Postscript

 

Day 7--The end is near

    Yes, Day 7 was the end. I’m back in San Francisco, unpacked, gear cleaned up, and facing going back to work tomorrow, even if only to clean my classroom for summer break.

    I started out yesterday thinking I had to ride hard to make it to L.A. by 3:00. But I was in rest stop 1 at 8 a.m. It was clear I’d need to decide which way to go—get to the end early and wait around for closing ceremonies there or cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway slowly. I decided to hang back and cruise since it was a beautiful day and I was close enough to the water to hear the waves crashing. Helped that it was high tide.

    Even in relatively slow motion, I was at lunch before 10:30. Luckily, lunch was on a grassy lawn above the ocean, so it was a good place to relax. An hour later I was ready to roll, but we had to wait due to a couple of bike accidents just past the lunch stop. One was a bicyclist unrelated to the ride who was taken out by helicopter. By that point a couple of hundred of us were waiting to ride, so the roadies let us out in groups of 20. Until another accident, this time, one of the ALC riders. I did not hear anything about the outcome of that accident, but know that the paramedics traveling with us helped that rider out.

    We had 17.9 miles to go. Yikes! The ride was really about to end. Riding with my tent mate and our tenting neighbors, we dragged those miles out as long as we could. It seemed most of us were doing the same. We stopped for ice cream. We stood in a long line of riders waiting to take the stairs and tunnel under the highway when it was time to leave the beach. Some people suddenly found a need for coffee. We rolled slowly through Brentwood. And then we were at the finish line. Cheered by supporters, friends and relatives. Parking our bikes—for the first time, L.A. riders on one side and S.F. riders on the other. Except for a ride around the block into closing ceremonies, we were done.

    I think I was in shock that I’d just ridden over 500 miles in 7 days. I expected to be barely able to stand up, yet I felt I could keep going when I got to the end. So much spirit, support and focus on our common goal of raising money and awareness about HIV/AIDS that I was more energized than exhausted. I also credit the incredible training program led by volunteers who took us up long, steep hills, across endless miles and gave us challenges more difficult than any one day of the actual ride over the past 6 months.

    I also learned from the ride how much attitude impacts what I am able to accomplish. One morning I set out feeling a little low, thinking I was nuts to take on this ride. My shoulder hurt, my legs were stiff. Enough, I thought. But I’d determined before the ride that I was going to do every last mile on my bike. I did not want to see the caboose even coming near. So I talked to myself. Put myself through an attitude adjustment; knew it would pass and what do you know--by the time I got to dinner that evening, I was laughing with friends and ready to face a 90-mile day. The only thing that changed was my sense that I could do this. And I did.

    I signed up for next year. I’m ready.

Day 6-Aborted!?!

The best laid plans, but they didn't turn out the way everyone wanted. We got off to a fine start, if you consider a mad scramble to pack up soaking wet gear and ride out in the rain a fine start. 

The rain started in the middle of the night. I wish I could convey the sound of nearly 3,000 people scrambling to get riding shoes and other gear left outside the tents out of the rain. By morning, many of us were lying in puddles. My sleeping pad was soaked, riding gloves were completely under water and I was kicking myself for tossing my rain gear out of my bag right before I left home. We just kept laughing at how much fun we were having and how disgusting our gear would be when we got to Ventura.

The ride can't stop for rain, so of course I got on the road by 7 a.m., which is about when I've been leaving every day. I was wet and had to see the world through mud-splattered glasses, but I felt good. I knew today's 85-mile ride would have some challenges but I felt strong. The first part of the route took us mostly up. A few downhills provided relief. Our first rest stop was at mile 15. Shortly before I got there, I started noticing riders going in the opposite direction. With the first one, I thought, hmm, maybe he decided he didn't want to ride in the rain. Then I saw a couple more. Well, maybe they're hot shot riders who decided to add extra miles and climb the hills again. (This is not unheard of, especially on some of the more difficult hills, where strong riders come back up to encourage people who are struggling.) 

I heard the rest stop before I saw it. A roadie was on her bullhorn yelling for everyone to pull off the road. As I got closer I realized she also said, "you are being held here." Okay. maybe there's a bad thunderstorm coming through and we're being held while it passes. The sight was surreal. There must've been nearly 1,000 people jammed into a long, narrow field at the side of the highway. Almost every rider was wrapped in a shiny silver foil blanket. After parking my bike it was apparent why.

We were soaking wet and going nowhere fast. The highway patrol closed the route due to a major car accident. It was on a part of the road where they were going to have to close a lane for us to ride and there was a limited window for that. But because of the accident, we lost the window. That meant either taking buses to Santa Barbara for lunch or all the way to our next camp in Ventura. Turns out, we went to Ventura. 

In order to do that, I joined almost 2,000 other people in riding back to Lompoc. That way I got another 15 miles in, making today's ride only 30 miles. That was difficult to digest and maybe in a few days I'll feel terribly disappointed that I didn't get to ride every last mile planned. But today, it ended up being just fine. I was so impressed with people's spirits. By the time we were in the camp, the sun was out and we could hang out in the park. We laid out our foil blankets like it was Dolores Park and soaked up the sun. We ate lunch and waited for buses. The funny thing was no one told us to line up, but about half an hour after lunch, a line formed. Two thousand people just spontaneously got in line starting at the parking area and extending all the way across the park to where lunch had been served.

The amazing roadies continued to come around with jugs of water and food while we waited. I lucked out because I'd been eating with friends near bike parking, so we saw the line start. We waited almost two hours in the line and got out on about the sixth bus. I say about because I was having so much fun, I didn't really pay attention until we were at the front. People kept their good humor and since most of us didn't have anything with us to do, we socialized. Got to know more people. 

I have to say, I'm so impressed with this community. I'm impressed with the degree  of organization and support provided for the riders and it's unbelievable to me how smoothly the staff and volunteer roadies pulled together what must've been a logistical nightmare. I think the fact that it has gone so well has overshadowed my disappointment in not getting to ride these 70 miles. At least we got to see most of the route from the bus.

Tomorrow we ride into L.A. 

Day 5--Red Dress Day

Today was the most beautiful ride yet. Almost the entire 67 miles was rural--farmland, vineyards and ranches surrounded by an assortment of hills. We rode from Santa Maria to Solvang and then on to a park outside Lompoc (pronounced LOM-poke by southerners, LOM-pock by northerners). Guess that's the test of which part of California someone's from.  Anyway, I digress.

We were a sea of red today. This tradition started when the ride used to wind up a long series of switchbacks on day 5 and having everyone in red made it look like a red ribbon. Since the ride back then was mostly gay people, that message to dress in red translated to red dress day. At least 75% of the men were in dresses, corsets, stilletto heels or other red attire. It was refreshing to see most of the straight men in dresses, too. Women wore a variety of outfits from a tuxedo jacket with red cumberbund to cheerleader uniforms and graduation caps and gowns. Both men and women were attired in tutus or other lacy items. I wore red print boxers and a red ribbony headress on my helmet. I only heard one nasty comment about the drag when we were riding out of Santa Maria. Otherwise, we got cheers and waves when we hit towns. On the rural roads, drivers honked and waved, including truck drivers, which is not something I would expect.

Early in the day, I found myself riding very slowly and having trouble picking up any speed. Turns out we had about ten miles of very gradual incline which culminated in a pretty steep hill, although from this end of the day I really can't judge how steep it was.

The last ten miles were also very hilly with a strong headwind. As I turned a corner onto a highway, the roadie standing there told me I was through with hills--it would be downhill the rest of the way. Only when I turned down that hill, the wind was so strong, it was all I could do to keep my forward momentum. It's a very strange feeling on a downhill.

I realized in the last day or so that maintaining my ability to ride so many days in a row is almost completely mental. None of my aches and pains are serious enough to stop me from riding. It has really become a matter of choice.

The other funny thing happening is that we're so focused on riding that other fine details get lost. Everyone's laughing about forgetting what they were doing, where they were headed in camp or at a rest stop, or what they were looking for. This morning I thought I had lost my riding glasses and spent 5 minutes pouring through my gear bag even though I was sure I'd put them in my windbreaker. Sure enough, the jacket has a back pouch I had completely forgotten about and the glasses were in there.

People are so helpful to each other. If someone forgets where they put their bike on the racks, someone will stop what they're doing to help search. The last couple of nights in camp, my neighbors from the next tent over set our tent up for us. My tentmate, as well, is a faster rider than I am, so she, too, has made me look like a slacker. Except for the first day, by the time I get in, my tent is set up.

If only I had a video camera on my helmet so you all could see how beautiful today's ride was--both the people and the landscape.

 

 

Day 4--Evil Twins? Hah

Today's 94 mile ride started with another legendary climb--up the Evil Twins about ten miles from the start. The road was our path back over the mountains to the coast. The landscape through rolling hills was a great plus, as it serves as a wonderful distraction from the climb itself. And since I'm not really moving that fast, I can easily let my gaze wander.

At the top of the second twin, we stopped to take photos next to a sign that said "half way to L.A." People were lined up at least 25 deep at each sign to hoist their bikes over their heads in triumph for getting there. I had the unfortunate experience of climbing up on the boulder and raising my bike over my head 4 times because my camera malfunctioned. Luckily we did get it working.

On a clear day, I was told that point is an amazing vista out to the coast and the ocean. This morning the fog was low and creeping around a bend in the road. Our reward, aside from the photo op, was to ride down through the fog on a very long hill with a nice wide shoulder.

Overall, it was a pretty jovial day. Most of the rest of the day was pretty easy riding. The fog wasn't quite as dense once we got on Hwy. 1. Gilligan's crew must've thought they were on an island, as it appears they were stuck at a rest stop. The roadies there did a great job with the costumes and props including a old-style multiband radio.

We rode back inland a bit before lunch, past a set of peaks known locally as the "Seven Sisters." They surrounded the college we stopped at to eat. Then we had to ride through a military base, where they told us "stay in the group, no stopping and no pictures." Okay. Like a crew of ALC riders have any interest in the base beyond getting back to the road.

While riding in that area, a lone woman was sitting next to her van on a wide shoulder. When each rider went past, she yelled, "thank you for riding for me." Whew.

There were other subtle and not so subtle signs that people along the route were paying attention to the ride. People on the street would clap occasionally or yell supportive comments, a man dressed in riding gear was offering different power bars, Advil, and goo than what we usually see from the trunk of his car, and kids were all around in the towns, especially near schools cheering and yelling greetings.

This report wouldn't be complete without commenting on the bad joke of the day. I had heard there was one more "short" hill to contend with around mile 80. Every time we hit rollers, I wondered if that was it. But no. I rounded a curve and looked up at a very steep hill about 3 blocks long. From a couple of blocks away, it looked like many people were walking. When I set off on this ride, I determined that I want to ride every last mile of the ride. I dropped into granny gear--hooray for granny gear--and powered on up. I learned this evening that the road has a 21 percent grade. I know that's about the steepest hill I've ever ridden. That felt great!

Tomorrow is "red dress" day and only 67 miles. Ahhh.

 

 

Day 3 - The infamous Quadbusters

Yes, today included Quadbusters, a hill just outside King City I've been hearing about since I started going on ALC training rides last year. It came within the first 10 miles of ride out from King City, which I always find challenging. Even on training rides it's tough to get up a long, relatively steep hill before I've ridden 20 miles. Last night, someone told me Quadbusters was like riding at the top of Mt. Diablo--a 24% grade, but this morning, someone said it was more like riding over White's Hill on Sir Francis Drake Blvd. in Marin. I wasn't sure what to expect. 

When I got to the hill, it didn't look too bad, but then I noticed all the people pulling over to rest along the way. I don't believe in stopping on hills because it's too hard to get started again. No matter how tough it is, or how tired I am, I just keep peddling. We were told the official photographer would be at the top and they even posted a sign reminding us of that so we'd be sure to ride single file at that point. I could not believe I was there--the White's Hill version of Quadbusters was quite accurate and I just yelled and took the delightful cruise downhill--the reward for all the climbing.

We stayed on the same road for quite a few miles, seeing almost no traffic at all. No one working in fields, no pedestrians or businesses and very few cars, except the support vehicles. Not that we didn't have any contact with the public. Our lunch stop was in Bradley, a town of 120 people that once served as a highway rest stop until 101 was built and traffic bypassed it. The school PTA hosts a barbeque for all of the school's needs that are not the bare minimum needs for a school. They raise about $8,000 from riders and roadies to pay for field trips, graduation, school supplies and anything else you can think of that the state doesn't finance for public education (which is almost everything). 

I am amazed that all of these little towns we hit where we have contact with the local residents don't seem to have a problem with the large numbers of gay people coming through. "Camp" attire is quite popular. Men ride in dresses. People have all kinds of doodads attached to their bikes and helmets. One rest stop today was in a churchyard. The roadies greeted us in drag. Later on, we stopped for another break at Mission San Miguel, where we were treated to a drag show hosted by "Tran Am Airlines." "They don't make flight attendants like this anymore," I told the first roadie I saw pulling in. Not only is this ride raising consciousness about HIV/AIDS throughout the state, but it's clearly touching people's sense of who lesbians and gay men are.

We only rode 63 miles today--what a relief. On the other hand, we had to ride at least 5 miles on 101 S. That was not fun, mostly because the shoulder is not paved. If you didn't want to ride near the right lane, which I had no interest in doing, you had to take a jolt every 5 feet or so. I started trying to jump the bumps just to give my arms a break. 

By the way, I'm writing this blog in part for my students at school. The librarian kindly agreed to bring copies of this to my substitute each day to read to my classes. Students, I can't wait to hear what you think.

Day 2 - Better late than never

First off, apologies to any of you who wanted to see what day 2 was like through my eyes before right now. We rode 107 miles, more or less, from Santa Cruz to King City. It was tons of fun, but, start to finish with all of the great distractions, it took me 12 hours, so I ran out of time for this.

One of the odd aspects of this ride is I realize that to give you a true sense of where we've been, I would need to consult a map. I keep trying to picture where the various towns are. We went through the Salinas Valley yesterday past large swathes of artichoke and strawberry fields. I don't think I've ever seen an artichoke plant close up. They have big, floppy branches with pointy leaves and the artichokes stick out of the tops on their stems. One of the unofficial rest stops was an artichoke stand--hundreds of riders stopped there for freshly picked, deep-fried artichoke hearts. 

We also rode through Moss Landing, a central California port before heading south on Hwy 1 and then inland a bit to the Central Valley. Day 2 was really different from the first day in that very few people were around to see us. Tons of farm workers were picking crops and occasional cars or trucks went by, but that was about it, except in Salinas. Riding out of Salinas during school lunch recess, some of us rode by where they were hanging over the fences to say hi and cheer us on. 

Near one school, I heard, "there are the butterflies. Look! Butterflies! I started to think the students were using an English translation of Spanish slang to comment on all of the gay men going by, but then a few riders passed me--in butterfly wings. 

After Salinas, we zig-zagged our way southeast over to the Sierra foothills. The wind blowing out of the north came so hard that there were times I thought I'd get blown off of my bike. I just lean into it a little, and hang on in the hope the wheels are going to hold to the road. 

One last thing I almost forgot from Santa Cruz early in the morning. I rode for a while behind a man who was on a single-speed bike with a leather seat. He's done the ride five times on that bike and said it worked fine--he was just slow. Over the next mile, I saw him gradually fade off into the distance, much faster than I will probably ever be. Speed is relative. Just when you think you're riding fast, someone else passes by going even faster.

Day 1: Going Coastal

Well, I made it to Santa Cruz by 4 p.m. this afternoon. We started riding about 7 a.m. and still had time for four rest stops plus lunch. We're now camped in a large town of about 3,000 people at a city park. 2200 riders and 500 roadies taking care of the riders' every need. Watching how hard the roadies are working makes me realize how impossible this would be without them.

All kinds of people were along the route at key points--some at the top of long climbs cheering us on, others just standing at intersections holding signs. At the top of a long hill near Crystal Springs Reservoir, a man with a flat of strawberries passed them on to us as we rode by. The guy behind me dropped his on the handoff and the supporter went running after the rider to get him another. 

Then there were the signs. As we neared Santa Cruz, a lone woman stood at a corner holding a large photograph of someone who had died of AIDS with his birth and death dates below the picture. How often do we see that sort of sign and yet at dinner I talked to a woman who said she started crying when she rode past the sign. The response we're getting has that quality to it.

I can't end this without also a little comment about the route itself. Early on, it was so foggy, it seemed like the only thing in the world was the road surface and the vehicles passing us. Once the fog burned off and we were riding down Hwy. 1, we could look out on the expanse of ocean and the incredible coastline. I've driven a car through this stretch of road, but never on a bike. You are actually going slow enough to see the waves come up on the rocks and crash over them, see the subtleties of the beaches and the rocky coastline. 

Tomorrow we head to King City on roads I've never been on. That has its own challenge to it, because as a rider, I have no idea how long a hill will last or what any stretch of road will be like. Luckily, those who have done this before are generous with their knowledge. 107 miles tomorrow. Nothing to it.

And now, it's time for the evening program. Back tomorrow.

Almost rolling...

Zero day. I thought getting to the Cow Palace by 9:20 would be plenty early, but then, so did almost 1,000 other people. That meant standing in very long lines for an hour-and-a-half to get to the safety video. It doesn't take long to adjust your attitude about lines. I'm usually so cranky about waiting around. But this ended up being kind of fun. First I met another teacher--high school science--from San Jose also doing the ride for the first time in part because her students encouraged her to do it.

After we checked our bikes at bike parking, I ended up in line behind part of the Google team. One of them handed me a brand new pair of cycling socks just because he had an extra pair in his bag.

Behind me were a couple of guys from the L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center. They work in mental health and medical programs. We had a long chat about how bad the governor's budget proposal will be for HIV/AIDS programs. One of the men said the mental health program had already lost $1 million in government funding.

Eventually we got into the auditorium for the safety video and then on to all the other check-in points. Three hours later I was on my way to spend the rest of the day packing and taking care of last minute errands.

Judy

I'm riding for the first time this year. I'm riding for the many friends I've lost and I'm riding for my students. I'm a science teacher at Martin Luther King Middle School in San Francisco. I deeply appreciate the support students have given me throughout my training, contributing both their own money and spirit. I'm a tough teacher, but their efforts touch my heart. I have committed my adult life to social justice activism and consider teaching young people how they can love and protect themselves from HIV/AIDS a part of that work.