Day 4...

So many things today, but no time before bedtime. Spent most time this evening preparing my red dress. More on this tomorrow and next week, with photographic bounty....

Day 3: quadbuster

What is usually the hottest day on the ride was a sunny mild day that made these 80 miles feel like a breeze after yesterday's 110. I rode out with Jon today and spent with him most of the day, through a glorious stretch towards pit stop 1, right before the toughest climb on the ride, renamed Quadbuster. A beautiful ride inland followed the time spent on top of the hill cheering fellow riders up next to Ginger Brewlay, who always is atop the toughest climb to cheer riders. She even had a close encounter with Leeroy Peachy, a conservative trucker from oklahoma that ended with his picture taken with ginger. Lunch stop was in Bradley, population 120. This is the biggest event of the year for this community and it truly touched their lives, even helping the town financially and beyond.

Somewhere on the way between king city and santa maria something changes on the ride and we turn into a community. The fellowship, the stories, the sorrows being shared, form a strange bond that many feel compelled to renew, year afyer year. Tonight's celebrations included the acknowledgment of the Positive Pedllers, and really set the tone and intensity for the days that separate us from LA. Now that the ride is turned again into being that wonderful group of individuals trying to positively affect the world we can spend time reflecting on the lives that this disease has touched, many with a face, riding alongside with you through the beautiful countryside of California. And if we continue riding, talking and teaching about the disease, and raising money to fight it, maybe on day soon we won't have to ride this ride anymore.

Day 2: too tired for words...

It was a glorious day, from the ride out of santa cruz, the ugly mug, the artichoke stop, the cofee shop in salinas, 30+ miles of glorious tail winds and the river swim. 110 miles later I'm tired and sleepy. Hopefully tomorrow's post will be longer and with some more intresting content. If you want, you can visit my rider page on the aidslifecycle website to send me your thoughts and messages while i'm on the ride. I look forward to them every night...

Day 1: veterans day

So many familiar things today. From an ungodly early rise time, to getting eady in the dark and silence for the first time in seven consecutive days, everything took a sort of familiar feeling. At only a few minutes past 5 i was up and heading to the cow palace, such an unglamorous place for such a extraordinary event. In the dark and cold Matt and I said our goodbyes to David who hd agreed to drive us, delivered our gear and rolled in for opening ceremonies. It felt remarkably familiar, many friendly faces and many lines and remarks heard the yea before, and yet my feelings were very different than the year past. But those exact feelings i could recognize them in the eyes of the many hundreds of people who were doing this ride for the first time. I ride with a very different spirit this year: i know what to expect and how to make best use of my time and effort, i understand the real reasons for doing this ride much better. Now my life is much more touched by hiv than it was ever before. I have several positive friends and while i cannot claim to understand their struggle i recognize the positive effect that my sincere affection has on them. I am thankful to this ride for letting me see this and look forward to helping to make it as successful as it can be.

Now to ride itself. A cold ride, 90 miles, although more like 95 judging from everyone's bikecomputers. Half moon bay was still under heavy construction so the route took us on a different, tougher course. About 6000 feet of climbing, rising to 2100 feet of elevtion at the top of skyline drive. The weather gods were partially with us though since - despite how nasty, cold and foggy that part of skyline drive can be, the climb turned out to be warm and sunny, with gorgeous sights and scenery.

A few spots here and there were a little too cold, and thank god for my new insanely warm lobster-claw mitten biking gloves, but all in all the day was a good day and we arrived in camp tired, but happy. I'll say something tomorrow about life in camp, but it was good to see again so many familiar faces. It's going to be an awesome ride!

Tomorrow is the longest day, with 110 miles of riding through the countrysides all the way to king city. And on the way, artichokes, glorious tail winds, and river swimming....

Time for bed.

A new ride begins

And here we are. In less than 6 hours a new lifecycle is about to begin. The excitement is hard to contain but the need of sleeping in anticipation of tomorrow's climbs will probably prevail and help me fal asleep. There is so much going on these days that I hardly begin this ride with an empty mind, but this ride has a way of taking you away from everything and everyone else other than this amazing community. There are too many things on my mind and only seven days to let those thoughts flow on this blog. For those who helped me raise themoney for this wonderful cause, for those who will follow this adventure alongside with me through my recounts, i say thank you. I will be thinking of you all every pedal stroke of the way.

And there, now the only thing separating me from camp 1 are 90 miles and 9000 feet of climbing!

A New Training Season begins

On Saturday I headed out with Jon, Shelly and Mike for a beautiful ride, on a warm sunny day, through the city and out to Tiburon. I just upgraded my bike computer to a Garmin Edge 305 and I can now geek out creating great reports of my upcoming rides, in preparation for next year's ALC. Here goes:



It was a great ride over the bridge and out to Tiburon. Riding with Mike, Shelly and Jon recreated a lot of the spirit of the last day of the Ride. On top of that, we biked through the walkers particpating in the Breast Cancer Walk. It wasn't long before we were speeding along side the marching walkers, cheering them on, whistling and yelling "Go Walkers!". It was quite an interesting emotion. It was easy to recognize in some of the participants reactions my own, just a few weeks back, wheen cheered on and handed a smile by a passing stranger or an onlooking crowd. I remember how it felt then, and it made the experience of passing on some of that emotion, even more fulfilling.

Nice job walkers....

On our way back we stopped for a bite in Tiburon. Weekend rides are always so crowded: it took us almost half an hour to get our food but the hunger made it all worth it. On our way back we stopped at a wonderful ride appreciation party in the hilliest part of the city. Check it out on the elevation profile for yourself. But that again was all worth it. Thanks to Joe and wife for the great food and awesome ALC video.

So now the training season is officially open.

Journeys home

So many things about this ride have been about journeys. Some people rode away leaving from their SF home and took a dive into a very different reality than the one they know from their everyday; some people travelled back towards their LA home, everyday seeing their surroundings taking shapes ever more familiar; some people travelled to California first from far away to be then transported through beautiful and foreign landscapes, yet feeling somewhat at home every step of the way. Everybody would also complete a different, more private kind of journey. I decided to participate in the ALC primarily for the purpose of challenging myself. I had just met a new friend, extraordinarily prone to taking on difficult physical challenges, training for them and accomplishing his goals. His resolve and the experiences he shared with me made me feel like that would have been something that I'd have cherished as well. So I decided to do this ride. I had heard about it and sort of knew some people that had done it but that was about the limit of my knowledge of what ALC is about, along with the awareness that it was for a good cause for which I had spent time and effort volunteering and getting involved before. I signed up for training, bought a bike, trained as hard as work, time and patience would allow me. I met some people in the process but for the most part I thought of them as "along for the ride" (no pun intended here). I found myself quite untouched - or at least uninvolved, pretend that this is a real word - by the displays of commitment, involvement, and passion that would transpire at training gatherings or through the discussion list. Throughout the training period, HIV and AIDS remained labels that were attached to the cause, to the money raising effort. This has changed a lot along the way.

It all changed during the ride.

The evening of Day 6 is the night when this amazing community of 2000+ people takes a break from the loud, alive and hyperactive life of the week almost behind them and takes the time to reflect, to grief, to let it all out, or to bury it deeper within, to reach out for support or to prove to themselves and to the world that they still stand strong in the face of the adversities encountered. It's all in a little flame and the swooshing sound of the waves, a candle light vigil on the beach, fighting with the wind that tried to send us back to camp before we felt ready to, readily helping each other to relight the extinguishing flames. I found it peculiar, confusing almost, that the organizers had decided (to their credit they had done this time and again) to let this event construct itself with no guidance or structure but letting people flow with whatever motivated and guided them. I remember walking out initially on my own, running into Mike along the path. We exchanged a hug and briefly reminisced on the day just ending, when in the rush of biking we hadn't even run into each other. Matt was supposedly right behind me but I lost him quickly in the large herd of people preoccupied with the well being of their flames. Mike and I got candles and walked out to the beach. A large number of flimsy lights were already arranged as a big circle on the shore. I moved across the beach, walking the 200 yds stretch along the diameter, drawn to the closest area to the breaking waves. Silence around us.

Mike and I didn't really stay silent for long. We shared our thoughts and some stories. I figure many were doing the same as small groups would form along the way: hugging each other, crying, looking at each other in the flimsy light of their candles. It's really hard to describe what the feeling was like for me: empathy for all those whose lives had been affected by the disease, many of whom I could sense or see grieving around me, sense of being littled by the weight of a set of human stories, emotions and grief that I can hardly comprehend fully, a sense of shame even for the knowledge that I was feeling a lighter burden - a privilege, you would call it - than many others around me, and for the complete cluelessness of how to best help anyone carry that burden. It was what I wished for the most at that very time, find the way and the right moment to help anyone share in that load. I sort of felt it to be almost a duty as a member of that group, a duty that I felt I was failing. I felt very close to all of my fellow ALCers right then though. I was glad Mike was there with me to share that moment, that I was not by myself. I don't know what he thought or felt, maybe he had different expectations from it. We walked around, sat on the sand for a little, continued talking for a little. Then we blew out the candles and walked back to camp. We were among the last ones to return. We hadn't shared much in terms of thoughts or stories, yet some words said there were powerful and gave me time and chance to reflect, change and grow.

That's the most peculiar thing about this week. You don't come out of it the same person you were when you went in. I have very different reasons to go back next year, now: make a bigger difference in the fight against HIV both with fundraising (i will have a much higher fund raising goal) and with reaching out to people around me; see again the amazing people that shared this experience with me; help create for others the same kind of first time experience that this was for me; remind myself that it is way too easy to become complacent and focus on our own lives, when each one of us can make a world of difference to somebody else, to help, share, live, laugh, dance and cry together, sharing a bond with new and extraordinary people. Or as others have better put it, ordinary people doing something extraordinary.

I made a journey from SF to LA, I demonstrated to myself that I could commit and work successfully toward that goal. Along the path I met incredible individuals of whose personal struggle and resolve I'm in awe. It changed me and I grew.

I am missing all those people already...