day, climbed the Rockies and was bucking stiff prairie winds. I quickly realized that I wasn’t going to be part of this story by riding a bike. But those five days from Vancouver to Winnipeg did invite me into a much larger story, a story of faith, compassion and tenacity, a story of setting aside the false belief that the world’s problems are too big for any one person to make a difference.
I invite you to read this book with an open heart. If I know Arvid at all, I know he would never want you to read this story as if it was about him and his cycling accomplishments. His singular vision has always been that we would have eyes to see the world through the eyes of Charity, the tiny rescued girl who renewed his sight and filled his heart.
I count it a privilege to have been invited, on several occasions, to share Arvid’s story with the public media. Today, I suggest to you that this story is worth reading because it offers a picture of a life worth living.
David Balzer
Winnipeg, MB
Assistant Professor of Communications and Media, Canadian Mennonite University
Media coordinator (Spoke ’99, GrandpasCan 2011)
Acknowledgements
God: You have led me all my life. And now in these recent years, I have sensed your love and leading in very profound ways.
Ruth: I could not do what I do without you by my side.
Paul Loewen, my son, the author: What a rare privilege this has been. You had this idea long before I did. You have lived much of this story first-hand. The experience of writing this book together is something I will always treasure.
Bernie and Jodi, Josh and Stephanie, Paul and Jeanette, and my eight grandsons: You are my best support crew, whether you are on the road with me or supporting me from at home.
Charles and Esther Mulli: For entrusting me, a virtual stranger at the time, with three of your children as I dreamed and planned Spoke 2005. We are blessed to have been able to work alongside you and value our ongoing partnership and friendship. There is no doubt that God brought us into one another’s lives. To God be the glory.
Mulli children Miriam, Jane, Grace, Ndondo, Kaleli, Mueni, Isaac and Dickson: For welcoming and accepting Ruth and me as partners in your ministry.
MCF beneficiaries who have travelled across Canada with me—Lydia, Paul, Mumina, Mary, Charity, Rama, John, Benedict: Your presence on the road with me has been a huge encouragement.
David Balzer, media coordinator for Spoke ’99 and GrandpasCan 2011: You have been instrumental in helping me use cycling as a platform to make a difference. Your expertise and creativity in delivering the story to the media has opened many doors.
Paul Boge, media coordinator for Spoke 2005 and GrandpasCan 2012: Your presence on the road with the MCF contingent was invaluable in creating awareness for them to tell their stories.
Media, local and national: You have made it possible to spread the word about MCF all across Canada.
Bikes and Beyond: You have provided premium bikes and service for me. Thank you, Phil Roadley and staff.
Larry Willard, publisher, Castle Quay Books: You were keen about this book project from the first time we communicated. Thank you for believing in it. It has been a pleasure working with you.
Marina Hofman Willard, executive editor, Castle Quay Books: You kept us on track and on schedule. Thank you for your expertise and for making this such a positive experience.
Donors: Thank you for your support of MCF. Together we are making a difference.
Event sponsors: You make it possible for me to do what I do.
Support crews: Thank you for your tireless and selfless service to keep me on my bike.
Prayer warriors—friends, family, the MCF family: With God all things are possible.
1. The End: RAAM 2008
Click.Click. Click.
Click. Click.Click.Click.Click.Click. Click.
Click.Click.ClicClicClicCliCliClClClCCC.
The ticking of my wheels picked up speed as I crested the slight hill and started moving downwards again. Behind me, I could hear the revving of the support crew vehicle taper off as they, too, coasted with a bit more speed. That slight uphill was nothing compared to what I had already experienced in the first five days of the ride.
Five days? I asked myself. Has it really been that long?
Is that all it’s been?
* * *
“Hey, Arvid!” Ruth called out of the side of the van, pulling up beside me. “Up ahead is the McDonald’s they were telling us about. Free food for all Race Across America riders and crew.”
Biking 20 out of every 24 hours takes a toll on the body, and there’s almost no way you can replenish the energy you’re expending. With that much output, you’re forced to take in as many calories as possible—through whatever means possible. Milkshakes and Big Macs had become some of my favourite. This would be a great place to load up. I needed somewhere between 8,000 to 9,000 calories in 24 hours. If you’ve ever tried to eat that much, you’ll realize it’s more or less impossible. Which is why I was losing weight. It was day five, and I’d already dropped a few pounds. By the end of the ride I would be down 5 to 10 lbs from my starting weight. A quick weight-loss program if I’ve ever heard of one.
“Sounds good,” I said. “We’ll stop there, and I’ll take a short break. Can’t waste time,” I added as they drove ahead to the golden arches in the distance. I was alone in my thoughts again, with only the sounds of my bike ticking and the hum of the tires on the road.
Ultra-marathon cycling is a solitary sport, one that puts you against the road. There are other competitors out there, but the battle comes down to you versus you. In the end, if you lose, it’s you defeating yourself.
I snapped my head up just in time to turn into the parking lot, taking my foot out of the right pedal and coasting to a stop. Josh was there to grab the bike from me as I lifted my foot over the frame. I shook my head, trying to clear a slight pain that seemed to have settled in at the back of my neck.
“Do you want a Big Mac, Dad?” my daughter, Stephanie, asked. “Vanilla milkshake?”
“And a Coke,” I nodded, my throat a little hoarse. I couldn’t tell whether the headache was from a lack of sleep or something more serious, but the caffeine couldn’t hurt. By this point in the ride I needed every pick-me-up that I could get.
“Rider 132.” Someone was coming my way, looking at his clipboard. “Arvid Loewen?”
“That’s me,” I responded, taking a sip from the bottle and stripping the gloves off my hands. Over time it seemed like they fused to the skin, the sweat bonding them together.
“So you’re a solo rider?” He put the clipboard on the ground and lifted a camera to his shoulder, adjusting the lens.
“That’s right,” I answered. “Solo. All 3,000 miles from coast to coast.”
