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...

Day 7: All good things....

Day 7 started as any day on the ride. Yet two things were different: one was that under advice from new friend Mike and learning from the previous day's lagging schedule throughout the day, we started the day much earlier, got all packed up for the last time and headed to breakfast, at bike parking by 6:30 as planned. The second was the sinking in realization that these were the last 60 miles to Los Angeles. That's when the strange feelings began: elation, satisfaction, sense of achievement on one side for the impressive feat now almost behind us; estrangement, sense of loss, depression almost for the knowledge that there would not be another 100 miles to ride the next day, that the faces and voices (or snoring..) we had gotten used to would now fade away, for a year or more.

It's a powerful force that which united people on this journey. I can now link a few new tens of names to familiar faces and I find myself smiling when I think of those people and the situations that brought us together. I find myself pausing and staring in the void, in a somber and sad silence, when I think of the reason we actually came together.

Day 6 ended with a very emotional evening. The candle light vigil in memory of those who died of Aids and in celebration of the lives of those who fought, and fight today with this disease in their lives, through their own bodies or through those of the people that they love and care about. I will post about this later on, as it well deserves.

So, Matt, Mike, Jon, Shelly and I started out rocking it early on day 7 and flew past rest stop 1. We were stopping at every chance to interact with locals or other riders who were doing something out of the ordinary routine of any ALC day. We spent quite a long time at an intersection where one of the LA riders had bought a bunch of donuts for the riders. We ate, cheered on the riders, took pictures and hopped onto our bikes yet again. It wasn't long before lunch. Riding out early and going at a fast pace makes for a significantly different day, as you don't spend nearly as much time in line for food, water, toilets and you can concentrate on riding and taking in the scenery and as much of the experience as you're capable of.

I had known Shelly for a while, she was one of the training ride leaders (which I now kind of want to become as well...) but never really spent much time with her before. I got to hang out with her through Jon and Mike, two of the PosPeds I met on the ride and with whom I really clicked. They're great guys, I liked them a lot. They're both really good bikers too and we had a blast riding the last day. Mike's a little quieter, I had a really great time talking to him during the candle light vigil. Jon's energy and enthusiasm is contagious. We had a great last day, alle the way until the last 10 mile stretch of the PCH when Matt, leading the pack, hit a bad bump in the asphalt and crashed. Jon was second in line and avoided him, without avoiding though to cross over dangerously in the traffic lane of the highway, fortunately with no consequences. I had enough room to brake and soI did, but thus causing Mike to crash into me. Matt's road rash was pretty bad and bleeding: we washed his wound with all the water we had left and dressed them with his arm and leg warmers. Mike's bike, onto which I had fallen, fortunately without injuries, looked as if it couldn't be ridden. I offered my bike as I was feeling guilty but we actually managed to repair the wheel and bike away the last few miles.

The atmosphere in LA was surreal. People clapping and cheering, the sun had come out again, and for the first time I was yet again in a familiar place, yet one that I knew was hundreds of miles away from home. Taking in the fact that I had actually biked there was a strange emotion. It made me feel proud and successful. Drained too though, emotionally and physically.

We stopped one last time at a Jamba Juice, badmouthed the crazy LA drivers in Brentwood and made it to the VA center where the closing ceremonies were being held. The last stretch is amazing. People screaming, cheering, clapping, reaching out their hands to the riders to give them high fives as they cross that final line.

Then it was it.

The bike parked, and all my time was now dedicated to say goodbye, take pictures, laugh, smile and cry for this amazing journey was over.

Keep checking this, I'll post more about closing ceremonies and more as I process all that I'm feeling at this moment. But the week is over, and I can not only say I did this, but that it was hands down the most amazing experience altogether that I have ever made. Just amazing.

A journey of hope

One of the things that affected me the most during this trip has been to witness a truly different and unusual side of people who are strangers to one another. I think I've commented before to some of the episodic displays of support and encouragement that locals demonstrate towards the riders, but some of the most heartwarming ones deserve special mention.

On day 5 (red dress day), a little before our stop in Casmalia, we went through a small town where school kids came out to cheer on us. They were yelling things like "you're cool because you ride for Aids!" and other things that I don't remember but for the fact that they were sweet and heartfelt. One small child came up to me and handed me a small colored ornament made with foam stars and pipe cleaners. It was very sweet. I got to ride all the way till the end with that ornament on my helmet.

Another example was in Santa Barbara for the recurrent annual stop at the much anticipated Paradise Pit. Paradise Pit is an extra stop on Day 6 organized by the people of Santa Barbara where the locals come out, cheer on the riders and as a token of appreciation for our effort and commitment, organize the distribution of fresh fruit, ice cream, water and the services of many local masseuses and chiropractors to give the riders a brief massage on their way to Ventura. The amazing thing was the sincere sentiment of appreciation, the thank yous and the encouragements. People were warm to strangers, often hugging them as if they had just helped them personally.

That same sentiment was a part of the special and very uncommon way in which this travelling community of 2000+ people behave to each other for 7 days. It was amazing to me to see how people exahusted physically and emotionally, subjected to uncomfortable conditions and not so effective resting times, standing in line for food, bathrooms, coffee, information, medical services, could still find it within themselves to be generous, kind and warm towards others, to help in any manner they could, to take time to meet and talk to people opening up to them and establishing a bond. It's been one of the things that was repeat throughout this event, that we would come to see a side of humanity that would be wonderful and ideal to see replicated in the "outer world". What an accurate prediction. And with the stark return to reality, I carry with me the knowledge that that power of acceptance, comprehension and solidarity is within people, however unexpressed. That's hope, folks.

Day 6: weather, accidents, paradise pit, and candles

Day 6 started with a rude awakening. For the 6th time in a row it was cold and damp when we woke up and got in our biker clothes and made our bags and tent and got on our way. It was cloudy, cold and wet and the general consensus was that the weather was going to clear up sometimes between Lompoc and rest stop 1.

Had breakfast, stayed in yet a few lines for coffee and to use the port-a-potties and we were ready to go. Day 6 is the day the ride crosses over the hills in Santa Barabara county and emerges out on the southern California coast. Unfortunately the weather never cleared out. It stayed pretty cold and damp throughout the day.

On the way out to the coast we climbed yet another hill followed by a significantly steep downhill. This is quite frankly one of the most dangerous days for the riders as most of it is spent on highway 101 in sections of freeway where the traffic is intense, the shoulder narrow, and the pavement highly irregular. I didn't hear about this until later on that day but apparently a rider fell on that stretch of downhill at a speed high enough to blow his helmet away... The consequences were serious but not fatal. He was taken to the hospital with a head ingjury but returned to camp that very night. Thank god. Later that day a girl turned to check on her friend as she was riding on the shoulder of a very fast stretch of 101 right in front of me and lost her balance. She did not hurt herself but it was only thanks to the fact that I could avoid her that we didn't end up in a pile up. Scary stuff actually.

Coming out of the hills and see yet again the ocean for the first time was emotionally charged. I wish the weather was clearer so that the colors would have been brighter but even in that gloomy light it was quite a scenery.

The rout continues on day 6 through the coastal towns of Santa Barbara where we spent lunch. The last few days have been filled with newly formed frienships. I have met an incredible variety of people on this trip: different races, genders, age (people young as 18 and old as 72 were riding, and even older people supported us throughout as roadies), sexual orientation, hiv status... Each with a different reason to ride, each with a different attitude, each with different stories. I maade a few new friends I hope to be able to keep in touch with...

By this time I had so many people to catch up with at each rest stop, that I spent way too long at lunch in SB that I had to speed through most of the remainder of the ride if I didn't want to still be on the road when the route closed and be swept up.

The route took us on the SB boardwalk through SB and eventually to Ventura where we camped for the last time.

I'll post again in a few about the last day, and about the thoughts and events that followed, so if you're reading this, continue checking in for a few days. I think I'm going to have much more to write about as I process more and more of this incredible experience.

PS the highlight of day 6 was certainly dinner time, when, after 5 days of eating variations on theme of salad, dry chcicken in some sauce, and garlic/corn bread, we left camp and took the local In'n Out burger joint by the storm... With a line of people that I'm sure they only experience this one day a year.

Day 4-5: evil twins, cartman, ocean and red dresses

And if the subject line hasn't gotten you confused you yet, I'll briefly recap these two very intense days.

Day 4 is truly hump day. Not only because it begins with Evil Twins, the second scary enough climb to be warranted its own name but also and most importantly because it marks, a) the highest point on the route to LA (1762 feet, which incidentally is Matt's rider number) and b) the half distance mark to LA. We were then officially closer to LA than we were to SF.

One funny thing that happened in connection with Evil Twins: on day 2 I wore a really funny jersey I got at the Palo Alto bike store, South Park themed and with Cartman on the back and the writing "Oh man, you guys suck!". When I wore it on the ride I immediately started getting sneering comments from several people to the effect of "what are you doing? It was supposed to be for day 4!" I actually didn't figure it out until Julie told me that a large group from SF had bought several of these jerseys and planned to all wear them for evil twins day.. the day that supposedly brings out the fourth of all ALC sentiments: after nervousness, excitement, and soreness (physical and emotional), it's time for the cranky bitch in everyone to come out. Perfect jersey for that. I did the only appropriate thing, I washed it and wore it again on day 4. we took awesome pics at the halfway mark with a squad of cartman-donning riders.

After a beautiful 8 miles downhill we were once again brought back to the ocean and coasted along the sea shore taking in the incredible scenery and refreshing breeze.

We stopped for ice cream and salt water taffy in Pismo Beach and then rode the last few miles to camp in Santa Maria.

Day 5 is the most awaited, hyped, and anticipated day. It is red dress day. Note, not dress in red day like I had thought. No. It's really red dress day. What started as a symbolic gesture on the day when the route takes the riders in a loop that resembles the shape of the Aids ribbon, inviting everybody to wear red to form a red ribbon that could be seen from the sky, has turned into a joyous day of community, celebration, rememberance and..well...kitsch. The weirdest gowns, biggest caps (helmets disguised), boas and tutus were all displayed. Now what's really funny is that red dress day is always day 5 and the route is always the same so on this day when we go through some really remote areas of Santa Barbara county, I can only imagine what the locals may think of the rest of the state... The highlight of the day was certainly stop 2, in a very small community of only a handful of people.. With nothing but a "General Store" and a school district with 27 students! This event is probably the biggest happening all year long. Every year the owner of the store becomes MC for a day and the whole ride pack dances to disco music in the street in front of said general store. A thing of beauty, a bunch of folks in red dresses and spandex dancing to disco in shoes with cleats. So much fun. After a few more hills with head winds (which give a whole new meaning to the expression "to be dressed in drag") we completed the shortest day on the whole ride, only 47 miles, for a total of 435 miles ridden.

Tonight was the talent show. It's what you'd expect, the entertaining mix of good and bad performers that makes for a good time. But there was one highlight: a rider recited the poem he wrote for his lover who had passed away 8 years before and for whom he had been riding ever since. It was very touching, sincere, sad, and real. It was as if we were there with him in that room: intense and moving. I liked it a lot.

My cold is slightly getting better. Now I have a terrible sounding cough which fortunately hasn't been taking away much of my stamina. Now and then I'll be passing people while coughing really hard... Usually it is followed by a reminder to quit smoking by the other riders... Umpf!

Time for bed now, tomorrow is another 87, miles along the beautiful coast to Ventura. It'll also be another emotional day as we'll hold a silent candlelight vigil for all those who have been lost to Aids.

I have met a lot of cool people. Maybe a few new friends even.
Spirits are high and they counteract any exhaustion, sore bum or nostalgia for a real mattress and toilet.

I'll probably sign up for next year before the week's over.

Day 3: King City to Paso Robles

the day opens with Quadbuster, the scariest hill on the ride. Thing is, it's not scary at all. You see, a lot of the people that do the ride are actually training in places like LA or elsewhere, with little or no hills to their avail. The SF folks instead have a plethora of such hills to train on. Hills that are actually a lot worse than Quadbuster. The latest training ride I did was on the steep side of woodside mountain, from old page mill road to alpine drive and it already was a lot worse. We won't mentioned the scary century that Matt and I did a few weeks back, which actually began with a climb of Mount Tam!

Our lunch stop was in the little town of Bradley, population 100+.... the aids ride is the biggest event of the year for those folks and they were out there cheering us up and cooking us hamburger. Actually overall, pretty much anywhere we've been the response has been overwhelmingly warm and emotional. This is turning out to be all the experience that I thought it would be.

A lot of the problems that we face today in the fight against aids are tied to the stigma that is still associated with the disease. People that find out that they are HIV+ face a new path of rejection, shame and guilt that - when things turn good - culminates in the realization that there are others who share those same experience, that there is a loving and accepting community of individuals that reject that stigma (this ride is a wonderful example), and that people can finally live productive and longer lives than ever before thanks to the advances of science. On the ride this year the team of HIV+ riders has decided to make a statement to the abatement of this stigma and wear clothing and biking apparel that clearly identifies them: not to single them out but to announce to the world their irrefutable and unignorable presence. To them today goes my respect and my empathy. I've been biking and sharing stories with but a few of them and I feel I gained a lot of perspective already. The evening today was dedicated to celebrating their efforts and acknoweldging their statement. Emotions are very high all the time here.

Got to bed at 9:30 and woke up at 5 to start riding the next day. I am still sleeping a lot more than on a usual work week. My cold is better and worse. Now I have a cough as a derivative of the cold. I have a funny story about that but I'll leave that for tomorrow.

One more thing: most people were exhausted today riding through the really hot california countryside. My thanks and acknowledgements go to the unidentified rider who taught me a wonderful trick which I've been trying to spread ever since: turn your arm warmers inside out, fill them with ice and tie them around your neck. I went through the hottest plains and i didn't even sweat.... Great! Time for bed, i'm a day behind with blogging but thursday is a short day so I'll catch up then.

Day 2: it's easy to be spiritual when your voice is gone

Wow. What a day. Up to a crappy start, waking up and finding that your voice is gone and the inside of the tent is completely wet with condensation. But after a great breakfast (the roadies spoil us here, breakfast tortillas and fresh oatmeal..) even a crappy day can turn good.

And turn good it did. The route was a 110 mile ride out of Santa Cruz, through Salinas and the farming communities along highway 1, 17 and 15, all the way to King City.

Some highlights from the day: free espresso and smoothies in Salinas, lots of fields ( i honestly can recognize a variety of fruits and vegetable plants now.. Cauliflowers, artichokes - they're ugly as hell, who thought they were going to be edible, first... Beats me! - strawberries, scallions, celery and kale, lots and lots of kale....).

I skipped out, thanks purely to my better judgement to not worsen my head cold, on the river swim... Matt didn't and in the met lots of cool people....

I'm meeting lots of people too but i will leave the details of the evening and the spirituality of the experience to another entry: it's late and i need to sleep.

Tomorrow: Quadbuster!

Day 1: a cold, a hot day, and stolen shorts

So, not to give away all the thunder of an eventful first day on the ride right in the subject line, but it pretty much sums it up, or most of it anyway.

unfortunately I woke up this morning with a nasty cold. Damn it - I thought - getting sick after all this training. I felt pretty miserable, admittedly, but there was no way i could let that stand in the way, could I? So I did what had to be done: packed an extra supply of most drugs known to man to battle cold, congestion, cough, sore throat, allergies, and set off to the Cow Palace where the opening ceremonies were taking place.

The opening of the Alc06 was every bit as emotional and charged as i expected it to be. We left SF at around 7 and biked up through Daly City, Pacifica up through the hills and down to Half Moon Bay and biked overall about 85 miles until we set up camp in Santa Cruz.

The day was overall quite warm... Well if you discount the nasty wet cold fog that accompanied us until past Half Moon Bay... But after that, wow! Who knew the California coast could be that beautiful.... We coasted on highway one all the way to SC, took photos of the ocean and of all the kite surfers that seemed to enjoy the breezy weather and warm temperatures....

When we got to camp, we set up our tent, collected our gear bags, and headed right for the showers... And of course, someone stole my biking shorts! Well most likely they picked them up by mistake, I'll check with Lost&Found again in a little bit...

Overall a great first day. Tail winds and breeze all the way. Only 506 miles to go....

My first post

Just set this up so that I can blog on the ride.... Going to bed now. Nervous, anxious and excited!