Profiles | Richard Schneiter

By Nancy Pasternack, Santa Cruz Sentinel

Some of his language skills were removed, along with the tumor that grew and re-grew inside Richard Schneiter's head.

But the former county bus driver and one-time semi-pro basketball player says that at least he still has wheels.

On Sunday, Schneiter, 49, will attempt a 580-mile bicycle trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles as part of AIDS/Lifecycle. Having undergone three brain surgeries in three years, he is accustomed to long and difficult journeys.

"My legs are good," he says. "Maybe not my brain."

It was on a spring day in 2002 when headaches, and comments from co-workers about his speech sounding "a little funny," prompted him to visit a doctor.

Schneiter had already taken one busload of people from Santa Cruz up Highway 17 to San Jose State University and was scheduled to drive the route again. But the symptoms he experienced that day were strange enough to grab his attention.

He had a seizure while at the doctor's office. Three days later, a surgeon at Dominican Hospital was busy rooting through his skull for the cancerous tumor.

"I can only do so much," he says of his condition, "and then it's ..." he looks away for a moment, searching the files of his brain for the word.

His wife finds it.

"Overload," she says.

"Overload," he repeats, nodding.

Different Priorities

When he first fell ill, Schneiter was living alone in Live Oak, in the house he'd once shared with his wife of 20 years, Kate Plossl-Schneiter.

The couple had been separated for a year, but reunited after receiving the news. Plossl-Schneiter, a trained nurse, took control of her husband's care.

"Our priorities really got different," she says, looking at her husband from across their small kitchen table. He nods.

"I missed them," he says, his quiet voice suddenly reed-thin. "I have a great family."

The first surgery was followed by radiation and chemotherapy.

But a scan four months later showed re-growth and Schneiter was sent to UCSF Medical Center for experimental surgery.

Again the tumor grew back, and again, Schneiter got the new procedure.

UCSF doctors needed special approval from the Food and Drug Administration both times to conduct the relatively untested surgery, and Schneiter is the first patient to have undergone that procedure twice.

On Thursday, his bicycle and a bag full of gear waited in his living room. His athletic build, suntan, and graying movie-star good looks gave away none of what he'd been through.

Schneiter will be one of about 1,900 bicyclists--some of whom have been diagnosed with HIV--who will attempt to make the AIDS/Lifecycle seven-day trip.

Each participant is required to raise a minimum $2,500 in donations to fund the organization's HIV/AIDS outreach services.

So far, Plossl-Schneiter says, the family has raised about $1,000, but they will put up whatever difference they fail to raise by the July deadline.

It's a good cause, and Schneiter says that some of his former co-workers suffer from, or have been diagnosed with, the virus that causes AIDS.

Positive Approach

His participation in the event results from his wife's frustration in seeing him "down in the dumps."

The surgeries, the medications, and sense of helplessness had gotten to Schneiter, and when he finally said something positive, it was in response to seeing a poster advertising AIDS/Lifecycle.

"I signed him up right away," says Plossl-Schneiter.

The former athlete has been bicycling 150 miles per week or more since then to prepare for the event.

His last brain scan in May showed him to be tumor-free. He'll get checked again at the end of July.

He's planned a trip to Europe, and says he hopes to get back soon to a long-standing three-times-weekly basketball game he once enjoyed with friends.

In the meantime, he works in his garden, and in those of elderly residents who can no longer care for their own grounds.

Tall, pink Shirley poppies peek into his kitchen window. Plant life flourishes in abundance around the small house.

Remembering and speaking common, simple words often frustrates him.

But the name of an unusual-looking plant at the edge of his property takes no time or effort to produce.

"Tritoma," Schneiter says. He looks surprised by his own quick-mindedness, and smiles.

Story first published in the Santa Cruz Sentinel on June 3. Reprinted with permission.