Inside SEAL Team Six(20)

That’s when an arguably insane idea hit me: I’ll ride it across the country!

I figured three hundred miles a day for ten days wasn’t out of the question.

The next day I pedaled over to a local bicycle store, Ten Speed Spokes, and asked Ted, the owner, if he wanted to sponsor me. It helped that I was still getting publicity for being the first New Englander to complete the Ironman, and he said, “Absolutely.”

Ted contacted Guinness World Records in London. They told him that I could set a record by completing a transcontinental bike ride in ten days. They also pointed out that it would be easier if I rode west to east, since the other way was against the trade winds.

But I had only one destination—BUD/S.

Guinness had a few additional requirements. First, I needed to find a car to follow me the whole time. Second, I had to start at a town hall or other official place and finish at an official end point with someone there to time me. Finally, volunteers had to be recruited so that every twenty miles or so along the route there was someone there to record my progress.

My mother offered to loan her station wagon to serve as my support vehicle, and my girlfriend, Kim, and my sister Wendy agreed to drive it.

When I spoke on a local radio station to publicize my upcoming cross-country attempt, I received a call from a University of Rhode Island football player named Jay who said that he wanted to ride with me.

I told him we had to share expenses and ride at least eighteen to twenty-two hours a day.

He said, “No problem.”

Jay and I started training together and planning our route—from New York City to the Mississippi, across the Rocky Mountains to Los Angeles. A week or so later, when my military orders allowed me to travel, the four of us—Kim, Wendy, Jay, and I—arrived in New York City in the middle of a major transit strike.

We drove to City Hall and asked if there was someone who would officially start our race across the country.

The person I spoke to told us to get lost.

I explained our situation and said, “All you have to do is sign my official Guinness logbook.”

“No dice.”

So I called Ted back in Rhode Island, who telephoned Guinness World Records in London. They suggested that we start in Florida and end in San Diego because it was a shorter route.

Ted located a small coastal town in Florida that was willing to officially start the race and provide a police escort and even offered to film it.

Excited to finally get under way, we drove down there immediately.

Jay and I climbed on our bikes on a sunny Saturday morning as a crowd of well-wishers cheered us on. I was optimistic and filled with energy.

But it became apparent right away that Jay was struggling. The first night, after we’d clocked about 260 miles, Jay turned to me and said, “Hey, Don. I’m completely gassed. Let’s stop for the night and rest.”

“Jay, that means we’re going to have to do three hundred and forty miles tomorrow.”

“Fine. But I’m done for tonight.”

The next day he wanted to stop after 240 miles. Two days into our trek, and we were already falling behind. I was upset.

In the middle of Texas, Jay said, “I only want to do a hundred miles a day.”

“A hundred miles a day means it will take us eighteen more days! We’ll never set a record. And I only have ten days to get to Camp Pendleton.”

“Then I’m quitting.”

“Come on, Jay, we can do this. I know we can.” My mind-set was so strong that I knew I could make it despite the bleeding hemorrhoids that stuck to my shorts.

But Jay was mentally fatigued and sore and had lost his enthusiasm.

So we packed our bikes in the station wagon and drove the rest of the way.

As disappointed as I was about the bike ride (and it’s a failure that still haunts me), I was still psyched about arriving at BUD/S.

I understood the new procedures and my Marine orders, but had other ideas. Soon after we arrived at Camp Pendleton, I drove south to Coronado and walked into the Quarter Deck of SEAL Team One, where I was directed to the command master chief’s office.

I said, “Master Chief, I’m the Navy corpsman who called earlier and set up an appointment. I’ve passed the screening test twice and I request orders to go to BUD/S. I don’t want to go to Marine Corps training. I’m ready to go to BUD/S.”

He looked me over and said, “We really need corpsmen, and it’s hard to find corpsmen who are in shape.”

“I’m here and I’m ready, Master Chief.”

“Great. Wait outside.”

After he made some calls, he called me back in his office and said, “Looks like you’re going to have to complete your five-week course with the Marines first.”