Diaries of a Human turned to a White Rabbit only to become a Lost Boy
Author: Nick Patrone
I am an Italian American citizen with dual citizenship who retired from the full time practice of Medicine in 2014 ; I still work as a volunteer MD in rural North Carolina.
This site offers you stories of my travels when away from home...
For the past 8 years I have worked in a clinic where birthdays of staff are regularly celebrated. A calendar announces the day a month in advance. For 8 years I have never been included on the calendar. I shyly asked once about this a few years ago. The response…”Well…it’s because you are ageless”.
Herodotus first described the Fountain of Youth 3000 years ago. Alexander the Great sought it out on his conquest of Western Asia ( he died in his thirties).
Medieval literature abounds with references but it is Ponce de Leon who cemented it in the minds of Westerners. In 1513 from Puerto Rico he explored the east coast of Florida where eventually St. Augustines was established becoming the oldest inhabitation by Westerners on this continent.
By the way Ponce de Leon died 8 years later at a young age with a poisoned arrow sticking out of his thigh.
My parents lived full lives but not particularly long. My mother, who took minimal care of herself , had already had 20 strokes by my present age and my father was well on his way to alcoholic dementia and a slow slow decline. I have been more careful with my body and soul than they had. Tomorrow this “ageless one” will be traveling to St Augustines, the city which claims to own the Fountain of Youth. My trip, if one is to believe the staff at work, is like “Taking Coals to Newcastle”.
I’m not sure that the Fountain of Youth is found on some Greek island, some Persian plateau or in the swamps of southeast America. I think rather it is found deep down inside wherein live our most cherished thoughts and feelings…a place where Flossie and Angel live in peace and solitude most of the time. Thank goodness they come out to join me on these rides.
I have come to know my body and soul over the years. I know my limits of riding in terms of water, food, and rest needs. I am aware that I must drink a liter every 10 miles, eat at 52 miles, and rest at 84. I know that I get tired at 4500 miles. I have adjusted my training for the 6900 to come over the next 16 weeks. More importantly I know to keep the white rabbit in his hat, out for only a rare occurrence. I don’t mind the solitude of long-distance riding. It fits my introverted character and allows me to ponder happenings and surroundings.
The ride this year is 1000 miles flat, 1800 hills and low mountains, 2500 flat, and 1600 hills and mountains again. I have mapped out the pace in my mind so to be there whole at the end.
There is a certain amount of lunacy in this endeavor, yet I find it cleanses my heart and soul and allows my creativity to flow…
Tiny voices yell out from 100 feet below. A 6 year old birthday party at a rock climbing gym where the children try out what most have never done. More importantly, they succeed with mutual cheering on.
The parents stand below, most baffled at what is happening, murmuring how frightened they themselves would be to attempt such an undertaking.
Shortly in all the excitement the children urge their parents on. “You can do it too! Try!”.
Much to my surprise nearly all mothers and fathers join in ignoring their underlying fear…and each slowly climb to the top and succeed to tiny cheers now mixed with grown up cheers from far below.
Something remarkable has just happened. A diverse group of 6 year olds from such different backgrounds have come together as a team and at the same time pulled their parents in. There is no white, black, hispanic, oriental, female, or male difference…everyone is the same…a frightened but excited climber …succeeding as they are cheered on.
My 6900 mile ride starts 4 weeks from today. I look forward to the adventure to bask in the glory of the American landscape. But more importantly I yearn for the freedom from the news and media which turns us into Red and Blue States, into the Right and the Left, into different camps at each others throats.
As before I will discover each day how alike we are all, linked in our daily concerns , our values almost identical in every way. Yes there are differences just as spices have different essences for a stew but we are all in the same pot with almost the same goals.
As the parents stood around watching their children climb they could ( and maybe did) look at each other and see different skin colors, different nations of origin, different aspects of life… but as climbers the differences melted into a ribbon of colors with no end.
There is much pessimism in the world, again nurtured by the media who glorify the world of the rich and powerful more for entertainment and profits that to report the “truth”.
The vast majority of us live below the radar of History.
I just finished a month teaching a remarkable young woman in PA school from a local University who I know will make the future a better place. I work in a Clinic with many young providers who give their 100% every day to help those greatly in need, those society has left behind. I think of the structure of the Clinic administration and the wealth of the talent of young people “making things work”, I talk to my son almost every day, a young man who has achieved humble success far beyond my wildest dreams and I see his wife an author , a local politician, and a mother doing better than I ever did.
I see a six year old climbing a massive wall and dragging others along.
I am optimistic for our future regardless of what the Media wants me to believe. The youth behind me is quietly, competently, pushing ahead.
And so now I prepare to ride again to nurture that optimism by climbing walls together with people I will meet along the way from as many diverse backgrounds as there are colors in the rainbow. I wish you all could come along and see for yourselves…
The PA student who finished today gave me a parting gift…home made cookies…a gift from my childhood from a thousand years ago…some things like the importance of gratitude never change.
We all know that…we are so alike in the end…
P.S. I have to confess I used two of these cookies to entice Flossie and Angel from their winter slumber
In just a few short weeks I will begin my 6900 mile ride.
1/2 way through the ride, 100 years ago, the brutal Russian Revolution pitting the White Russians of the West against the Red Russians of the East came to an “end” … if one can say there is an “end” to a ribbon with just one side…
Autumn is coming to a close and winter will soon be here.
As always there is more toothpaste in the tube if one squeezes carefiully enough.
My last two bicycle rides cross country have not ended well, the first cut short by several days of very strong headwinds, a lack of team spirit and help amongst riders, and finally a daughter in law with liver disease in the final stages of pregnancy….and this years ride…well a pack of dogs made a quick meal of my ankle and gave me the pleasure of first hand experiencing rabies treatment.
Nevertheless …I am going to ride again…
I am not one to quit…anything…ever…
I recall several years ago my nurse telling me I had to stop working-in patients each day , adding to a schedule already often double booked. I never had the heart to turn away someone in pain so I just tuned her out. One day, exasperated with me, she lost her temper and told me I was “killing myself with work” (her too I suspect). I calmly turned and said ” there is always a little more toothpaste left in the tube. We will just squeeze harder”.
So ended that discussion.
Autumn is almost over and Winter is coming…
Maybe I should rest now.
But as I ponder the seasons of life I see no reason to stop. I can still ride, I still have remarkable stamina and endurance, and I can still outride most people half or even a third of my age. So no, its not time to sit in front of a warm fire reading a book with a blanket wrapped around my knees…
Instead I will start training for a 6900 mile ride…four months from April until August from St. Augustines, to Bar Harbor to Seattle then a victory lap around Olympic National Park.
This time the white rabbit will stay in the hat and instead I will pace myself like the old grey mule who is still what she used to be.
Sometimes I might have to bring out the rabbit, to remind the young folk how it’s done, but that will just be for a surprise on dreary days.
Wish me luck with my perpetual need of wt loss and 4 months training.
I also need to get used to my new 40 lb back pack filled with 6 gallons of mace for any strays…
Whether she provoked it was moot. The wild dog attacked, scared her face for life, and fled to the safety of the concrete jungle of North Chicago. We all knew it would never be found just as we knew that her next two weeks would be filled with the pain of our rabies shots. I felt the need to give them myself – why I’ll never know. As I raised a burning whelp in the soft skin of her nine-year-old belly quiet tears streak down her cheeks. Fear mixed with blind trust caused her to look brave just as I, like all medical students, pretended to be brave. Two babes in the woods bonding through the act of a wild dog. I dried her tears but knew something more was needed so I wrote my first prescription.
The rose graced her home and each day she came back the bond grew stronger. It lives now as this memory.
I’ve written many prescription since then …some helped…some not. I often wonder that years from now you will look back and find our therapeutic modalities barbaric, misguided, or based in myth. Many ideas of merit come from youth… from the mouths of babes. Truth is clearer, less clouded by education. You know these truths… Deep inside yourselves they are safe… You must not let us teach them away from you… You must save them for those who desperately need them. Time will never out date kindness or compassion. I find it ironic that my first prescription may have been my best. Good luck with yours.
This brief story was shared with a graduating medical school class in 1985, 11 years after the event. I was asked to share my thoughts about aspects of being an MD. Last night while sitting in front of a fan with shaking chills and a fever from my own rabies shots I thought of that barbaric treatment I have given to a nine-year-old child. Yes we have moved on as the years progressed. I think often of time. I don’t believe it is linear but rather a spiral or even a Möbius strip
too long for us to see an end that does not exist. Somehow in the midst of the shaking chill I was there with her again in an emergency room from years ago. Perhaps I looked up to the spiral above and saw her there smiling down at me… I think to compassion shown to me just 72 hours ago as I myself was loaded with immunoglobulins and vaccines and to the compassion shown to me this morning when I got my second of four shots…. I dread the next two days… Nonetheless I know that compassion of others has eased the burden just as I hope my first prescription did so. Time maybe a Möbius strip or a spiral around but compassion and kindness definitely make the path more than a bearable one…
The events of the past 96 hours have been so “rich’ they take time to sort out.
I awoke in my tent after a 24 hour ride full of pouts and self pity that I had been removed as a route leader on the ride. Sitting on my big lower lip Angel and Flossie laughed at their perch and reminded me the trip was Chief to Indian heavy and my role had been reversed. And then with great wisdom they both remind me that being a “leader” had nothing to do with a title but rather with ones actions.
I cleaned up my gear and approached the rider I had been helping and told her I would hold back and ride with her to get her through the day. Her relief was palpable. The ride included 3 climbs, the 3rd the steepest and most difficult of the first ten days pf the ride. At 45 miles I congratulated her on making it through with a still slightly injured knee and told her to stop for the day and I would go on alone. She readily agreed and thank me for the help in the first part of the ride.
Off I went to climb to Hayder’s Gap. I had done this before and knew it would be slow and difficult . In the past I had stopped at a library at the bottom of the mountain to get water but this time found it closed. Instead I met Ms. Davenport, a 90 year old wonder sitting on her front porch. She welcomed me for a rest, gave me fresh water to drink and filled my bottles to the brim . Stories of her youth and family entertained me as I rested on her porch.
With a heart felt “thank you” I left and headed up the sunlit side. 4/5 the the way up my phone rang and a panicked route leader told me there had been crash on just the other side of the top. My medical help was urgently needed.
One of our riders had hit a gravel patch on the way down and crashed into the embankment wall. I gave instructions to a nurse riding with us to immobilize his neck and quickly called 911 to get an ambulance to the site. !0 minutes later I was at his side…a mld concussion but saved by a broken helmet from more serious head injury. It was obvious his clavicle and shoulder were broken and a swollen left chest suggested broken ribs. At least he made sense as I talked to him. When the rescue squad arrived I was able to listen for breath sounds with a borrowed stethoscope and assured myself his lung had not been punctured. With the help of other riders, a rattled policeman ,and two young female rescue squad drivers we loaded him into the van and they sped away to the mountain bottom where a helicopter was waiting to take him to a Johnson City Trauma Center in Tennessee.
He was admitted and has since been discharged and is home doing well.
That night any thoughts of pout had dissolved and I was just glad I was there to help.
The next morning we arose early for a ride to Breaks Interstate Park for a night of rain but calm.
The next morning before we left we had a team meeting about entering Kentucky.
The theme was sobering:
Beware of the Coal trucks, they don’t care for riders and travel in pairs so if a cyclist is hit the second truck can testify it was the rider’s fault
Beware of dogs, they are loose and viscous. A quick lesson on how to kill a dog that is on top of you going for your throat
The local people are not happy about riders watch yourself on the narrow roads
There will be no phone service
So off we set.
As I approached the border, a cloud covered bridge, I felt like I was entering the tight zone.
Beautiful mountains with cut segments revealing million year layers rocks spoke of a tranquility that was not to be.
As coal trucks approached I was careful to get off the road time and time again.
30 miles in on a flat I encountered my first dog hidden in the grass like a lion on the Savana. I warned him off with stern words but at 20 feet he lunged for my bike and nearly knocked me off. I screamed and yelled and he backed off and I sped on. 40 yards later the second dog attacked but my loud “no!” stopped him long enough for me to speed past. 40 yards the third attacked but also backed off. A climb lay ahead of me and I slowed to 5mph. 30 yards in a pack of 5 dogs rushed at me from the left. I kicked and yelled but at such a slow pace I was an easy target. Three times I got them to back off but the fourth they lunged at my left foot and latched on. I felt a tooth enter my skin and I knew I had been bit. I jumped off the bike and kept it between me and the still attacking dogs and yelled to the rider behind me to stop. Finding grapefruit sized rocks I started bombing the beasts…I missed every time, but at least they backed off. Walking up 30 more yards I stoped to examine my foot now bleeding through my sock. I knew then my ride was over.
With much frustration and anger I rode to the top and down the mountainside to the first rest stop where I borrowed a land line to call home to share the grim news.
I knew I needed to get rabies immunoglobulins as soon as possible so the route leaders agreed to take me to the nearest hospital 15 miles farther down. Arriving there I entered the ER to find it full of sick patients all suspected to have Covid 19. The clerk informed me that I might get seen by midnight…it was 10 AM…
With no cell service I asked to use a phone to try to find a way home for quicker care. The hall phone was out of order, my cell phone had no service and after an attempt at the clerks phone I found I could not call out
“Yep its like that here, we are kinda curt off” ….Twilight Zone…
Looking at a waiting room full of Covid patients, a bleeding ankle and cut off from the world I walked out of the ER and decided to start over. Atop a mountain just out of town I finally got service and called home asking to be picked up ASAP for care in my local ER.
14 hours later I was greeted by people I knew, rushed into an ER room and loaded with immunoglobulins, my first rabies vaccine and started on antibiotics. I was treated to a McDonalds breakfast while sitting on two apple sized lumps deep in my buns.
20 hours later I awoke sore in both arms, both lower cheeks, and my left ankle a little swollen and red from the bite and local injections.
Angle and Flossie were sitting there on the beds as my eyes focused…with a grin on their faces
attacked by a pack of dogs on a climb in Eastern Kentucky. Bitten left ankle. on way home for rabies immunoglobulins and 5 shots in belly over next month. So ends this Trans AM ride.
Today we rise early for a short ride to Blacksburg, just 47 miles with a climb at the end. A welcome rest day awaits us on the morrow.
Cool temperatures help with an easy exit from a main road into the valleyed countryside. Everything is so green and lush, the winter hay in harvest time. Life smells fresh here.
Deeper into the foothills of the Appalachians we go, not called mountains here but mountains to me from back home. Undulating roads bordered by thick forests, some riders see bear today.
How welcome we are here by locals is not clear. We are not only surrounded by taller peaks but going back in time by at least a hundred years. On one occasion we hear gunshot close by…” Are they shooting at us
?” from a rider in front…”No, they’re not “ but deep down I’m not so sure.
Ahead a rider falls , an uphill stall. I get off my bike to help, she is ok and we move on. She is afraid to take the next few hills and walks but I coax her back on the bike “ you can’t walk to San Francisco” and finally she is brave enough to ride again.
I stop by the side of the road to let her get ahead and notice a most beautiful tree…where I get off my bike…to think a while.
We have with us a young man I met several years ago on a ride out West. At the time we mixed like oil and water and were miles apart. I thought never to see him again…no great loss.
Last Fall I did in fact meet him again on another ride and was impressed by how he had matured and grown. A self assurance beyond reality was replaced by a quiet genuine gentle humbleness.
This time he is with us for just the first week of the ride and I am amazed by his maturity and growth. He has become one of the finest young men I have ever met and I am proud to be part of a team with him.
I look to the thin new trees nearby, and to the solid oak in front and think about mistakes to be made by judging one before their time.
How many times each day am I humbled on this ride, by the beauty of my surroundings, by the tenacity of riders who fall and get up again, by young men and women who grow up to be gems, by the workings of a diverse team that safely moves a small vulnerable group 4000 miles across such varied terrain.
Pass me another serving of humble pie…it will help me grow wiser still…
Time Travelling with a Guardian Angel 