#WhyIPMC guest blog by Ron Molin, 6-year rider
Five summers ago, I signed up for my first PMC ride, one from Wellesley to Bourne in a day. I live near the start and thought it was time to join the parade. But one mile after the ride began, my back tire went flat and I watched the parade go by, at least a thousand riders. After 25 miles of cycling alone I finally caught up with some people. Soon after the rain began and it lasted the rest of the route, fifty wet miles. I loved it. I have ridden every year since: in heat, alone during the pandemic, and sometimes on lovely sunny days. It’s not the route that matters, it’s the meaning of the ride. I lost a brother when I was seven and then my mother eight years later, both from cancers that now are treatable. I am seventy years old now. I carry them with me, and I don’t want others to have to do the same.
This year is different for me. My brother, Bart Molin lost his wife, Grace-Marie, to cancer last year. She was fifty-four, with three wonderful children. This year’s ride is in her memory and the funds raised will support Lymphoma research at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.
The PMC is a shared experience of grief and of hope. It connects me with amazing people: organizers, thousands of volunteers, six thousand riders, and most importantly, the network of supporters who contribute. But my wish is that someday there will be no need for the ride.
