There’s something strange that happens when you’re alone on the road.

The world gets quiet. Real quiet.

And in that silence, you start to hear things—memories, regrets, promises you made when no one else was listening.

I’m riding this August for the Great Cycle Challenge, but not because I think I can hit 1,000 km. Honestly? That number scares me. Just like the $50,000 fundraising goal feels like a joke some days.

But I’ve learned something over the last year:

You don’t do this kind of ride because it’s easy.

You do it because someone else can’t.

I ride for the kids in hospital beds who don’t get to feel the wind on their face.

I ride for the ones who never got a second chance.

And I ride because I did.

This time last year, I was on the edge—mentally, spiritually, physically. I clawed my way back. I rebuilt. And now every kilometre is a kind of prayer. A kind of pact. A kind of penance.

If this ride helps even one kid get closer to surviving cancer... if even one parent sleeps easier because research got funded...

then every sore muscle, every blister, every lonely stretch of road will be worth it.

You don’t have to ride with me.

But if you feel something reading this—something low and deep, like a bell ringing in your chest—maybe you’re supposed to help.

Even five bucks. Even one share. It matters.

Because the truth is…

I’m not riding alone.

—Derek