July 5, 2002

So I made it!

Although, from the amount it time it took for you to get this email, you may have suspected that I was still lying in a ditch someplace alongside the Pacific Coast Highway...

Happily, I'm here to report that this is not the case.  In fact, throughout the entire 575 miles, I did not encounter so much as a flat tire.  That's right, a straight shot from San Francisco to L.A. with no injuries, accidents, mishaps, or even close calls to speak of.  And before you ask, yes, I did pedal the entire way under my own power, and was not transported via the "sag wagon" over any of the rougher hills or long, hot, windy stretches.

Overall the trip was a big success, especially from the perspective of a first-time rider like myself.  I was quite startled to see the logistics involved in planning a route, lining it with signage, setting up pit stops every 15 miles, putting together three full meals a day for over a thousand people, staffing medical tents, giving free bike repairs, appropriately stretching and hydrating all of the riders, transporting all the gear and tents as well as trucks with hot showers, offering massage and chiropractic services, and more.  In terms the smoothness of the operation, the ride went off without a hitch.

Here's the bullet-point version for those of you with short email attention spans like myself:

That  was the quick summary.  For those of you who can't get enough of the post-ride breakdown, and have been spending sleepless weeks waiting for my report, here's more:

There was a lot of uncertainty going into this ride, given that a second, rival AIDS fundraising ride (known as the AIDS LifeCycle) took place three weeks prior to the California AIDSRide, and pulled away many of the perennial riders and staff members.  I won't go into the details of the rift between the two rides, but apparently there were some hard feelings about how the original AIDS Ride was run and marketed, and the SF AIDS Foundation started their own event, which took place in May and was quite successful.  

I stuck with the original ride, and while the aesthetics of the ride did not really match my own (most speeches by staff members were accompanied by excruciatingly tinkly little piano music, meant to inspire the "heroic" riders to greater heights, and the "you can accomplish the impossible" theme was worked to death), I felt it was still professionally run by a group of people dedicated to the cause, and really does benefit a tremendous amount of people in need.  I could swallow my distaste for some of the new age music and sometimes treacly sentiment knowing that the riding was real and challenging, the people were committed, and the beneficiaries really do benefit.

And some of the ceremony surrounding the ride really was powerful.  At the opening ceremonies at Fort Mason in San Francisco, a group of HIV-positive riders accompanied a riderless bike out of the building to symbolize those lost to the disease who weren't riding with us.  When the same riders entered with the same empty bike at the closing ceremonies, it was really a moment to reflect on all that we had experienced in the preceding week, that specific, real others would miss.  The concreteness of their absence made the symbolism real.

More concreteness:
Each day began for the riders around 5:00am.  People really wanted to get up and out by 6:30.  As you may know, I am not a morning person, so had to be roused by my tentmate as he left for the road, somewhere around 6:00am.  Such a layabout!  So, at 6 I would get up, grab breakfast from the dining tent steamtable (cooked by volunteers starting at 3am!), shower in the shower truck (a full semi with 8 shower stalls and hot water), break down the tent, drop off my gear and tent to the transport truck, fill up the water bottles, attend the last group stretching session of the morning (led by extremely witty and energetic volunteer yoga teachers and physical therapists), and hop on the bike by 8.

The first 5-10 miles of each day were spent mostly getting, er, used to the bike seat again.  No matter how much you love and care for your bike seat, it is not your friend the morning after a hundred mile ride.  I did a lot of standing stretches between 8 and 9 every morning.  What made the ride much easier, though, was that there were pit stops every 15 miles the whole way down.  Each pit stop was stocked with gatorade, water, bagels, saltines, powerbars, peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, bananas, potato chips, oranges, etc.  Also, an astonishingly clean array of port-a-potties.  Also, a medical tent with volunteer doctors, and a bike repair truck with Trek and Specialized technicians who could fix anything, or build you a new bike on the spot.  This was quite a security blanket.  Not to mention the group of volunteers cheering, blaring techno music, painting their faces, and generally providing a nice sense of hilarity to the ride.

The riding itself was not trivial.  Any time you ride 80-100 miles in a day, in the heat, over hills, you will feel it.  But the months of training really did make a difference, and I very rarely felt truly winded in a day.  A few things I noticed about how training set up my ride:

1. How you train really does affect how you ride.  In the Bay Area, I rode pretty much exclusively in the hills.  That's what we got here, hills.  So on the ride, I pretty much raced on up them, passing 50 people at a time.  Nothing on the entire ride --including the "Evil Twins" we had to climb to get over to San Luis Obispo -- was even close to the 10-mile hot climb up Page Mill Road to Skyline in Los Altos Hills.  Hills, I was totally set for.

Conversely, I tended to wilt in the hot flat sections.  We don't have hot flat 50 mile roads here in San Francisco.  The second day of the ride was 104 miles to King City, with one 10 mile traverse across a valley going against 40mph crosswinds.  This was the only time I really felt tired on the bike.  The guy I met from Texas had no problem with this section.

2. Hydration.  During the months of training, I did not realize how under-hydrated I was, drinking just one bottle in a 50 mile ride.  During the AIDSRide, I was drinking 2-3 bottles of water every 10-15 miles. The effect on my energy levels was astonishing.  As the signs on the sweep vans that monitored our progress kept reminding us: "Drink + Pee = No I.V."  Truer words were never spoken.

3. It sure is a lot easier to ride when there are dozens of people cheering you on everywhere you go.  At the top of most hills, I would get off my bike and cheer out to the people fighting their way to the summit. Sponteneous crowds would gather, and people made it a lot farther than they suspected they could go.  In previous years, I'm told that hundreds of people would gather at the finish line of each day to cheer on the last riders of the afternoon. Since this year was smaller, perhaps only dozens would gather, but the energizing effects were still apparent.  If you all wouldn't mind just lining the streets of San Francisco every Saturday morning to help me train, I'm sure I'll be ready for the Tour de France by next year.

The hardest day of the ride came on day four, when we pedaled through the vineyards of the central valley, past the army munitions depot and training ground (a nice mix of flamboyance and artillery there, I assure you), and onto Highway 101 for 10 miles to get to Paso Robles.  The highway part, to be blunt, sucked.  99 degrees on the hot, newly tarred shoulder of the main highway, with 18 wheelers whizzing by your left shoulder every 20 seconds.  No fun.  But at each exit, there were the volunteers on motorcycles, fully tattooed, bearded, in leathers... ringing a cowbell, waving a frilly pompon, and holding up directions marking the route.  This is the kind of scene that can keep you laughing while under the punishing sun and sweat.

Generally, I arrived in camp in the early afternoon, showered up, got a massage if I was lucky, and cheered on the last arrivals of the day.  My randomly-assigned tentmate was a former racer, so he'd usually get in a couple of hours before me and set up the tent (not such a bad deal).  Then dinner, evening announcements, some form of entertainment (salsa band, talent show, etc.), and off to bed by 9pm.  Not the wildest of parties.  Also, most evenings, a local beneficiary of AIDSRide funds would come and speak to the assembled group, telling of how the money we raised had been spent in the previous year.  This was one of the highlights of the each night.

The people, obviously, are the backbone of the ride.  And while most of the riders were doing it for the first time, a community feeling developed very rapidly.  Any time you pulled over to check a tire or (in my case) readjust a contact lens, the next 50 people to pass would offer to stop and help.  I didn't know anyone on the ride before the first day, but conversations pretty much flowed the whole 600 miles down the coast. People spoke of friends and family they had lost, of work they were doing in their communities, among giving advice on how to ride and stretch.  Generally a good, solid, and funny group of people.  One friend I met, Bronnell, was a doctor riding a bike for the first time in his life, in memory of his brother who died of AIDS.  He rode too hard one day, and needed an I.V. to get a liter of water during the ride.  He went back out, finished the 79 mile day, then volunteered in the medical tent since a couple of other doctors were out with the flu.  He treated 40 patients that evening (mostly dehydration cases), ate a meal, slept a couple of hours, and rode 85 miles the next day.  Good guy.

So finally --to end this overlong description-- we finished at Santa Monica College.  The attached picture should give you a sense of the feeling of accomplishment that we felt.  A good day.  My friend Jay Hartman met me at the finish line, waited patiently while I said all the goodbyes and looked for my gear, then brought me to his home in Manhattan Beach.  He and his wife Holly cooked a fantastic meal, and let me sleep in just about the softest bed I've ever slept in.  The next day, friends Rachel and Diep (with their extremely adorable children) took me to LAX, where I flew home to San Francisco.  7 days one way, one hour back...

And waiting for me back home was a healthy, non-pre-term-laboring wife.  I must take one final minute to thank the troupe of people who ministered to all of her needs while she sweated out the bedrest that the doctors had prescribed.  Specifically and forcefully: Pat, Florence, Zana, Sidonie, Jason, Becki, Steve, Astrid, Pam, Andy, Christine, Leslie, Elise, Mom and Dad (geez, I hope I haven't forgotten anybody).  I literally could not have made this ride without you, and I felt confident that I could leave in the middle of a chaotic time since your concern was care was so manifest.  Thanks.

And obviously, the whole point of sending you this massive missive is to thank you for sponsoring me and showing your support.  On a personal and political level, you have made a statement.  And if even HIV/AIDS is not the most pressing issue facing you, you've shown that you care about me enough to contribute anyways.  For this, I can't thank you enough.

I hope this finds you all well.

Thanks again,
Michael

P.S.  This is Sylvie's 36th week.  The small one is cleared for arrival anytime between now and mid-August...

P.P.S. If you really want more information, pictures, and route maps of the ride, there's a great site up at www.apla.org.


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