Final Thoughts

Last Thursday I went to Frankfort with some of the riders for Alzheimer’s Advocacy Day at the capitol. It was a great day for me to skip physics class and go catch up with the friends I haven’t spent much time with since the ride. We had a blast swapping stories and got the chance to meet with most of our respective representatives and senators to talk about why we did what we did in the name of our cause.

Being back with the guys and in the company of so many people from the Alzheimer’s Association and the Alzheimer’s community was great because it swept me back into the mindset that I had last summer and let me revisit the thoughts I was having during our journey. Many people have asked me since why I stopped writing my blog each day and why I never summed up my feelings about the ride afterward. The truth is that I checked out of the ride about ten days early and stopped thinking so much about the cause as I did myself. I feel incalculable regret because of this. Each day as we traveled further from Kentucky, I became more consumed with what type of person I would be afterward the looming end of the ride. We had spent forty days living with more purpose and focus than I ever have on my own and I was scared that my life as a student would not have the same meaning as before. Visiting the capital reminded me of those days and I feel ready to share my thoughts on our ride in a clear perspective.

Each day last summer we would get up, put on our uniforms, stretch, and prepare our bikes. Then we did what I have not done a day since the ride, I am embarrassed to admit. We focused all our thoughts and energy on what we hoped to achieve that day. We had a goal in mind as far as distance, but also for how we would conduct ourselves. We considered a specific person or family that had suffered with Alzheemer’s disease and decided to honor them with our actions for the day. I heard fifty of those dedications over the summer, and by and far I don’t remember them all. What I do remember is how I felt each morning and how, as the trip went on, how each story seemed to blur together because they were all so similar:

A loving family member starts acting different. The family often denies that this strong and intelligent person has a health issue. Symptoms worsen. The family becomes alarmed and addresses the victim. The victim is scared and often ashamed. Treatment is sought. It is never enough. Health declines. The victim becomes a person the family does not recognize, and does not recognize the family in return. There is a long period of emotional and financial strife filled with guilt on the family’s part that they cannot give the right aid. There are no happy endings.

Then we would ride. We would ride all day and talk about these people. We would meet strangers and tell them what we were doing. Lots of the times we would sing and have great fun. The times when we were truly focused on our purpose were sobering and emotional. We had declared that our goal was to raise money and awareness and bring people to action against the disease. I often felt helpless as more and more people emailed us and asked us to dedicate days to their loved ones. There were so many stories that made me so sad. What kept me going was the response we constantly received from our supporters. While it doesn’t make much sense that seven college kids riding bikes would have any bearing on people, it overwhelmingly did.

People were inspired. People saw us and would cry. Strangers would hug me like a long lost son. People would give us their home and food and money, more than they had to give, and would thank us afterwards. I appreciate Tyler’s genius because I was so skeptical from the get-go, but the gesture of riding our bikes a long way really did make a lot of people happy.

I sat in the capitol rotunda last week during the rally and listened to speakers that had been touched by the disease. My memories from last summer flooded my head. The speeches from Phyllis George and Pat Forde were very personal, and most of the time I bit my tongue and stared at the ceiling to avoid losing it. Last on the schedule for the rally was the call to action, which turned out to be a speech from Tyler. I stood behind him and listened while I thought of what I would write in this last blog. I came up with this:

During the ride, I never felt like I was doing anything remarkable. I struggled daily trying to decide if we should have just donated the money we raised for supplies and let that be that. As I step back several months later, I am very proud to be a part of the ride. As I frame the whole thing, I realize that we touched many people deeply, educated many more, and called many, many people to do something help our cause. I learned a lot more than most would want to know about Alzheimer’s disease. It is dehumanizing, often shameful, and emotionally and financially draining. It is vast and unforgiving. We did not reach our goal for fundraising, but I don’t care. I had nothing better to do and we changed some people’s minds along the way. Riding my bike across the country to support my friend and what he believed in was the best thing I’ve ever done with my life. If I do something else from now until I die and can make the same assertion again, I will have been a truly blessed individual.

Thanks for reading,

Cameron Hamilton
cameron.hamilton@uky.edu

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