Miles

An old friend, an unforeseen event, and a climb up Mont Ventoux

Miles, aka “Bert” doing his thing

Time it was
And what a time it was
It was a time of innocence
A time of confidences
—Bookends, Simon & Garfunkel

The Persistence of Friendship

There is no friend on this Earth I’ve know longer than Miles. We’ve known each other since our high school days. During that time, we somehow managed to fumble our way through somewhat atypical youthful follies and other shenanigans. Many of our peers wouldn’t have stood a chance with teachers and administrators if they’d attempted the same behaviors. It was a different era. Maybe it was because we both did reasonably well academically and “behaved” in ways that seemed acceptable to those in charge. It didn’t hurt that we possessed an innocent demeanor. “Who? Us?” often would get us a pass. We did have a code of ethics… we tried not to deliberately be cruel or cold-hearted to others. I sure hope we weren’t.

I don’t quite recall precisely when we first met. Perhaps it was in Mr. Donahue’s Principals of Law class. Mr. Donahue was renowned for his daily reading of select portions of the Worcester Telegram in class each day. He often supplemented this with his own wry commentary. To us, it seemed like an easy way to avoid classroom work that came with teacher approval. In retrospect, I sense he had subtly found a way to engage us with learning and a bit critical thinking. Heaven forbid, went the prevailing wisdom of the time, that learning could be fun. Well, I was on to that ruse and has already established a deep love of learning. To me, and Miles as well, Mr. Donohue was immediately beloved.

Olympic Dreams

Regardless of how Miles and I met, we shared a clearly formative bond: I was a young marathon runner (New York City 1977 and 1978). Miles was a highly talented competitive road cyclist (amongst his many accolades, he was the Massachusetts junior state cyclocross champion). We both had dreams of becoming Olympians, though his were far more realistic. He continued to compete through his college years and—if I recall correctly—made it onto the U.S. Olympic cycling team during a non-Olympic year.

We’d discovered a shared ambition via a then new sport: Hawaii’s Ironman Triathlon. We wanted in… and we had a plan: Miles would teach me cycling. I would teach him running. The only problem was neither of us were very good swimmers. We never found that third team member or our way to Hawaii.

Two Berts Are Better Than One

We also both held a certain fondness for Sesame Street’s Ernie and Bert. Somehow, we both ended up calling each other Bert. That persists to this day. I’m not sure why we did that. Perhaps both of us identified with Bert and his long-running exasperation with Ernie’s comedic misunderstandings. Or maybe it was difficult for us, at the time, to fully connect with Ernie’s simple joy for the world. Perhaps there was a bit of Ernie within both of us that we weren’t yet ready to acknowledge.

Joyful Sierra Nevada ramblings with my kids in 2012. The spirit of Bert, embodied in Kermit (by some strange twist in the fabric of the universe).

Brothers of Another Mother

We also shared another, unspoken bond. Both of our parents were divorced. Divorce still felt foreign and rare in those days, yet we were living it. It also could come with an unspoken stigma for which no one involved had asked. In retrospect, maybe that simply was born of my own anxious perceptions.

Our moms were the sole caregivers in our home lives. At this point, however, both Miles and I had become fairly independent. We spent much time roaming around central Massachusetts via generous access to our mom’s cars. Our moms—each in their own ways—allowed us to be free-range kids in a time when that was more toward the norm. It felt like our moms allowed us extra measures of freedom beyond that norm. They had faith that we’d do the right thing. We certainly made our share of mistakes, yet Miles and I did alright from a broader perspective. I appreciate and am grateful for that freedom now.

After we left college, our lives gradually took us farther from each other, both in distance and frequency of connection. Still, through all these decades we’ve always managed to maintain a thread of connection, even if sporadic.

Reconnection With a Twist

A few months ago, I got a text from Miles asking for my current e-mail address. It’s always good to hear from him… we have the ability to pick up from where we last departed. People sometimes come into your life for reasons that only become clear much later.

This time we had much more than a friendly check-in. A year ago, Miles experience a sudden perplexing and serious health challenge. This resulted in a visit to the emergency room… and then hospitalization. Often, it’s the not knowing what’s happening that is the most harrowing. This was happening with Miles. Miles had impaired speech, an inability to swallow, and a sudden overall weakness. He and his wife feared he might be having a stroke.

It wasn’t a stroke.

It was Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS). And still serious.

I knew of this condition only because I was required to affirm that I had not contracted it during the many times I’ve donated blood over the years. The journey of dealing with GBS has been a journey for Miles and his wife. He is blessed to have made it through the fire. He’s now back in action and then some (you can read his own account here).

Miles: keepin’ on keepin’ on.

Mount Ventoux

What does back in action mean for Miles? Never someone to sit idly by, Miles got inspired¹. He’d been pretty much off the bike for many years. Miles understood that while he’d been through an arduous experience, he had come through rather well, especially compared to others living with GBS. He is deeply grateful. He also saw that others are not as fortunate as he has been in facing Guillain-Barré Syndrome. So he’s chosen to raise funds to support the organization that advocates for and supports research of the syndrome. The GBS | CDIP International Foundation also provides assistance to those who are afflicted.

Miles would be deeply grateful if you are able to donate in any way that is personally meaningful. You can do that here:

He’s close to his goal and you can help put him over the top.

But that’s just a start. As a way to highlight his gratitude and generate awareness around Guillain-Barré Syndrome, Miles is very seriously training to climb the legendary Mont Ventoux in France this August. Mont Ventoux is known as the "Beast of Provence.” It takes a certain kind of beast to ride up such a beast. If you follow pro-cycling, you’ll know this as one of the legendary climbs that is often a part of the Tour de France. It’s 26 km of some very challenging climbing.

Gratitude

No doubt… Miles is highly motivated by gratitude for having come through this encounter with GBS relatively well and from all the support he’s received along the way.

And I am certainly grateful for his well-being too. Years ago, in our final year of high school, as a kid without a fully developed pre-frontal cortex, I also found myself in a perplexing and challenging situation one that held the potential to be dramatically life altering. I was in a complete panic… a deer frozen in oncoming headlights. Miles was there with me and for me. He helped guide me through that time and I’ve never forgotten how supportive and incisive he was. His clarity of mind and ability to take clear action saved me. Without him, I might have been “driving a bus” (as he colorfully put it) instead of attending college (bus driving would have been OK unto itself, in retrospect… but that’s a story to contemplate for another time).

For his unwavering friendship, the least I can do is share his story here. I’m deeply grateful to my friend. May he fare well during this next leg of his journey.

Please consider help him reach and exceed his goal to support others with Guillain-Barré Syndrome. You can donate here:

All contributions help. All contributions matter.

Back in the saddle!

1. Once, in our high school days, I was accompanying Miles as he was out and about running errands (often buying bulk amounts of food to support his cycling training). We got to the checkout at one store and there was a line of about three people. Miles: “This is too long, we’re outa here!” He then drove 20 or so minutes to another location of the same store across town. All good with me… more time to hang to with my pal!