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Dad continued to recover. The doctors recommended he come in for a physical every half year, to make sure the cancer hadn’t returned. When he passed his first checkup with flying colors, it was like we had all been holding our breath without realizing it. Suddenly a weight left our shoulders. When Dad passed the second physical with no problems, we thought we were in the clear. A year cancer-free! To celebrate, we decided to go on a very special bike ride: the Register ’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, or RAGBRAI.
    In Iowa, RAGBRAI is a big deal. It began in the early seventies and has been held every year since. Each summer, thousands of cyclists get together to ride from one end of the state to the other. It’s not a race—there’s no winning—it’s just a great ride through lots of cool small towns and beautiful open fields. It’s broken up into multiple sections, done over the course of a week. Every year the route is adjusted to go through different communities in Iowa. We’d never done it before, but we always talked about it, and this year, the ride was going right by Iowa City. Now, with Dad out of the hospital, it seemed like the perfect year to take part.
    And there was another reason: Lance Armstrong was doing the ride for the first time ever! Not only did he survive having cancer in his testicles, lungs, and brain, but immediately after he recovered, he won the Tour de France bike race—seven times in a row. When we heard that he was at RAGBRAI to raise awareness for his cancer work with Team Livestrong, the ride seemed like something we just had to do—even if it made Mom nervous.
    “Okaaaay,” she said as we stood in the driveway waiting to kick off. “You boys be careful.”
    In this case, I was pretty sure we “boys” included my father.
    “Of course!” we said in unison. Soon we were pedaling down Teg Drive and off to the ride.
    I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect day for cycling. The sky was clear and bright. I slipped into an easy rhythm, pedaling slow and steady. When we hit the first little hill on our way out of the neighborhood, I stood up on my pedals and coasted into the wind, my eyes closed, the sun warming my face. It felt like riding into pure joy.
    We were meeting up with RAGBRAI on day two of the ride, in a town called Coralville, which was about twenty-five minutes by bike from where we lived. We’d heard that Lance was going to give a speech, and we didn’t want to miss out on it.
    In fact, since Dad’s transplant, we’d been doing a lot of things to make sure we didn’t miss out on them. Being that close to death had given Dad an awareness of how short life could be. From now on, he said, he wasn’t missing out on anything, so that’s how we lived. Because he loved good food, we went out to eat more often. Mom wanted to find a way for us to go to Nepal, because my father had always dreamed of seeing Mount Everest, but the doctors said it wasn’t safe. Instead, we started planning a trip to California, for Dad to see his mom, who we called Po Po.
    I learned an important lesson that year: it’s easy to miss out on great things because they require extra effort, and we think we have all the time in the world to do them “later.” But nothing is guaranteed. Take advantage of now, because you don’t know what tomorrow will bring. RAGBRAI and Lance Armstrong’s speech were two things Dad wanted to take advantage of while we could.
    On our way to RAGBRAI, we rode in a neat little line: first Dad, then me, then Matt, then John, each on a different-colored bike. I’d had mine forever. It was a little red Trek bike that I’d gotten from Walmart for seventy dollars. It wasn’t fancy, but it fit me well and I’d been riding it for years. Dad had a silver Raleigh, John had a red one, and Matt had a nearly new blue Trek bike. Together, we were just a shade off from being the colors of the American flag!
    Along the way, we passed lots of other cyclists. Iowa