June 16, 1999 **Note: this is the unedited version. Pardon the grammer and spelling. Wow. Welcome back to reality. For the past 7 days, the only purpose to my existance has been to eat, ride and sleep. I've just returned from a 576 mile ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles. The ride itself raised over $11.1 Million for the San Francisco Aids Foundation. Thank you ALL for your support, both pledgewise as well as emotional. All of your kind words and sincere interest in my involvement went a long, long way. I cannot put into words how important this was to me, and how far it went whenout on the rode.

Finally, I raised over $5200. Thank you.

It's impossible to translate such a powerful event into a simple note. Here is my attempt.

Pedal, pedal, pedal.

The day was gorgeous, the first of 7 perfect days of riding weather. On top of this, we were graced with 'angels wings' the first two days, a tailwind that pushed us down the coast at an almost ridiculous average speed of 20 mph. The rolling hills of hwy 1 down to Santa Cruz were a treat to tackle with a tailwind that allowed us to attack 'em at 25 or even 35 mph.

That first day set the tone for the rest of the week. In general, most of my 70+ mile training rides were more demanding than any single day on the ride. On the ride, there were regular (usually 5 a day) pit stops and water stops. The pit stops were generally spaced about 15-20 miles apart, and sometimes even had themes. The pit teams competed with each other to be the most outrageous from day to day. There were alice in wonderland themes, Star Wars themes, hippy pit, trailer trash pit, you get the picture. Each pit had food (banannas, oranges, cliff bars (mmmmm, yum!), bagles), water and gatorade, and port-a-potties. There were also medical personnel, and bike techs. There were lines for everything. The pits reminded you that this was a ride, not a race. Some of you may be interested to know that on that first day pit stop 4 was a gazos creek. After 90 miles, we reached camp about 6pm, retrieved our gear, set up our tents, stretched, showered, ate and slept.

The second day, and each day following it for the rest of the week began at 5am. get up, stand in line for the port-a-pottie, stand in line for coffee, stand in line for breakfast, stand in line for sinks, break camp, stretch, drop the gear and tent off at the gear and tent truck, retrieve your bike from bike parking, top off your water bottles, your tires, and get on the road. The lines weren't all that bad. It was a great way to meet people. Linear parties, my friend Libby called 'em one day. For me, that stuck. I used the term every chance i could get. I also took advantage of the captive audience to pass out stickers. I had about 1000 stickers made up by unamerican.com before i left. 500 each of 'Hydrate!' and 'Ride On'. Ride On was by far the most popular, but together they were great icebreakers. At all linear parties, waiting for a red light (or a train), it was an excellent vehicle to unit a group of people into conversation.

At the end of the second day (103 miles), i broke out kristie's pledge. Kristie has been giving me yoga lessons for the past two months, and at the end of it, she gave me an illustrated guide to ride specific poses that we had worked on. Other attempts to get an organized yoga group together had not been successful, so i was happy to have such a guide available. That night i led myself and four other riders went through the poses. 30 minutes later, after doing all of them, plus a few other stretches i felt fantastic. The next morning i awoke feeling strong, agile and ready to take on anything. I used the poses both morning and night as part of my stretching routine and am convinced that this played a large part in my ability to thoroughly enjoy even the hardest stretches of road. After day two the longst days of the ride was behind us. the rest of the week, aside from a long friday (85 miles) consisted of mostly less than 75 mile days. The shortest day of the ride was 55 miles. It felt like a half day of school. That day we passed through Vandenberg Air Foce Base (home of US Air and Space Command).

Space Command. kewl. Too bad i crested the hill and started down the other side before i realized that i should have stopped and taken a picture. next time.

Typically each morning, the route was congested with riders as pretty much everyone got up at about the same time and left camp in the same 60 minute window. The first 15 miles were taken easy, spinning out on the hills and warming up for the day. There is no rush really, though i passed the slower riders (greeting each one with a polite 'on your left' and a happy 'good morning rider') to find an open spot in the pack where i could set a comfortable pace for myself and whoever (if anyone) i was riding with. I am neither a morning nor an night person, though i found myself generally to be in pretty high spirits each morning (especially if i had my coffee). My only job was to get on my bike and spin my wheels. An easy job to be sure (thanks to so much training). I was pretty darn happy to have such a simple job. Sometimes i found myself rushing to catch up with a rider i was interested in chatting with or riding with. When this happened, i'd remind myself that all the adventure that was to be had was found on the road. There were people to meet, and things to see around each bend, and over the crest of each hill. Slow down, i'd tell myself. There is no adventure in camp. The joy is being on the road. Enjoy it while you can. The existance was simple. Ride, Eat, Sleep. The crew was there for the sole purpose of supporting you. All i had to worry about each day was getting on my bike and pedaling.

It was the best job i've ever had. All the hills, all the descents, the vinyards, the celery farms, the morning fog and the rising sun. Each twist and each turn brought new connections, new sights, new smells. Manure, onions, stawberries, sage, flowers, the sea air and fresh cut grass. The ocean, old missions, farms, rolling hills, trees, scrub, small towns, winding rivers, dry river beds, bridges, old and new. We passed through almost every climate available. We rode on two lane highways and on backroads, we rode on hwy 101 (believe it),and hwy1. We rode along the ocean for many miles. We rode through Ventura and Malibu, and Pismo Beach. We sang songs and told jokes. We spun yarns and exchanged trivia.

Twice in two days i had railroad crossing signals trigger as i crossed the tracks. I thought this was fortuitous, there was a conspiracy to keep me on the road and moving. It was a joy to be there.

My body held up well, and i thoroughly enjoyed almost every mile, thanks to the training and the regular yoga. Just before the ride I broke down and bought one of those fancy seats that are supposed to make your butt happy. Mine was, after spending most of the first day adjusting, and re-adjusting it to get it just right (note: do not make any significant changes in you bike a few days before a 570 mile bike ride). Once it was right, i had very few problems. General soreness in my legs every morning, a little tenderness in my knees here and there, and some tightness in my neck and shoulders from being in the same position for such a long time each day. I do have a bruise on the bottom of my left foot directly where my foot connects with the pedal. It became bothersome later in the ride particularly on bumpy roads and once or twice i had to stop riding to give it a rest because i was subconsciously compensating for it and occasionally my left leg would sieze up in pain. In general, this was minor and i only mention it to illustrate that that it wasn't all inscence and roses.

Usually all tenderness would fade away after the first 15/20 miles. My favorite time of day was after lunch. I was warmed up, and typically the route after lunch took us on lonely backroads away from traffic. I set a comfortable pace and just spun, spun, spun. The weather was beautiful, the scenery glorious, the people, amazing. I bonded with my bike. I rode every mile.

But this is trivial drivel. It's merely the canvas. the backdrop to the real event. The physical aspects of the ride i've outlined above is only the prelude to the real thing. Riding was easy. I trained well and was in good shape for the ride.

Positively Pedaling.

The route was peppered with signs and supporters. I figured that once we got out of the city, and into rural areas there would be fewer signs, and fewer roadside supporters. This was hardly the case. People who are HIV+ sat outside for hours, thanking each rider that rode by. 'Thank you Rider'. 'Thank you for riding for me' they'd say. Schoolchildren came out, girl scouts selling cookies to riders, people old and young sat by the roadside cheering us on. We thanked them for thanking us as we rode by.

Signs peppered the roadside, memorials to people who have died of AIDS, some of them past riders. Riders themselves rode for very specific reasons, for their friends and lovers, for their husbands and mothers. One rider towed an attachable tandem, empty, out of respect for his 3 year old HIV+ son. Others had ribbons and pictures and signs. One man had a ribbon for every friend he had lost to AIDS. I counted 20 before i lost track. I occasioned to ask a rider the significance of this or that symbol, and was treated to their story.

There were riders of every shape and size. The oldest rider was 78 years old. The heaviest, i'd guess, 320 pounds. There were two legless riders as well. Both of these men pedaled each and every mile by hand.

By hand. Up each hill, by hand. By hand, by hand, by hand. 1000ft at a 7% grade is not for the faint of heart. Many riders walked some of these hills. These men had no such luxury. This is not an ordinary feat. They rode half as fast as most of the riders, and skipped every pit stop, just so they would not be on the route when it closed for the day, and get sagged into camp. These are heros. I am not a hero.

Similar to burningman, the ride itself is very much about casting off the chains of reality for a period of time, and living harmoniously in a richly diverse temporary community. It is very successful at this, and gives me some hope that humankind can actually live in a state of relative peace. One of the most profound examples of this anti-reality is the role reversal of the positive peddlers. For one week, the stigmatism of being HIV+ becomes a badge of honor. Identified by their orange flags, these men and women are the toast of the community. They proceed to the front of all lines. They camp together, they have a special section in bike parking. They are the reason the ride IS. It is for them that we ride. It is amazing to me that they ride too, with their demanding med and food schedule. They ride together, in pairs or in small packs to support each other. As riders pass them, they are greeted, in addition to the standard 'on your left', with 'way to go Pos Peds!' and 'You Rock Pos Peds!'. Imagine for one moment what it is like for these riders, who for 51 weeks out of the year deal with ignorance and fear, to suddenly be the toast of the community. These are heros. I am not a hero.

The most profound experience i had during the ride was this slow realization that this event is much, much more significant than the $11.1 Million that was raised. It's about humanity. It's about community. It is about giving hope to an entire population that has little. For the Positive Peddlers, it's their chance to stand up and shout 'We will not crawl into a corner and die!'. For the other riders, its our chance to stand up and shout with them. And for many, hope is a most precious commodity. One day while riding through the outskirts of Santa Barbara, there was a series of signs from a previous rider, thanking riders. "Thank you rider." one said, "For giving me hope".

This veteran had done the ride before, and the community and support that he recieved from that one week gave him the hope he needed to continue battling for his life. That is what this is about. It's about hope. It's about living, not dying. It's about making the impossible possible.

-todd

Rider # 4199
California AIDS Ride 6
http://www.voyager.org/car6