races beat the pants off of marathons. 

We won our heat handily (take that Travel guy!) but didn't win the race.  However, the bed, as a nod to Uncle Buck's brilliance, got the "Most Creative" award and we each got a bag of gold  ($20 in dollar coins) in a pirate bag.

When we found this kids Ella said, "MOM! I didn't know you could run that fast!"

Me neither, sweetie.  Me neither.

When Sandi asked Ella what her favorite part of the day was and she answered: "The bed race."  Then she said, "Wouldn't it be fun to go back next year and not need to march for equality, but just to go for fun?  Maybe we could have a different float!"

I don't know if Aunt Suzie and Uncle Bucky fully know the gift they have given this rural, closed-minded patch of Maine.  It is a gift that will continue to give long after the pridemobile is stripped and their trailer put back to everyday use.  This is a place where people were afraid to come out still, afraid to live openly and didn't have a space to just be who they are.  Aunt Suzie and Uncle Bucky have infused it with love, with permission, with acceptance.  I marvel at all they believe and how they put their money and time where their mouths are.  I am proud to call them my family and am certain they have changed me, how I think, and what I know to be true about change. 

All of this leaves me with one resonating thought:  while it is kind of sucky to have to fight so hard for basic rights, it has been really fun, unifying and celebratory as well.  Turns out, if I can not get too upset over the slight of being treated as unequal, I really relish working hard toward a goal.  Especially with others who are motivated, impassioned and dedicated.  I will miss so many of these people I have come to know this summer.  Beautiful people, gay and straight, with hearts of gold and love that knows no bounds. 

A thousand thank yous to all who have helped the cause this summer.  I have no words to really tell you what it means to me, to our family, to our state.  And from here every converstation, every story and photo shared will continue the momentum created here and push us foward toward real change on election day.