By John Matthews
In September of 2023 my nephew Jack called. “Uncle Jack, I want to ride my bike across the country to help lung cancer patients.” Jack was 18 at the time, and Jack was very serious.
On this coming Tuesday, May 20, while most young men his age will be just starting their summer vacation or internships, my nephew Jack Owens will be getting on the road, pedaling mile after relentless mile across America. His ambition to make a difference, a real difference, is in his bones.
Jack will begin this journey in San Francisco accompanied by some family. And on July 6, he will finish his ride in Ocean City, N.J., pedaling past where he spent many fun days and nights with his Grandmom. He is doing this ambitious, some say crazy ride to honor a grandmother he loved dearly and for a cause that has become personal to Jack.
Jack’s ride will benefit Ride Hard Breathe Easy, the nonprofit I created after losing my mother—Jack's grandmother—to lung cancer in 2011. As I watch his preparation continue to unfold, I'm overwhelmed by a pride that comes from seeing the best parts of our family story continue through another generation.
When I did my cross-country ride in 2017, I had no idea that seeds were being planted. Jack was out there supporting me, and I vividly remember Jack doing a one-arm pushup on the roadside in Utah, acting like the 12-year-old he was, cheering me on.
He was just a boy then, witnessing something that must have seemed both impossible and inspiring, watching with wide eyes as I pedaled past, exhausted but determined. Now he's the one in the saddle, and I'm one of many people watching with a heart filled with so many emotions.
And while lung cancer took my mom from us, it was important for me to channel my grief into purpose, creating Ride Hard Breathe Easy with a simple mission: to do something for lung cancer patients in memory of my amazing mom, Kathleen Matthews.
The family gathered to celebrate Kathleen Matthews’s 80th birthday.
My cross-country journey in 2017 honored my mom, and bore witness to her advice that, “Many hands make light work”, words my five siblings and I heard often. She brought this saying from County Mayo where she grew up on a farm with six siblings. As in any Irish household in the 1940s, there was always work to be done on the farm and everyone was expected to pitch in. My mother instilled that idea in us and that saying left a deep impression on me. It was because of the many hands of family and friends that I started and finished my ride, and Jack has the same dedicated support eight years later.
Soon, Jack will ride many of the same roads, creating his own relationship with both the physical challenge and the emotional purpose behind it. And there is something profoundly Irish about this passing of the torch. We Irish are a people who understand that grief can be transformed into purpose, that stories matter, and that honoring those we've lost means continuing their work in the world. Jack's journey embodies what mattered most to Mom and Dad: Faith, Family, and Friends.
Statistics about lung cancer remain sobering. Despite being the leading cause of cancer death in the United States, Ireland, and the world, it receives disproportionately less research funding and public attention than other cancers. Each dollar (and euro) Jack raises helps chip away at this disparity.
But beyond the funds raised lies something equally valuable: the conversations started. As Jack pedals through small towns and major cities, he will share his journey, becoming an ambassador for lung cancer awareness, breaking down stigmas and misconceptions.
What Jack may not yet fully understand is how his journey will change him. The open road has a way of stripping away pretense, leaving only what matters most. By the time he pedals down 34th Street in Ocean City, NJ, he will be different—stronger not just in body but in conviction.
As his uncle, I watch his progress with enormous pride. Jack is carrying forward our family's response to loss: we push forward and often with humor, we celebrate life, and we help each other. And in doing so, we ensure that those we've lost—like my mother, his grandmother—continue within us every day.
Jack knows I couldn't be prouder of what he is doing and his remarkable 3,600-mile journey. He has put the time in, he is ready to ride, and he will tip the front wheel of his bicycle in the Atlantic Ocean in early July.
Jack, may the road rise to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back! Ádh mór!
If you want to learn more about Jack’s ride, cheer him on, or support Ride Hard Breathe Easy, please go to www.rhbe.org.
