We share hope, knowledge and charity through leadership development, grantmaking, and our cornerstone event, a 4,000+ mile bike ride from Austin to Anchorage.

Why I Ride:

Call me conceited, but when I was little (and admittedly, to this day), I loved to look at my baby albums. Among the pictures, there is one from the first year of my life, where a man, with thick glasses, held me above my crib while smiling at me. The first time I saw this picture, I didn’t recognize him, but my mom told me that he was my Uncle Bobby, who had passed away only 6 months after I was born. This is one of the few pictures I have with him.

My Uncle Bob died of lymphoma when he was just about 36 years old. I don’t have any memories of him, but my family has never been shy in telling me of the incredible, kind man that he was. Despite the very thick glasses he wore, he was an artist, and he painted pictures that still hang in my family’s house. My mom tells me about him teaching her “the good” music and sneaking her into concerts when she was too young to be there. Through every story I was told about him, I could feel how hard it was for my family to talk about him, but also how much they wanted to share his life with me, since I would never be able to know him. My whole life I saw their pain but never understood it to the same extent. This did not stop me from still feeling a different pain, a pain that made me hurt for my family, for not being able to understand their loss, because I did not experience it in the same way.

I ride for the people, like my mom and her other brother, and my grandparents, who lost a member of their family, before they were supposed to. I ride for anyone who has ever felt the pain and longing of being robbed of a relationship with a member of their family, because cancer stole it from them. I ride for every single individual, who has been diagnosed with cancer, no matter the outcome, because the fear and worry that is associated with that diagnosis is, fortunately, unimaginable to me. I ride to raise money to help even just one person survive cancer, and even though I wasn’t around 20 years ago before my Uncle Bob died, I ride for him.

Texas 4000 means spreading hope, knowledge, and charity, in pursuit of a world that does not feel the pain of cancer. I ride because I believe this world exists, and I want to contribute to creating it.

To Alaska and back,
Alison