A river of stories at American Cancer Society Bike-a-thon

Most of the time, the Ben Franklin Bridge spans a river, carrying automobiles, buses, and trucks.

But on Sunday morning, the bridge became a river - a river of bicycle spokes sparkling like water in the morning sun, a river of colored jerseys, each catching the light, but most important, a river of stories.

Because, if there was anything that united the 4,200 or more riders who embarked on Sunday's 66.2-mile American Cancer Society's Bike-a-thon to raise $1.7 million for cancer research, it was the story behind every ride.

Among the first to cross the bridge Sunday were twin sisters Lynnette and Laurie Duckett, 48, both special-education teachers who have been battered by physical problems, including cancer. Both have an immune disorder that requires them to constantly receive antibiotics.

Laurie survived cancer of the thymus gland in 2001. In 2004, Lynnette learned she had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Her prospects weren't good - stage four, inoperable, incurable.

"Lynn was so battered and bruised, down to 80 pounds," remembered Laurie, who lives next door to her sister in Glendora. One tough night, Lynn was in bed, bald and exhausted from chemotherapy. Laurie was holding her, trying to give her peace.

The bicycle race came on television. "One day," Lynn said, "one day I'm going to ride in that race."

Laurie agreed, but privately wondered if that one day would ever come. "Sure, Lynnie," she said, "one day."

Soon, "one day" became the mantra for the two sisters and they began to train, joining a friend from their spinning class to ride with Sunoco's team of about 30 riders. The sisters started together, but Lynn, who still is in chemotherapy, took a break in the middle of Sunday's race and got a ride for eight miles before resuming.

They rode the last three miles together.

"For one day," said Lynn, "I want to be like a person who was never touched by cancer. This Sunday is that one day. Every day is a gift. I take nothing for granted."

And those were two out of 4,200 - leading the pack of cyclists who assembled early Sunday morning at the foot of the Ben Franklin Bridge, which was closed to traffic. At 6:55 a.m., after a moment of silence to honor those who lost their lives to cancer, an official cut a ribbon and opened the bridge.

By tradition, survivors cycle first.

It took 20 minutes for the river of riders to flow over the bridge before spilling onto Admiral Wilson Boulevard, through Cherry Hill, to Hammonton, and finally to the Buena Vista Camping Park in Buena, where crowds rang welcoming bells and cheered the riders as they cycled under an archway of balloons.

In a ceremony, about 60 cancer survivors, including Lynn and Laurie Duckett, recited their names and the number of years they had survived cancer. Among those who spoke was Logan Sands, 8, a cancer survivor for four years.

He rode the last leg of the journey with his grandfather, who had his own story.

Now retired, Leonard Sands, 64, once believed he was in complete control. He owned two Shore-area motorcycle dealerships and employed 40 people. He ultimately sold the businesses.

But then his grandson got cancer, and he came to see there were things in life he couldn't control.

"When cancer happened to Logan, it was a major reality check," he said. "It changed my whole life. What I thought was important was not important.

"What had been important to me? My work. I'll be honest, my personal acquisitions, all the things I have accumulated. But when Logan got sick, I realized that none of that matters. The things that matter are family and health, and those are the things that money can never buy."

Thirty relatives of Mae Lizzie Boone also gathered in Buena, as they have for years, to cheer on family members who ride in her honor. She died of brain cancer in February 1965 at 42, leaving nine children.

In the late 1980s, her son, Melvin Leon Boone, began to ride in her honor and raised $100,000 over 16 years, until he was killed in an unrelated auto accident in 2000. Now his son and various cousins continue his legacy, and hers.

Sheryl Kuo's story was more immediate. A doctor from Langhorne, she wept just last week when she heard of a patient's brain cancer. Seventeen years ago, she had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Her sister donated the bone marrow that saved her life.

"Life is good," she said, after she rolled in on a triple bicycle with her husband, Bruce, and nephew Andy Ringold, 8, of Allentown.

The chemical engineer from Medford did not want his name in the paper, because officially, he is disabled and receiving benefits. His head was bald, his skin pale. A sweat band on his arm barely concealed the port through which he is receiving chemotherapy for lymphoma.

A decade ago, he beat the cancer the first time and has ridden ever since, easily handling the 66 miles.

Stricken again, he knew that he would have to ride on Sunday, if only for a mile. "It would be symbolic," he said. Instead, he rode 22 miles.

Next week, he'll begin another round of chemotherapy. "Over the next three weeks, I'll be in the hospital," almost too weak to walk, let alone ride.

"This was my window of opportunity," he said, steadying his bicycle at the finish. "You really do this for yourself - to overcome the negative memories. When you are coming through that finish line and people are cheering you on, there is great energy here."