I climbed on my bicycle,
And started fast,
South to Portsmouth,
And I couldn't be last.

Three thousand riders
Started the day,
One hundred miles
We'll ride today.

The forty-third year
For this tour down the river,
It usually rains,
And soon you're a shiver,
But for some reason,
The ride goes on.

A hundred today,
And a hundred tomorrow,
I have to admit
That it's a tough act to follow.

The greatest thing,
I have to say,
Is the people you meet,
Along the way.

They come from the west,
The east, south, and the north,
And when you ask them why,
They say, for the challenge, of course.

It's been eight years,
Since I've taken the plunge,
And I'm doing it only,
For my doubts to expunge,
For my body is broken beyond belief.

Seven surgeries I have endured,
Since my bicycle wreck did occur.
I never thought that I could make it,
And at eighty miles, it's hard to fake it.

But worn and tired,
And seeking relief,
I was soon inspired,
In the oppressive heat.

A paraplegic rolled swiftly by,
Propelled only by arms,
And a determined eye,
And soon my pain became less.

Two octogenarians,
Smiling hello,
As they passed me mercilessly,
And headed down the road.

A father and daughter,
Together as one,
Building memories,
To support them in the hard times to come.

As hard as it was,
To put in the miles,
I finished my ride
In a crowd of smiles,
And I was glad that I had come.