I met Jay at Washington Harbor on the weekend. That was 6 years
ago. He rolled up on his beater 10 speed with his long hair and his
kooky look. He struck me as one of those, "life of bike" guys.
He looked like what I imagined a California hippy might look like.
We talked about mega miles in the saddle, his mega miles. We talked
about scrounging parts. As couriers in the work week we had never
spoken, never even nodded, but we recognized each other from the 2 second
shutter click between cars and that was reason enough to start a conversation.
I put some mega miles onto my car as I Jack Kerouac'ed around the country,
and years later I was sitting on the bench next to Jay at Dupont.
He was a racer guy now. People glowed when they spoke of him, nothing
specific, just that he was an inspiration. He said he'd been in a
bad accident, it put his racing career on hold. Jay doesn't mince
words, he only says as much as is necessary
I had no idea.
Jay was shooting for the pro's. He had a good chance, was having
a killer season. He was in the break-away pack in Mississippi, 7
of the best riders in the country. Jay was focused, Jay had worked
hard for this moment. Jay knew his mission, he didn't have a lot
of years to goof off, he is all business. That day in Mississippi,
Jay was 35. Already arguments were erupting with the sponsor, his
teammates were lobbying on his behalf. "Don't take away his chance
at the pros by putting him in Masters." Masters being the old guy
league. "Jay has a chance to get there, don't hold him back, how
can you do it when he's almost there, who cares how old he is."
There was a car. Noone had time to warn anybody else. Most
of the breakaway riders barely made it around the car. Jay didn't.
In an instant, Jay was back at ground zero and fighting for his life.
A bystander saved his life by tying a tourniquet around his leg, preventing
him from bleeding to death.
Everyone on the team was devasted with Jay's loss. Jay has a
big ugly scar on his leg now. It took a year of recuperation, but
Jay was getting back on the bike. It was all tentative, he was weak
and still recovering, but he was giving his everything.
You can see all the messengers at Dupont from time to time. We
fly there to roost, check on things, catch up, it's the calm of the maelstrom
which is the life of a courier. All the members of the team were
messengers. Racing was a connection, messing, the initial bond.
4 couriers from the team went to visit Jay during his recovery in New Jersey.
He couldn't be in Dupont, so they went to him. Every veteran courier
has seen or heard of friends maimed or killed on the street, they had to
make sure Jay was alright.
Sheba beams with pride when she tells of that bike ride they did with
Jay in New Jersey. "It was so powerful to see him on his bike, training
again, it was truly an inspiration." I could see the goosebumps on
her arms despite the 90 degrees in my kitchen. "Jay's a hero."
Jay is one of those quiet guys. He smiles, he cracks quiet jokes,
he laughs at your jokes. He may not be the center of attention, but
he is certainly missed when he is not around. Jay would never think
to brag. If you only talked to Jay about Jay you'd never have any
idea what a great man he is because he'd never tell you.
I heard that Jay was doing well, but that's all I've heard. To the
people Jay does deliveries for all day, Jay's a pleasant hard working courier.
He's clean cut, and that's all they care about. To security guards,
he's snubbed like any other courier. But in District 20, Jay's the
champion. The scar that has left a grotesque dent in his leg
is a map of what he had to overcome. To those who know Jay, champion
is not a strong enough word to describe him.
