Pan-Mass Challenge: Road Warriors Fighting Cancer

Every August, cyclists pedal 211 miles from Sturbridge to Provincetown, or 15 shorter routes. This event is not a race, but a karmic reunion. The cyclists are probably the kindest, most motivated cyclists in the world. They all have one thing in common: Each has lost someone they know to cancer. Many of them carry photos of their lost loved ones to cheer them on.

On Saturday evening, during a sleepover in Bourne, they raise a toast to the PMC Living Proof community, over 1,100 cyclists and volunteers who have survived cancer or are current patients.

“The good news is that the group of survivors is getting larger every year,” Starr says.

Dr. Laurie Glimcher, president of Dana-Farber, said in a telephone interview that Starr “really inspired a new industry that has revolutionized American fundraising for thousands of charities and millions of their beneficiaries. And Billy’s connection to cancer is like many others. It’s deeply personal.”

It all started in the 1970s. Starr lost his mother, Betty, to melanoma in 1974; she was 49 then. His uncle and cousin also died of cancer.

His mother was a volunteer at the VA hospital. “My mother was beautiful,” he says.

After her death, he talked his friends into hiking the Appalachian Trail in Maine. It rained eight days straight. His friends wanted to give up. Starr didn’t. He was amazed by all the random acts of kindness from fellow hikers, who gave him hot coffee, wine, and a little extra food.

The idea began to grow and he came up with the idea of ​​organizing a cycling marathon to fight cancer.

In 1980, he and 35 of his buddies drove from Springfield to Provincetown. They all got lost, ran out of food, and the ferry was not running. He thought they would all be mad at him. Instead, they threw him in the dock and promised to make the next year better. Starr presented a check to the Jimmy Fund of Dana-Farber for $10,200.

Starr thought that maybe he could make something big out of this event.

Currently, PMC contributions account for 62 percent of Jimmy Fund’s annual revenue. Last year, they raised a record $72 million.

“You don’t have to be a great athlete to be a PMC rider,” Starr says. “You have to be willing to commit.”

To complete the longest two-day route from Sturbridge, riders must raise $6,000 up front. No one rides for free and there are no refunds.

Starr, still lean and athletic at 73, pedals from Sturbridge to P-town every year. He refuses to use an electric bike, yet he averages 19 miles per hour. He starts hydrating for the event four days before. He doesn’t sleep much.

“I think I burn calories in bed,” she says.

But it has created a community unlike any other. This year, there were 3,800 volunteers who helped make it possible for athletes and non-athletes alike.

“We’re probably sending 30 tons of food to 47 cities and 370 miles of infrastructure to 16 groups,” he says.

Starr says repeat riders are the secret to success. “The average graduate comes back for 10 years or more.”

This year, Dave Lodemore of Marshfield is making his 18th consecutive trip. Like everyone else, he wants to beat cancer. He jokes that only the “blatant manipulation” of PMC keeps him coming back every year.

“Day one is 110 miles, and unless you’re one of those skinny Tour-de-France types, by mile 85 you’re pretty much exhausted, everyone’s either sore or (worse!) numb, and the afternoon sun is beating down on the rest of your body,” Lodemore says.

“Right now, PMC has huge, poster-sized photos of Jimmy Fund kids undergoing cancer treatment at Dana-Farber. They line the road for about a half-mile. Most of the kids don’t have a hair on their heads, and many have dark circles around their eyes, a testament to the arduous journey of surgery and chemotherapy,” he adds. “But — the thing is, they’re all smiling so hard!”

He claims that when seeing such images, it is difficult to feel sorry for oneself.

There’s also free beer, food, mechanics, free massages, music, and a common goal. If you can still move, it’s a party. Everyone is family.

“You won’t find that at the Ritz,” Starr says.

Mike Ascione, PMC board chairman, traveled with Starr.

“He’s like a rock star, but on the weekends he does his own thing. He doesn’t go around telling everyone who he is.”

He saw cyclists cry when they met him.

“We have people on the team who have family members and friends who have been affected by cancer and who believe their lives have been extended because of Billy,” Ascione says.

Starr says she wants the cancer to “go away.” She can’t give up.

“I would like to make every aspect of this treatable, bearable,” he says. “We are too important to fail. Money matters.”

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Mr. Grossfeld can be contacted at [email protected].