JOE VOLFMAN'S BIKE LEAVES HIM BRUISED -AND BLEEDING.

BUT TO ACHIEVE HIS OLYMPIC DREAM, IT'S WORTH IT.

- EMILY SHIFFER

WELCOME TO JOE VOLFMAN'S PAIN CAVE. HIS RACING medals dangle from a coat hanger hooked to the ceiling in the garage of the Springfield, New Jersey, home he shares with his family. A blown-up image of a forest dominates the nearest wall, and Joe's stationary Top End Force RX handcycle sits on the floor. The bike connects to a wooden stand bearing an array of cycling stickers, a flat-screen TV, and a phrase in block letters inked right into the wood: Don't Ever Stop! A tangle of cords stretches across the floor. Joe approaches the bike in his wheelchair, wearing a Rapha EF Pro Cycling kit and a sweatband across his forehead.

The first challenge is getting from the chair to the bike, a complicated and well-rehearsed dance between Joe and his mother, Liz. Joe lifts himself out of his wheelchair and rotates his upper body onto a wheeled office chair, which Liz then slides over to the bike on the floor. As Joe rolls across the floor, he lifts his feet, with great effort, so they don't drag. At the bike, Liz lifts Joe again as he heaves his legs over the bike frame, straddling it. Then Liz lowers him into the seat, which she has covered with a towel for cushioning and to absorb Joe's sweat. Once Joe is seated, Liz straps his ankles into place beneath the TV display-where the front wheel would be, if one were attached. Then she straps Joe into the seat, around his waist. The bike frame is duct-taped with microfiber cloths, and Liz wraps terrycloth towels around Joe's calves so Joe doesn't cut himself on the bike's frame or spokes. He's likely to emerge from the pain cave battered and bleeding anyway, but he's used to it. The entire setup takes 20 minutes.

Once he's in the bike, Joe turns to his mom: "Right on," he says.