‘Best idea ever’: Pastor Ross goes off the beaten track to help grieving families

Pastor Ross Abraham is riding from Perth to Byron Bay to raise funds for ICU care bags in memory of his beautiful, crazy and dearly departed son, Jaaden.

Ross Abraham doing the ‘The Longest Ride’ from Perth to Byron Bay for the charity Beautiful Crazy, which is supplying care bags to grieving families in intensive care units at a growing number of Australian hospitals. Photo: Jude Kalman

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There is no lonelier place than an intensive care unit when you’re gazing at a loved one who may or may not live to fight another day.

You’re lost and confused and helpless and desperately sad. You feel as if nobody cares. Well, here’s someone who does care. Ross Abraham. A Gold Coast pastor with a heart and mission as colossal as the country he’s traversing on his dusty old pushbike.

Ross is riding from Perth to Byron Bay to raise funds for the beautiful, crazy charity he created in the beautiful, crazy memory of his beautiful, crazy and dearly departed son, Jaaden.

Ross is riding for Jaaden, and for himself, as part of the never-ending grieving process, and for his beautiful family. But he’s also riding for every family whose future will ­include the harrowing ICU experience.

Ross Abraham doing the ‘The Longest Ride’ from Perth to Byron Bay. Photo: Jude Kalman

His Beautiful Crazy charity is supplying care bags of supplies for relatives and friends of patients to a quickly growing number of ICUs in Australia. Here’s what I think. It’s the Best. Idea. Ever. I watched my wonderful father pass away in an ICU last year. Aside from the unspeakable heartache, you know what I found very bloody annoying?

The practicalities. You have nothing with you in an ICU. You’ve rushed there in such a muddled and panicked state, you’re lucky if not still in your ­pyjamas. As the days roll on, you have nothing to eat, nothing to drink, no toothbrush, no toothpaste, no headache tablets, nothing. You’re loathe to whisper to your father, mother, brother, sister, daughter or son, “I’m off to the cafeteria – please don’t die while I’m gone.”

Ross felt the same while in ICU with Jaaden for four days. A friend sent him a care bag, and it helped, so now he wants every family in every ICU in Australia to have access to Beautiful Crazy care bags.

And so here he is, head down and bum up, riding his pushie nearly 5000km from Perth to Byron Bay. Apart from Roadhouse Oodnadatta and the back o’ Bourke, what do you go through on a mission like this? I mean, mentally and physically, when you’re unspeakably fatigued, and when the headwinds are a nightmare, and when you’re bom­barded with flies, and the corrugations on imperfect roads are ripping your backside to shreds, and when there’s bulldust, potholes, and stifling heat, and blinding sandstorms … what do you experience riding your pushie across the red heart of Australia?

“Physically, my body’s held up surprisingly OK,” Ross says. “You get your knee pain, and wrist pain, and your backside has seen better days, and your shoulders are sore, and there’s just that growing feeling of fatigue and the heavy legs.

Ross Abraham cycling on the horizon. Picture: Jude Kalman

Out on the open plains, the headwinds and sidewinds are absolutely relentless. The wind blowing into your face at 20km/h most days, that’s a challenge. But it’s the corrugations in the roads that hammer you. It’s horrendous on the Great Central Road and the Oodnadatta Track.

“I’ve met people who won’t do it in a car, let alone on a bike. I’m not exaggerating when I say there is at least 1000km of corrugations that are unbelievably punishing.”

Jaaden Abraham at his home town of Byron Bay. Picture: courtesy of Ross and Kathy Abraham

Ross departed Perth on April 21. He’ll skid to a halt on Wednesday at Byron Bay, where there’s a sign on the road marking the spot where Jaaden died in an ebike accident at the age of 31. “The Longest Ride” has so far raised more than $140,000 … enough for 2300 bags. Six major hospitals have signed up, with more in the queue.

Donations can be made on the Beautiful Crazy website. Every $60 fills another care bag for another distressed family.

“When you pull into little towns that have a pub and a roadhouse, and you have a chat with people, and you tell them your story, and why we’re doing care bags, everyone just goes, ‘That’s the best idea ever,’ Ross says. “I think it just resonates with Aussies. We’ve met some fantastic people out here. One guy is pulling a cart across Australia. There’s people in broken-down caravans, you stop and help. One couple said, ‘What are you doing out here?’ I shared my story and the guy gets teary and says, ‘We lost our son 18 years ago in a surfing accident. Straight away, there’s a bond.”

The back o’ Bourke? “They put on a dinner for us at the caravan park and made it a gold coin donation,” Ross says. “All the oldies came out around the fire and the manager says, ‘Ross, can you speak to everyone for five minutes?’ I told them about our hopes for the care bags and we got 750 bucks in donation. I was extremely grateful. I met another two couples who’d lost children – the highlight of being out here is the people.”

Beautiful Crazy charity is supplying care bags to a quickly growing number of ICUs in Australia. Photo: Courtesy of Beautiful Crazy charity

How so? “Don’t get me wrong, you see some beautiful stuff. You get your starry nights, when you’re camping with a fire, and maybe having a glass of red after a long day, and you go rolling into a town like Bourke that has a well-known bakery, and you smash a pie and an apple turnover, and you can’t really beat things like that. But what I’ve really enjoyed is the ­people. There’s just a lot of good Aussie people out here.”

Byron is in his sights. Just down the road. Just another 900km.

Ross Abraham, centre, with some of his support team who have kept him going on the nearly 5000km pushbike ride. Picture: Jude Kalman

“Mentally, the challenge is your alarm going off at 5.30 every morning and knowing you have to go again,” he says at Walgett.

“You have to roll up your air mattress again. You have to pack up your tent, and have some breakfast, and get everything ready, because at seven o’clock you’re back on your bike for the next seven or so hours. Doing that every day, week after week, it’s mentally draining and some days you think, ‘Get stuffed. I’m throwing this bloody bike in the bush!’ But you keep going because you hope a lot of good will come from it. You hope it’s going to help.”

Asked how he expects to feel when he completes his month-long, coast-to-coast, beautiful, crazy, intensely caring, colossal mission, Ross says:

“I must have thought about that a hundred times already. I don’t know what to expect, to be honest. To see my wife and grandkids, and to see ­Jaaden’s little marker there on the road at Byron Bay, where his accident happened, there’s going to be a lot of emotion. If I dwell on it too much now, I’ll have a good cry. I’ll save all that for the day.”