It Sucks to Be a Gimp: Pedaling to Freedom

By Peter Zeidner

Pete’s story, in his own words, pulls you in from the start and keeps you riveted. As much as the cerebral palsy he is born with limits him physically, it only serves as a catalyst for daring to dream how to defeat it, both in his own life and on behalf of others affected by it. From childhood, obstructions become his fuel to overcome. Over and over Pete saw limitations as a ticket to greater liberty, and setbacks as an opportunity to persist. Though Pete’s life did not go as he had hoped, he never gave up on his dream of giving hope to the 10,000 others born annually in the US with cerebral palsy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365026263

Book preview

It Sucks to Be a Gimp: Pedaling to Freedom

It Sucks to Be a Gimp: Pedaling to Freedom

Pete’s story, in his own words, pulls you in from the start and keeps you riveted.  As much as the cerebral palsy he is born with limits him physically, it only serves as a catalyst for daring to dream how to defeat it, both in his own life and on behalf of others affected by it.  From childhood, obstructions become his fuel to overcome. Over and over Pete saw limitations as a ticket to greater liberty, and setbacks as an opportunity to persist. Though Pete’s life did not go as he had hoped, he never gave up on his dream of giving hope to the 10,000 others born annually in the US with cerebral palsy.  

Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by Pedal-with-Pete Inc.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Pedal-with-Pete. Inc. except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: February 2016

ISBN 978-1-365-02626-3

Published by LuLu

All proceeds from sales go to Pedal-with-Pete Inc. to further cerebral palsy research

http://www.pedal-with-pete.org

Cover design by Jocelyn Zeidner

Prologue

It was a hot afternoon in late June of 1998. I was grinding up yet another long hill, appropriately on Revenge Road. It was the last day of my favorite week of the year, riding the Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure (GOBA) and I was only ten miles from completing the toughest GOBA yet. Revenge Road climbs up to the Fairfield County Detention Center where the road flattens as it winds its way past buildings surrounded by high fencing, laced with barbed wire. From the top of that hill, the road branches and drops down toward the Lancaster Fairgrounds, where just one week ago we had set out on our 350 mile bicycle trek. This was what I loved to do, biking out on my own in my own world, even though I was pedaling along in the midst of 3000 other cyclists. 

If I heard Hey Pete -- you’re amazing! or something similar once, I heard it a thousand times, as various cycling enthusiasts pedaled in bunches around and sometimes past me -- from families with dad and mom on a tandem and one or more kids attached to the back by a trailer or a third wheel; from teens on mountain bikes who were taking a week-long break from summer jobs; from small pelotons of serious cyclists flying by on their sleek Colnagos and LeMonds.

I was one of them -- actively sharing our passion for cycling. Like every other committed rider, I accepted the challenge of straining against the pedals with all my strength, while grinding to the top of one more hill.  The release into freedom as I flew down the other side was such a high for me. In my low-slung sports car, I raced down as fast as I could around descending curves, then coasted up to the top of the next peak on pure adrenaline rush.  I loved riding under the warm rays of sunshine, whipping through the wind as if propelled by a turbo engine. I loved how cycling presented me with challenges that required all of my strength, skill and determination.

I loved the camaraderie of the shared experiences of this week -long ride. It featured a variety of positives, like camping in one of a thousand tents spread out over a college campus, having cheerful conversation while waiting in line at the shower truck, the daily act of rubbing the sleep out of my eyes in anticipation of a Chris Cake breakfast and even pouring through huge piles of baggage for my own bag, waiting to be retrieved at the day’s end. When I was biking, I was just like everyone else: I was mobile, independent and free, all of us moving at the same pace toward the end of the day when I would revel with everyone else in our respective accomplishments and sympathize with each other’s woes. Sharing supper with my fellow riders provided opportunities for the telling and re-telling of past adventures, often accompanied by hoots of laughter. And of course I was bound to the same waiting regimen as all the other tired riders -- we shared equally in the realities of life in the saddle.

As I reached the steepest section of the hill I was pumping up, I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath and rest my legs. This was not a good decision on my part. At well over 40 pounds, my three-wheeler bike, loaded with all the stuff I normally carry, totaled a third of my body weight.  Added to that, I had been pedaling in a gear too high and too hard for the pitch of the long climb. All this had caused my quads to heat up and lose their efficiency. As I grabbed hold of the brake lever with my left hand (the one I also used to shift and steer with), both the lever and my legs gave out at the same time.  The bike had already stopped its forward motion and now began to move backwards down the hill on its own -- neither my legs nor the brakes could stop it. I shouted out to my brother Chris, who was riding along behind me and together we were able to pretty quickly bring the bike to a stop on the berm.  After some inspection, it was clear that the hydraulic fluid had all leaked from the main cylinder and all the strength had leaked from my muscles. It was also obvious that my riding for the day was over, even though I was only a few miles from reaching both my week’s destination and goal. It was humiliating to have to finish out the week being transported in the back of a pick-up truck, but I was no stranger to humiliation. And on the positive side, I was grateful that the brakes had not failed further ahead, where I would have been on the fast downhill into Lancaster.  That could easily have resulted in a totally different and devastating ending to the week for me. 

As I said, GOBA was my favorite annual event. I had already ridden it a number of years, and though I needed some help to make it all happen, it was a week in which I could enjoy so much of what I didn’t have in my normal daily life.

You see, I was born with cerebral palsy. Cerebral palsy (CP) is a non-progressive physical disability which is still not well understood, even within the medical community. It is believed to be caused by damage to the motor control centers in the development of young brains during pregnancy, at childbirth or, more rarely, during the first several years of childhood. CP presents itself through varied symptoms, which can include blindness, impaired mental abilities, impaired speech, and spasticity. Sometimes people who have not yet gotten to know me assume that I am mentally impaired