From Father to Son: Maltese Cyclist Pedals Forward 20-Year Family Mission to Save Kidney Patients

Simon once cycled to help kidney patients. Now his son is cycling for him
By Hot Malta staff

Valletta’s Grand Harbour shimmered like beaten copper as the first riders pushed off from the Barakka Lift on Sunday morning, but 24-year-old Luke Galea’s mind was on a smaller, quieter scene: his father Simon’s dialysis chair at Mater Dei’s renal unit. Twenty years ago Simon pedalled 100 km in the inaugural “Kidney Cycle” to raise funds for the then-nascent National Kidney Foundation. Today, tubes have replaced tyres in his life; Luke’s jersey now carries the same foundation logo his dad once ironed on by hand.

“Dad always said the island gives you back what you put in,” Luke grinned, adjusting the borrowed helmet that still bears Simon’s 2004 race number. “I’m just returning a favour.”

Malta’s kidney story is, statistically, a Mediterranean cautionary tale: the country registers Europe’s highest rate of treated end-stage renal disease— 187 patients per million, against an EU average of 120. Diets heavy on processed ħobż biż-żejt, stubborn diabetes rates and a genetic predisposition to polycystic kidneys form a perfect storm. Yet the archipelago also answers back with disproportionate solidarity. Since 2003 the annual Kidney Cycle has raised €1.7 million, enough to finance two dialysis machines every year and, more importantly, to keep Maltese patients from the indignity of travelling to Sicily for life-saving hours on a machine.

Simon, 56, a retired Enemalta linesman from Żabbar, was part of that first peloton of 42 riders who circled Gozo twice because “we didn’t think Malta alone looked big enough on the sponsorship form”. He raised €600, enough for a month of disposables. “We finished at Xlendi, ate rabbit stew at Ta’ Rikardu and felt like kings,” he remembers, voice raspy after a four-hour nocturnal dialysis session. “Back then we were begging companies for €20. Today Luke’s WhatsApp is full of €50 Revolut transfers from people who’ve never met us.”

The shift from father to son mirrors wider generational change on the islands. Where Simon’s campaign relied on faxed pledges and church-noticeboard posters, Luke’s Instagram reels—filmed against the yellow stone of Senglea—clocked 18 000 views in 48 hours. Corporate donors now include iGaming firms whose staff pound the same coastal route on Pelotons between Zoom calls. But beneath the tech gloss lies an older Maltese instinct: the concept of “għaqda”, the village-level mutual aid that once financed dowries and festa fireworks and now crowdfunds medical equipment.

Luke’s target this year is €5 000—enough for a portable reverse-osmosis unit that lets patients holiday in Gozo without lugging 20 kg of solution. By the time riders climbed the hill to Mdina, he had already passed €3 700. Support arrived in classic Maltese patchwork form: a Pastizzi van in Kirkop handed out complimentary ricotta rings stamped with the foundation’s teal ribbon; band club marquees in Qormi doubled as impromptu water stations blasting 1970s ħaġġa tunes; and 78-year-old kidney transplant recipient Ċensu Pace sat outside the Mosta rotunda ringing a handbell every time a cyclist passed, “so they know someone’s waiting”.

Yet the most poignant cheers were saved for the final kilometre. Simon, freed from his afternoon dialysis slot by staff who promised to “watch the time”, waited by the Triton Fountain in a wheelchair draped with the original 2004 banner. Luke dismounted, hugged his father, and together they walked—one step for every year of dialysis—the last 100 metres to the finish line. Spectators, many wearing teal T-shirts printed with the Maltese cross, burst into spontaneous applause. Someone started the traditional chant “Viva l-kuraġġ”, usually reserved for festa processions; today it echoed for science and survival.

Conclusion
In a country where 15% of the population will suffer chronic kidney disease, the Galea story is less an exception than a mirror. It shows how Maltese families convert private pain into collective momentum, swapping cycling shorts for hospital gowns and back again across generations. Simon’s kidneys may have failed, but the circuit of solidarity he helped kick-start keeps spinning—its wheels now turned by a son who refuses to let the island’s smallest charity ride fade into nostalgia. As the sun set over the Upper Barrakka gardens and Luke propped his bike against a cannons’ vantage point, the message was clear: in Malta, every kilometre counts twice—once on the tarmac, once in the heart.