Sometimes inspiration is right in front of you.

Sept. 11 was my third participation in Yale-New Haven Health’s annual and immense Closer to Free bicycle ride to raise funds for cancer research and Smilow Cancer Hospital, of which we have a branch here in Waterford.

Normally, I would join a sea of 2,000 riders at dawn on the lawn outside the Yale Bowl in New Haven, and participate in an amazing media extravaganza filled with heartwarming, and heartbreaking, stories of cancer, delivered by cancer survivors themselves.

Some, after all they’ve been through, pedal 100 miles to raise funds, defiantly fighting cancer’s attempt to hijack their lives.

From the inspiring and emotional opening program, our sea of bicycles first heads to Smilow Cancer Hospital in downtown New Haven for The Smilow Salute, where a crowd of cancer patients in hospital gowns, some in wheelchairs, some still hooked up to IVs, gather outside the hospital with their doctors, nurses and attendants. They fill the sidewalk, holding signs of encouragement and appreciation, cheering us on as we roll by.

Many cyclists jump off their bikes for hugs. I blame the cool wind for the tears in my eyes.

But COVID intervened this year. There was no rousing launch, no Smilow Salute, no sea of bicycles. After a low-key online ceremony the night before, we all separately rode a route of our own choosing.

With the sun rising, I headed alone to the Farmington Canal Trail in Plainville, pulling into the parking lot to find a large, impromptu brotherhood of Closer to Free jerseys. I joined them, and we were off.

Cycling long distances gives you ample time to think.

Cancer has attacked our family and friends since 1974, when my 33-year old brother-in-law died of brain cancer, leaving my sister with two very small children.

Since then, we’ve lost more family and friends to the disease in spite of the fact that billions are spent on cancer research, ever since Richard Nixon declared war on cancer with the National Cancer Act of 1971. Fifty years ago, and the battle rages on.

But, as a result, the National Cancer Institute reports that cancer survivors are predicted to increase from 16.9 million in 2019 to 22.2 million by 2030. That’s some progress, a lot of lives saved or extended. That’s why I ride — to help save lives, and maybe one day win the war.

This year’s ride wasn’t quite the same without the emotion of the live opening ceremony and tear-inducing Smilow visit. I missed that uplifting energy, until I remembered that I have plenty of inspiration in my own family, right in front of me.

We were in Atlanta in December 2019 when our 29-year-old daughter-in-law, Chelsea, underwent major surgery for a suspicious mass. She was diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer.

One of the fittest people on the planet, she is an Army veteran and a tough CrossFit competitor.

After enduring all the debilitating bodily damage that comes with surgery, chemotherapy and powerful drugs, she fought hard, tenaciously taking her life back.

Now in remission, Chelsea will graduate from the physically demanding Marietta, Georgia, firefighter training program on Nov. 18, and begin her new career as a firefighter.

She refused to be derailed. She is a survivor, her story as inspiring as a Smilow drive-by.

I was also driven by the recent loss of a childhood friend to pancreatic cancer, and thoughts of another dear friend now valiantly fighting brain cancer.

But it was Chelsea’s courage and grit that pulled me along the trail, helping me beat back fatigue as my goal of 67 miles slowly clicked by — 65 for cancer, and two more to match my age this year.

Five hours later, with old injuries fanning an inferno of pain, a dilapidated version of my former self rolled quietly, yet victoriously, over the finish line. Normally, I would have returned through a finish lane lined with screaming crowds ringing cowbells, and a post-ride party at the Yale Bowl.

But in this day’s solitude, I couldn’t help but recall the words of Tim Krabbe, Dutch racer and author of the classic cycling book “The Rider,” who declared during a tough race, “I feel like I’m dragging my soul on a string.” I now know what he meant.

Because of cancer survivors with their indomitable, inspiring human spirit, and memories of those stolen by cancer, I’ll continue raising funds and cycling, even if I do have to “drag my soul on a string” to the finish.

To experience the magic and emotion of Closer to Free, visit rideclosertofree.org and check out the videos and photos under “About.”

John Steward lives in Waterford. He can be reached at tossinglines@gmail.com.