by Paul Asbury Seaman

In the summer of 2024, I learned that I had stage 4 cancer. Because it was detected so late, the large tumor in my lungs was pressing against my spinal cord. (Not lung cancer, it turned out—and I’ve never been a smoker.) The surgeon said even a day more and the resulting pressure could damage critical nerves in my spinal column and leave me permanently paralyzed from the waist down. I was taken by ambulance to Kaiser Permanente’s hospital in Vacaville, where they have a specialized neurosurgery department.

The next day’s surgery, to cut as much of the tumor as possible away from my spinal column, left a Frankenstein-like scar half way down my back. I faced a long period of recovery, and I also went through six months of chemotherapy. Everything happened so fast I didn’t have time to confront my mortality—something I’d already faced several times in my life, including a major heart attack seven years before my cancer diagnosis. The hardest part was realizing I was going to get old a lot sooner than I’d anticipated.

In the spring of 2025, still dealing with the collateral damage from spinal surgery, I decided to start taking my life back. Cycling seemed like a good way to do that. With help from my family, I was able to buy a new bicycle. My wife Cathy and I live on the north side of Santa Rosa, so The Bike Shop (yes, that’s its name) in Windsor was the closest one. I talked to Ben and Noah for over an hour—more about my life and recent events than bicycles—and I bought the first bike they showed me.

I didn’t learn about SRCC and the Wine Country Century until the middle of April. I thought the commemorative jersey— the one with the California bear riding a bicycle through the local vineyards—was too cool for school and I signed up immediately. In 2010, I had moved from Virginia to the Bay Area to be with my new wife. (Hi Cathy!) When we moved to Santa Rosa, it was my third move in five years and I just didn’t have the energy to do the things people do to feel at home in a new town. I also live with chronic depression, which among other things is a motivation-killer. I had a bicycle, but it had been sitting in a damp shed for more than ten years. I’ve always enjoyed cycling, but even at my peak of fitness, I’d ridden thirty miles only a couple of times. And now I had less than four weeks to train for the “easy” option.

I met Loie Sauer when she was still the warehouse manager for SRCC. Loie very sweetly made sure I got a couple of discontinued cycling T-shirts in the correct size. Through a series of emails, I told her about my situation. She quickly became my biggest supporter: just a few words, in a few exchanges, as I told her about my progress and my increasing mileage every few days. The cliché “You got this!” never felt more meaningful. (Thank you, Loie: I’m so grateful for that.)

I probably came in last—people were passing me every few minutes—but I did it! And I was happy there were professional photographers there to help mark this significant moment. A week later I signed up for the Giro Bello. I haven’t done any more group rides since then, or gone to any meetings. But just knowing there’s a whole community of neighborly people who are also passionate about cycling—that, and understanding the local geography better, in a way that comes naturally simply from planning a route—has helped me feel at home here in Santa Rosa more than any time in the last ten years. And I’ve been quite chagrined to discover all these beautiful vineyards and rolling hills that were right in my backyard—all this time! I think about how fortunate I am every time I ride.

A follow-up CAT scan I had last August revealed that both interventions (surgery and chemo) had been successful with the most optimistic outcome: my tumor was completely gone.

There are two other postscripts to my story. Last summer, while preparing for the Giro Bello I rode up Chalk Hill, over to Healdsburg, and back the same way. I still had to walk my bike through a couple of the steeper sections. And to my dismay, the Healdsburg side of Chalk Hill Road has an even sharper incline. I was walking my bike even more, and breathing heavily, when another cyclist came up behind me and asked if I was okay. I told him yes, but it was just too steep for me. He responded sympathetically, got off his bike and relayed how challenging it was for him on the last Wine Country Century to do this section after having already ridden eighty miles. And he was much younger than me and obviously in better shape. Then he offered to walk with me the last hundred yards to the top.

It was an incredible act of kindness and moral support, especially given that some cyclists are so seriously into it they seem oblivious to other riders. With all the disheartening political events of the last couple years, and the constantly awful news from around the world, this man’s kindness was a hugely inspiring reminder that a lot of people still have good hearts. I never got his name.  He was an Asian-American in his mid-thirties. I hope he reads this.

This bicycle story, now that I’ve written it down, has an additional significance. I’ve been a writer all my life and have tried unsuccessfully to make it my main vocation (meaning a financially viable full-time job). In 2020, for a variety of reasons, I officially gave up. And for the last six years I haven’t written anything. No fiction. No poetry. No articles. Until this one.

So thank you, Santa Rosa Cycling Club, for instigating this, and for inspiring me to achieve another milestone on my post-65 ride to redemption.