A little over a year ago, I stumbled across a great cycling blog, though it already had an eager following of many thousands of folks in the cycling community. The proprietor, Elden Nelson, is an avid cyclist, on and off-road, and a wonderful humorist. I enjoyed every post, and over time gradually got to know a little about him, his riding buddies, and his family.

I also came to know, through his writing, about his wife Susan, her struggle with cancer, her family’s commitment to fighting it, and the cycling community’s response to their calls to help. I was inspired to join the fight, which is why I’ll be riding my first century in the Philadelphia Livestrong Challenge two and a half weeks from now, and why I’ve been asking for your support. I’ll be riding to fight cancer in the larger sense, but specifically, though I’ve never met or spoken with the Nelson family, I committed to this almost a year ago to fight for Susan, and for the Nelson family.

Susan passed away this evening. If you’re so inclined, you might drop a note of love and support. My thoughts and prayers are with the Nelson family tonight, and we’ll keep fighting.

[UPDATE]: This is a beautiful eulogy to Susan. Riding for Team Fatty on her behalf will be an honor, of which I’m probably not worthy, but I’m sure proud have the opportunity to do it.

Years ago, before DC or New York or San Francisco, before Southern California, before St. Louis, I lived in Southern Illinois. My folks went to SIU in Carbondale, and spent the next several years working for different organizations in Jackson and Randolph County. One of the towns we lived in was Chester, Illinois, nestled on the banks of the Mississippi.

Chester had one street light, and about 6000 people. The official population was 8500, but that included the 2500 or so “residents” of the Pierre Menard Home, a maximum security correctional facility for the criminally insane. It also had a food factory, Gilster-Mary Lee, where they made cake mix. I always remember that smell.

I lived there from fourth to sixth grade. I haven’t kept up with anyone I went to school with, though I remember many of the names, and even some of the faces. Of the ones I do, perhaps the face I remember most vividly is Melissa Reiman. She was athletic and tall, a born achiever, and a radiant person. Whenever my mind stumbles back through what remains of my memories of being 11, she’s in them, a bright, shining star.

So, how did this come up? Well, just a little bit ago, another name popped into my head that I couldn’t place, so I Googled and the name came from a site dedicated to Chester High School’s Class of ‘87. I clicked, and my stomach flipped and dropped.

The Chester High School Class of 1987 has lost their “Favorite Punk Rocker.” The City of Chester is remembering Melissa Reiman who lost her five-year battle against cancer Friday morning, May 1.

The 40 year old CHS Hall of Fame member passed away around 6:30am central time Friday morning in a San Diego hospital with her family surrounding her.

I haven’t talked to her in probably 25 or 30 years. I didn’t know she’d married, or had a son, or moved to San Diego. But I’m certain of two things: I know she fought like hell, and I know she’s left a massive crater of a hole in the lives of those she left behind. I feel it a thousand miles and 30 years away.

This is insignificant in the scheme of things, but I’ve made a small donation to my Livestrong account in her name, the eighty-seven cents to mark what would’ve been our common graduating class had I stayed in Chester. Melissa, you’ll be on my mind and in my heart while I ride.

Keep your foot hard on the pedal
Son, never mind them brakes
Let it all hang out cause we’ve got a run to make

The boys are thirsty in Atlanta
And there’s beer in Texarcana
And we’ll bring it back no matter what it takes

All of our bikes have names, there’s no consistency to how they get them, we just bounce stuff off each other until something sticks. My Surly Long Haul Trucker is Cledus, named for Cledus Snow, the legendary long haul trucker from Smokey and the Bandit, played by The Guitar Man, Jerry Reed.

I was 7 years old in 1977, and saw two movies that changed my life. The first was Star Wars, viewed on the big screen of the Fox Theater in Carbondale, Illinois. The second was Smokey and the Bandit. The young and dashing Burt Reynolds as The Bandit, pert and sassy Sally Field as Carrie the fugitive bride, Jerry Reed as Cledus Snow, and Fred the basset hound, running across the highways of America from Jackie Gleason in a Kenworth and a Pontiac Trans-Am, yakkin’ on CB’s the whole time.

I saw each of those movies over a dozen times in the theater, which made for a weird summer. Ultimately, it’s the lightsaber that’s become an enduring element of our pop culture, but in 1977 trucking ruled the American imagination. In the years that followed, the Top 100 Hits always seemed to have a trucking song or two in it, movies and television shows about truckers and highway patrols were hits, every pickup and station wagon in the midwest had a CB antennae on it, and CB nomenclature seeped into everyday language. If you know what the phrase “10-4″ means, it’s probably because of Smokey and the Bandit, and I don’t think the Dukes of Hazzard would’ve come about without it.

Good times. I ate it all up, just loved it. It seems like an America that’s very far away now.

Jerry Reed passed away at the age of 71. Vaya con dios, Jerry, and take care.

[Update]: Wabash Cannonball, and Guitar Man (in technicolor!). It’s just so goddam good…

More? Okay. Bonus, you get to see Chet Atkins doing what them kids today call “shredding”.

[Update Again]: Clearly, what you wanna see if Jerry goin’ wild on that guitar. Here ya go.