This past weekend, for the fifth time, I rode in the MS 150 –- a two-day, 150+ mile bike ride from Houston to Austin to raise a hoped-for $14 million for multiple sclerosis research. This morning, I received a singularly inappropriate email from the National MS Society, congratulating me for making the ride “look like a breeze.”

Well, thanks very much, but the 2008 MS 150 was no “breeze.” Rather, it was a vicious, bone-chilling headwind that slowed riders to an agonized crawl for most of the first day and a good part of the second. I’m a pokey rider under the best of conditions. With the headwind, it took me 11 hours to cover 84 miles to the overnight rest stop at LaGrange.

I don’t know the speed of the headwind that buffeted me all day long. But I dimly remembered a rule of thumb I learned in the Boy Scouts. It takes a wind of 8 to 12 miles an hour to fully extend a light flag. So I kept a weather eye on the flags I encountered along the way. Since every single one of them was not only fully extended, but tugging furiously at its halyard, the headwind must have been at least 12 miles an hour –- probably more.

Because I was riding with a team from my church (irreverently named the “Holy Spokes”) I was able to avoid the mass camp-out of 13,000 riders at the LaGrange fairground. Instead, our pious little band made arrangements to spend the night at a nearby ranch.

The accommodations were rustic. We lodged in a stable (actually a barn). About a score of us laid our sleeping bags down on the bare planks of the loft. After a hard day’s ride, I was expecting a quiet refuge for the night, far away from the boom boxes and raucous partying at the fairground. What I didn’t realize –- and was dismayed to discover –- was how the most well-mannered and considerate Episcopalians could turn into perfect animals once they were asleep. The snoring was cacophonous, but I managed to snatch a few hours of shut-eye before our 5:30 breakfast the next morning.

After generous helpings of pancakes, grits and bacon and eggs, we set out for Austin, shivering in the 38-degree dawn. The MS 150 is a grueling ride, but it is made bearable by the many dedicated volunteers who monitor the health and safety of the riders on the highways, and man the rest stops that are spaced about ten miles apart along the route. At the rest stops, weary riders can find mechanics to fix their bikes, medical attention for sunburn or minor injuries, and ample supplies of Gatorade, fresh water, and healthy snacks.

I always gorge on the bananas at these stopping points, hoping that the rich store of potassium they contain will forestall muscle cramps. So far, I’ve avoided cramps, but I harbor the uneasy suspicion that scarfing down all those bananas may one day trigger some sinister, reverse-evolution process. I have nightmares that one day I’ll end the ride by peeling a banana with my toes.

Is all this agony worth it? Well, as a recurring sign along the route reminds us, we have two days of pain, MS sufferers have a lifetime. So it’s for a good cause.

Also, the ride is never dull. MS 150 riders are a colorful bunch. Along the way, I noted one bold spirit doing the ride on a unicycle, perched high on his single 36-inch wheel. Elsewhere, I spotted a group of women riders decked out with pixie wings. And then there's a guy I’ve seen every year I’ve made the trek to Austin: an Errol Flynn look-alike with a dashing moustache, a coxcomb of artificial flames atop his helmet, a Saint Arnold Brewery biker jersey stretched tight across his beefy torso and a devilish grin.

Beyond the riders, there’s the scenery. There are carpets of wildflowers to admire along the way, along with the rolling Texas hills, even though I may huff and puff while pedaling to the tops of them. But there was one moment at the start of the second day that I will particularly treasure. The morning sun had just risen over a low-lying mist. For an instant, the Texas landscape was transmuted into silver and gold. In a pasture on the other side of the road, a pair of lusty young horses frolicked like unicorns from a fairy tale. At that moment, I forgot my numb-with-cold fingers and my straining legs. I recalled the words of an old poem: “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”

And with that, I looked ahead and pedaled on to the finish line at Austin.