Volunteering at the Pan Mass Challenge Babson Start 3 August 2013 click any image to enlarge |
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Brian forwarded an email from the
Pan Mass Challenge volunteer coordinator offering two options: directing traffic and loading luggage.
Brian had signed up to the latter--figuring that it would be more social, and remembering a favorite t-shirt I'd once seen ("I'm not very smart, but I can lift heavy things"), I opted to do the same.
Also, the 5a arrival time Saturday morning for luggage duty allowed 30 more minutes of sleep than directing traffic's 4:30a.
A day or two in advance, I joked to a friend that training would be provided by an all-star team of American, Delta, and United luggage handlers trucked in from Boston's Logan Airport. I faux-imagined something like this possibly genuine scene or perhaps United Breaks Guitars. Little did I appreciate how quickly good intentions would take a back seat to reality. I rolled into the parking lot a bit before 5a, registered, and availed myself of the breakfast spread. Brian and I were directed over to a lineup of three trucks: a tractor trailer and two smaller Penske models. Michael, the crew chief, briefed the dozen or so assembled. "Check for the outer tag, ask if the second one's inside the bag in case the first falls off." Being a belt and suspenders kind of guy, I appreciated the redundancy but failed to imagine what would cause an outer tag to come loose. (Alert: foreshadowing.) "Ask if the rider has everything he or she needs for the ride--once the bags are loaded, they won't be at all accessible," he continued. "Shoes, helmet, sunglasses, sunscreen, medicine?" Duly trained, I took the area in front of the trucks' loading area while Brian manned the inside of the tractor trailer. Michael had said that the tractor trailer would be the toughest duty. While the Penske trucks only carried bags destined for various dorms at the Mass Maritime Academy in Bourne, the big truck was slated to carry bags for 1-day riders, tent campers, those staying on a docked ship, and those staying off-site. The words "One!," "Tent!," "Ship!," and "Off!" would soon be emblazoned on my ears. Marc wandered over--his volunteer job consisted of helping riders inflate their tires. LOTS of riders. LOTS of tires. (It's SO like Marc to have found an "off list" position to fill.) Later in the morning with the work done, he related stories of tires containing barely 30 psi and bikes apparently not fit for a trip to the corner store, much less 84 miles to Bourne and potentially another 79 to Provincetown on Sunday. Riders started to trickle in--we relieved them of their bags, asked the requisite tag and ride need questions, and sent them off with a cheery "Have a great ride!" Soone enough, the trickle turned to a stream, a river, and finally a flood. The two Penske trucks had things well enough in hand, but reinforcements were needed at the tractor trailer. I joined Brian inside, with Michael working the doorway. Impressive stacks of bags already lined the walls. I took up a position about a third of the way from the doors with Brian another third of the way along. Within seconds, I found myself on the receiving end of bags tossed (well, okay, heaved) by Michael. He accompanies each toss with a shouted word indicating the bag's destination. Depending on that destination, I would either stack in near where I stood or toss it on to Brian. When we were in a rhythm, just as soon as I'd toss to Brian and turn back toward Michael, there'd be another bag in the air and headed my way. We weren't often in a rhythm. In which case the incoming bag would thud at my feet. Or off my hands. Or occasionally, off my head. Soon enough, the floor was littered with more than the occasional tag. And the results of multiple bagalanches. And a lot of sweat. We marveled at the variety of bags. Duffel bags. Back packs. Rollaboards. Sometimes, really large rollaboards (hard to catch). Bags tied together (hard to throw, harder to catch). Tiny little satchels. Pillows. Purple leopard prints. An artificial leg. As the 7a ride start neared, the pace picked up even more. Bags soon littered the ground outside the truck, their owners now out on the road. Finally, around quarter after, we started to gain ground, and by 7:30a, our work was done. I learned several things for my effort. One, a year ago, I had watched the start and ridden with the riders for the first dozen or so miles. This year, I saw just as much positive energy, occasionally tinged with sadness, from the work of the volunteers. Two, I pledged to bite the bullet and ride next year--it would be my first. Third, I gained valuable experience on how to--and not to--pack. (Given the thoroughness of PMC planning, much if not all of this is no dobut already communicated to riders.)
"Established by Billy Starr in 1980 and under his direction, the PMC has grown considerably and consistently from its modest beginnings into an event that draws 5,500 cyclists from 36 states and eight countries. Today, the Pan-Mass Challenge raises more money than any other athletic fundraising event in the country. The PMC generates half of the Jimmy Fund's annual revenue and it is Dana-Farber's single largest contributor. Over the past 33 years, PMC cyclists have ridden to raise and contribute $375 million to cancer research. |