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AIDS/LifeCycle 3 Memories (2004)
Jun. 15th, 2004 10:12 pmDay 1: June 6, San Francisco to Soquel
5:00 a.m.: Opening ceremonies: stretching, speeches, the entry of the Riderless Bike (a silly but moving ritual, and they picked a great bike to use: the famous Chicken Lady's bike, a relic of many rides, retired last year when all the other riders chipped in to get her a new one), more speeches, finally getting getting on the road! We started slowly--1203 cyclists all starting from the same block makes a hell of a traffic jam--but we had beautiful weather; last year we had fog and drizzle on Day 1, but this time we had clear skies, sunshine, and a breeze from the north. The climb up to Skyline was mostly easy--just a quarter-mile on Trousdale at the end was steep enough to make us gear down. A break by Crystal Springs Reservoir, and then we got on Highway 92 to ride down to Half Moon Bay, and there we picked up tailwinds that blew us all the way to Santa Cruz!
6:12 p.m.: Still haven't met my tentmate. I know only his/her last name and that s/he's probably faster than I am--the tent was set up when I got here. We're across from E., who I know from training rides last year, and a friend of hers.
Getting here was awesome -- good weather, and tailwinds most of the way. I got in at 2:45 and I was just loafing most of the last 40 miles. At one point I was coasting down a short hill--not pushing, just coasting--and looked down at the cyclometer and saw I was doing 49 mph. I almost lost it right there--the shock damn near knocked me off the bike.
Met/re-met some nice folks, some from last year's training rides. Ran into one of my teachers from MacKinnon, who is doing massages. One guy gave me two stickers. One says, "Find what you love/Love what you find."
Cyclometer may be reading high; I'll check calibration again tomorrow. It says 87.76 miles today, 5:19 hrs riding, 16.5 mph avg, 49 max (that tailwind! I could have broken 50 if I'd tried).
8:22 p.m.: My tentmate's name is Robert; he's a young fast guy from Los Angeles.
Day 2: June 7, Soquel to King City
Ridiculously easy. A little climbing around and out of the Santa Cruz basin, then up the Salinas Valley to King City propelled by 25-30 mile-an-hour tailwinds. Sent postcards from Mission Soledad; skinny-dipped in Arroyo Seco under the green bridge, conversing in Spanish--trying to, anyway--with three teenagers from Acapulco and an older man who seemed to be their guardian. A church camp, I gathered. The tailwind became a crosswind and at times a headwind after that, most fierce. Still a wonderful day.
At the side of the road, the Cookie Lady with some of what must have been at least a hundred dozen cookies she baked herself. While I was there, a rider came up with a baby blackbird; he'd found it by the side of the road, put it into his Bento box (it just fit) and was wondering what to do next. Turned out the Cookie Lady was also a wildlife rescue volunteer, and knew just what kind of baby bird it was and what to do for it.
Latino kids standing at the curb to cheer us on and slap hands as we zoomed into town. Email from home (thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catzen!). Sunglasses lost, found: One of the guys I'd eaten dinner with last night turned them in to Lost & Found after I left them on the table, but the people running Lost & Found kept telling me to look in a box that didn't have them. It finally turned out that the person who'd received them had a special box for items she deemed especially valuable, which she didn't tell anyone else about. There they were. Sheesh.
Statistics for the day: 101 miles, 17.9 mph avg (even more tailwind than yesterday!), 42 max, 5:40 hrs.
Day 3: June 8, King City to Paso Robles
Lost my cyclocomputer on the insanely rough road leaving King City, then lost my route slip in Bradley. Annoying. Other than that, an okay day. The hill called the Quadbuster was long but not really all that hard. I went up it singing my "Six Miles an Hour" blues; other riders told me our speed was closer to 4.7 mph, which while literally true didn't fit the meter.
At the roadside during a break, talked with a fellow rider about babies; he said he wished he'd fathered some when he had the chance--before he became HIV-positive. Now he has to content himself with visiting his nieces and nephews--except the nephew whose father won't let an HIV-positive guy anywhere near his house.
Bradley was a kick, as usual: its population (all 102 of them) organized their own fundraiser around our midday passage through town. They set up a barbecue and tables where we could buy postcards and T-shirts; they deployed squads of grade-school and even pre-school kids to sell us souvenir pens. The money goes to their school, so we didn't mind dropping a few dollars here and there.
In San Miguel, Rest Stop 4's crew did a Richard Simmons theme--too surreal, coming at the end of the day, all these bushy-haired guys jumping around in striped gym shorts and tank tops, clapping their hands and crowing, "You're so special! You're so fabulous! Give yourself a hug for a great workout!" At first I was afraid to eat anything--if the food turned out to be real, then I'd know I wasn't imagining all this--a frightening thought.
Got a note from a schoolkid on arriving in camp at Paso Robles. "Dear Rider, We learned that you guys have to eat healthy food. You must drink water and Gadorade. I'm proud of you for helping sick peolpe. Be safe. Have a nice trip."
Ice cream social this evening: some twenty of us descending on a little drive-in (fortunately they were forewarned).
10:00 p.m. Sleepy and a long day tomorrow. Lonely, missing my wife. Last year my tentmate was a dear friend; no such luck this year.
Day 4: June 9, Paso Robles to Santa Maria
Long hard day. Finding and mailing a card to one of my sponsors made for a late start from Paso Robles, then the hills we call the Evil Twins (they're not really that bad, but following the Quadbuster . . . ). A dead bobcat by the side of the road--the only bobcat I've ever seen, beautiful, sad.
Got my picture taken on "Halfway Rock"--so long standing in line I had to hammer down to the next rest stop, got there just before it closed. Lunch with friends, one of them a young woman I met on the Ride last year. Then hustling again down to the next stop, Rest Stop 4, where the crew had costumed themselves for a "101 Dalmatians" theme, with three of them stationed at the entrance in their little spotted-dog costumes, barking and yipping like puppies and chasing riders in. Those guys are the best, or maybe it's that I'm so tired when I get to their stop it doesn't take much to blow my mind. No, they're the best. While resting I told a fellow rider, "My ass is muttering threats at me."
He replied, "At least you're still on speaking terms with yours."
Flatout from Rest Stop 4 (Guadalupe) to camp, thank God for a tailwind.
Missed Avila Hot Springs AGAIN--knew where it was, but forgot to bring my bathing suit. Not enough time, anyway, especially with that picture nonsense. Next time for sure. Tracy Chapman sang after dinner but I missed it--at the time, I wanted a shower more. To bed early.
Day 5: June 10, Santa Maria to Lompoc
Short day. Three hills, all small, steep, fun. Climbing one, explained my philosophy of hill-climbing to a rider who goes by "Mrs. Pineapple": the true cyclist makes love to hills; when he sees one, he gets a hard-on, and when he gets to the top, he comes. She said that might be true for guys, but for girls it's "FUCK! Where's the sag wagon?" Her husband said later that she'd told him women just wanted to cuddle with the hills, or have long heart-to-heart talks with them.
Casmalia--like Bradley, a tiny impoverished town; they set up a barbecue too, but weren't as aggressively enterprising as Bradley. Got a postcard at the general store and mailed it at the post office next door: "Casmalia: Centrally located in the middle of nowhere."
Lunch at Coffee Connection in Lompoc. I'd followed one group into town, but bailed when I learned they were going to Starbucks. Starbucks? You've travele 300 miles from home on a bicycle and you want to go to a place guaranteed to look just like the one that infests your neighborhood at home? I did a U-turn and joined a group heading to a local place called Sue's, but dropped out of that group when we passed the Coffee Connection. A real coffee shop, with a bookstore next door--the gods would punish me if I passed up something like that.
Day 6: June 11, Lompoc to Ventura
I POUNDED today. Got out about 7:00 and just pounded away, letting up only for brief rest stop and 45 minutes for lunch (could have used more and it probably wouldn't have slowed me down significantly). Got to camp at 2:24--no cyclometer, but here's the math:
14:24 - 7:00 = 7:24 hours
-1:00 hour for lunch & breaks = 6:24 = 6.4 hrs
88 miles/6.4 hours = 13.75 mph average
Not real impressive next to Robert's 15.5, but I'm not as young as he is, or as sore.
At random intervals there have been people standing at the side of the road to cheer us on, some holding up home-made signs, some handing out red licorice whips or OtterPops. Every one gives me another five or ten miles' worth of energy. This ride isn't all that hard, but there's something in these unlooked-for and unpredictable cheers that lifts my spirits like nothing else.
Day 7: June 12, Ventura to Los Angeles
Up at 4:30 a.m. Both Robert and I wanted an early start, because we had 81 miles to go, we had to finish by 3:15, and the last 20 miles would be not only uphill but through LA streets, stoplights, and traffic. Most riders seemed to have the same plan--we weren't the first ones out.
At the bikes, we found that the Chicken Lady had put a little plastic egg on each bike's handlebars. He must have had help--even if he could attach four eggs per minute, it would take five hours to put an egg on each of 1203 bikes.
Pounded down the road. No reason to dawdle in Ventura--there's nothing to do, nothing to see, and it stinks like a latrine. I was going so fast I passed Robert and his equally fast friend Rick! Not that they let me keep my lead very long.
I had been looking for D. since I met her up in Lompoc, but without success--among 1200 people, it can be hard to find one, especially when I've only seen her once, in sunglasses and, I think, a helmet, and I couldn't remember her tent number beyond that it started with F and had a 5 in it. I was doing my best to Maintain Perspective and Not Freak Out--these things happen when they want to happen--and then at Rest Stop Two I saw her tentmate! Immediately I glommed on, asked her how she was doing, asked after D. She said D. was somewhere nearby, or ought to be, but she didn't know where. "Somewhere nearby" included about 20 miles of road; I dithered for a bit, almost letting her get away; then I got out my last business card, called out, "Would you please give her this?" and was writing my email address on the back when D. walked up to me. She'd been looking for me, too.
Relaxed somewhat after lunch with old and new friends. The ride into L.A. was mostly just something to get over. But at Rest Stop 4 I was well ahead of schedule -- ten miles to go and two hours to do it in. I ate, drank, hung out with N. (who's been very sweet to me all week), cheered a few riders in, then gave N. a hug and got back on the road. Saw a couple of possibly-nice cafes, but didn't want to stop until I was within view of the stadium--and of course by that time there were no more cafes, no place to stop, nothing to do but ride up to the finish line.
Got a massage, my first all week. Robert (who'd rolled in hours ago) found me, introduced his mother, got her to take two pictures of us, one for him and one for me. Cheered a bunch of riders in.
After a while we got the word to line up with our bikes for the closing roll-in. Closing ceremonies: speeches, the Riderless Bike again, more speeches, and then we all dispersed--but not before N. found me for one more hug.
5:00 a.m.: Opening ceremonies: stretching, speeches, the entry of the Riderless Bike (a silly but moving ritual, and they picked a great bike to use: the famous Chicken Lady's bike, a relic of many rides, retired last year when all the other riders chipped in to get her a new one), more speeches, finally getting getting on the road! We started slowly--1203 cyclists all starting from the same block makes a hell of a traffic jam--but we had beautiful weather; last year we had fog and drizzle on Day 1, but this time we had clear skies, sunshine, and a breeze from the north. The climb up to Skyline was mostly easy--just a quarter-mile on Trousdale at the end was steep enough to make us gear down. A break by Crystal Springs Reservoir, and then we got on Highway 92 to ride down to Half Moon Bay, and there we picked up tailwinds that blew us all the way to Santa Cruz!
6:12 p.m.: Still haven't met my tentmate. I know only his/her last name and that s/he's probably faster than I am--the tent was set up when I got here. We're across from E., who I know from training rides last year, and a friend of hers.
Getting here was awesome -- good weather, and tailwinds most of the way. I got in at 2:45 and I was just loafing most of the last 40 miles. At one point I was coasting down a short hill--not pushing, just coasting--and looked down at the cyclometer and saw I was doing 49 mph. I almost lost it right there--the shock damn near knocked me off the bike.
Met/re-met some nice folks, some from last year's training rides. Ran into one of my teachers from MacKinnon, who is doing massages. One guy gave me two stickers. One says, "Find what you love/Love what you find."
Cyclometer may be reading high; I'll check calibration again tomorrow. It says 87.76 miles today, 5:19 hrs riding, 16.5 mph avg, 49 max (that tailwind! I could have broken 50 if I'd tried).
8:22 p.m.: My tentmate's name is Robert; he's a young fast guy from Los Angeles.
Day 2: June 7, Soquel to King City
Ridiculously easy. A little climbing around and out of the Santa Cruz basin, then up the Salinas Valley to King City propelled by 25-30 mile-an-hour tailwinds. Sent postcards from Mission Soledad; skinny-dipped in Arroyo Seco under the green bridge, conversing in Spanish--trying to, anyway--with three teenagers from Acapulco and an older man who seemed to be their guardian. A church camp, I gathered. The tailwind became a crosswind and at times a headwind after that, most fierce. Still a wonderful day.
At the side of the road, the Cookie Lady with some of what must have been at least a hundred dozen cookies she baked herself. While I was there, a rider came up with a baby blackbird; he'd found it by the side of the road, put it into his Bento box (it just fit) and was wondering what to do next. Turned out the Cookie Lady was also a wildlife rescue volunteer, and knew just what kind of baby bird it was and what to do for it.
Latino kids standing at the curb to cheer us on and slap hands as we zoomed into town. Email from home (thank you,
catzen!). Sunglasses lost, found: One of the guys I'd eaten dinner with last night turned them in to Lost & Found after I left them on the table, but the people running Lost & Found kept telling me to look in a box that didn't have them. It finally turned out that the person who'd received them had a special box for items she deemed especially valuable, which she didn't tell anyone else about. There they were. Sheesh.Statistics for the day: 101 miles, 17.9 mph avg (even more tailwind than yesterday!), 42 max, 5:40 hrs.
Day 3: June 8, King City to Paso Robles
Lost my cyclocomputer on the insanely rough road leaving King City, then lost my route slip in Bradley. Annoying. Other than that, an okay day. The hill called the Quadbuster was long but not really all that hard. I went up it singing my "Six Miles an Hour" blues; other riders told me our speed was closer to 4.7 mph, which while literally true didn't fit the meter.
At the roadside during a break, talked with a fellow rider about babies; he said he wished he'd fathered some when he had the chance--before he became HIV-positive. Now he has to content himself with visiting his nieces and nephews--except the nephew whose father won't let an HIV-positive guy anywhere near his house.
Bradley was a kick, as usual: its population (all 102 of them) organized their own fundraiser around our midday passage through town. They set up a barbecue and tables where we could buy postcards and T-shirts; they deployed squads of grade-school and even pre-school kids to sell us souvenir pens. The money goes to their school, so we didn't mind dropping a few dollars here and there.
In San Miguel, Rest Stop 4's crew did a Richard Simmons theme--too surreal, coming at the end of the day, all these bushy-haired guys jumping around in striped gym shorts and tank tops, clapping their hands and crowing, "You're so special! You're so fabulous! Give yourself a hug for a great workout!" At first I was afraid to eat anything--if the food turned out to be real, then I'd know I wasn't imagining all this--a frightening thought.
Got a note from a schoolkid on arriving in camp at Paso Robles. "Dear Rider, We learned that you guys have to eat healthy food. You must drink water and Gadorade. I'm proud of you for helping sick peolpe. Be safe. Have a nice trip."
Ice cream social this evening: some twenty of us descending on a little drive-in (fortunately they were forewarned).
10:00 p.m. Sleepy and a long day tomorrow. Lonely, missing my wife. Last year my tentmate was a dear friend; no such luck this year.
Day 4: June 9, Paso Robles to Santa Maria
Long hard day. Finding and mailing a card to one of my sponsors made for a late start from Paso Robles, then the hills we call the Evil Twins (they're not really that bad, but following the Quadbuster . . . ). A dead bobcat by the side of the road--the only bobcat I've ever seen, beautiful, sad.
Got my picture taken on "Halfway Rock"--so long standing in line I had to hammer down to the next rest stop, got there just before it closed. Lunch with friends, one of them a young woman I met on the Ride last year. Then hustling again down to the next stop, Rest Stop 4, where the crew had costumed themselves for a "101 Dalmatians" theme, with three of them stationed at the entrance in their little spotted-dog costumes, barking and yipping like puppies and chasing riders in. Those guys are the best, or maybe it's that I'm so tired when I get to their stop it doesn't take much to blow my mind. No, they're the best. While resting I told a fellow rider, "My ass is muttering threats at me."
He replied, "At least you're still on speaking terms with yours."
Flatout from Rest Stop 4 (Guadalupe) to camp, thank God for a tailwind.
Missed Avila Hot Springs AGAIN--knew where it was, but forgot to bring my bathing suit. Not enough time, anyway, especially with that picture nonsense. Next time for sure. Tracy Chapman sang after dinner but I missed it--at the time, I wanted a shower more. To bed early.
Day 5: June 10, Santa Maria to Lompoc
Short day. Three hills, all small, steep, fun. Climbing one, explained my philosophy of hill-climbing to a rider who goes by "Mrs. Pineapple": the true cyclist makes love to hills; when he sees one, he gets a hard-on, and when he gets to the top, he comes. She said that might be true for guys, but for girls it's "FUCK! Where's the sag wagon?" Her husband said later that she'd told him women just wanted to cuddle with the hills, or have long heart-to-heart talks with them.
Casmalia--like Bradley, a tiny impoverished town; they set up a barbecue too, but weren't as aggressively enterprising as Bradley. Got a postcard at the general store and mailed it at the post office next door: "Casmalia: Centrally located in the middle of nowhere."
Lunch at Coffee Connection in Lompoc. I'd followed one group into town, but bailed when I learned they were going to Starbucks. Starbucks? You've travele 300 miles from home on a bicycle and you want to go to a place guaranteed to look just like the one that infests your neighborhood at home? I did a U-turn and joined a group heading to a local place called Sue's, but dropped out of that group when we passed the Coffee Connection. A real coffee shop, with a bookstore next door--the gods would punish me if I passed up something like that.
Day 6: June 11, Lompoc to Ventura
I POUNDED today. Got out about 7:00 and just pounded away, letting up only for brief rest stop and 45 minutes for lunch (could have used more and it probably wouldn't have slowed me down significantly). Got to camp at 2:24--no cyclometer, but here's the math:
14:24 - 7:00 = 7:24 hours
-1:00 hour for lunch & breaks = 6:24 = 6.4 hrs
88 miles/6.4 hours = 13.75 mph average
Not real impressive next to Robert's 15.5, but I'm not as young as he is, or as sore.
At random intervals there have been people standing at the side of the road to cheer us on, some holding up home-made signs, some handing out red licorice whips or OtterPops. Every one gives me another five or ten miles' worth of energy. This ride isn't all that hard, but there's something in these unlooked-for and unpredictable cheers that lifts my spirits like nothing else.
Day 7: June 12, Ventura to Los Angeles
Up at 4:30 a.m. Both Robert and I wanted an early start, because we had 81 miles to go, we had to finish by 3:15, and the last 20 miles would be not only uphill but through LA streets, stoplights, and traffic. Most riders seemed to have the same plan--we weren't the first ones out.
At the bikes, we found that the Chicken Lady had put a little plastic egg on each bike's handlebars. He must have had help--even if he could attach four eggs per minute, it would take five hours to put an egg on each of 1203 bikes.
Pounded down the road. No reason to dawdle in Ventura--there's nothing to do, nothing to see, and it stinks like a latrine. I was going so fast I passed Robert and his equally fast friend Rick! Not that they let me keep my lead very long.
I had been looking for D. since I met her up in Lompoc, but without success--among 1200 people, it can be hard to find one, especially when I've only seen her once, in sunglasses and, I think, a helmet, and I couldn't remember her tent number beyond that it started with F and had a 5 in it. I was doing my best to Maintain Perspective and Not Freak Out--these things happen when they want to happen--and then at Rest Stop Two I saw her tentmate! Immediately I glommed on, asked her how she was doing, asked after D. She said D. was somewhere nearby, or ought to be, but she didn't know where. "Somewhere nearby" included about 20 miles of road; I dithered for a bit, almost letting her get away; then I got out my last business card, called out, "Would you please give her this?" and was writing my email address on the back when D. walked up to me. She'd been looking for me, too.
Relaxed somewhat after lunch with old and new friends. The ride into L.A. was mostly just something to get over. But at Rest Stop 4 I was well ahead of schedule -- ten miles to go and two hours to do it in. I ate, drank, hung out with N. (who's been very sweet to me all week), cheered a few riders in, then gave N. a hug and got back on the road. Saw a couple of possibly-nice cafes, but didn't want to stop until I was within view of the stadium--and of course by that time there were no more cafes, no place to stop, nothing to do but ride up to the finish line.
Got a massage, my first all week. Robert (who'd rolled in hours ago) found me, introduced his mother, got her to take two pictures of us, one for him and one for me. Cheered a bunch of riders in.
After a while we got the word to line up with our bikes for the closing roll-in. Closing ceremonies: speeches, the Riderless Bike again, more speeches, and then we all dispersed--but not before N. found me for one more hug.
