Fri., May 10, 2002 (Preparation)

It started in early February for me. That's when I "officially" registered for the AIDS/LifeCycle event, and realized that I had better get myself in gear if I was going to make my pledge minimum and be ready for 600 miles of cycling.

It was raining a lot in February, and I used this as an excuse to focus on my fundraising rather than do much cycling right away. Before I sent out my first fundraising appeal, I focused on why I was riding this year. Previously, I had dedicated my participation in other AIDS fundraising events in memory of friends who had died, but I wanted this event to be a celebration of the people I knew who were living ourageously with AIDS. After figuring out my focus, I had to establish a fundraising goal. Last year, I raised $5,455 in a similar event. Since that time, we experienced the tragic events of September 11th, and the economy had gone south. I thought for sure that it would be a challenge to simply match what was raised last year, so my fundraising goal was set at $5,000.

Anyway, my first fundraising appeal was sent via email in February to every person I knew who had an email address. This was followed up a few weeks later by hardcopy mailings. I had intended to send out weekly updates on my fundraising and training progress to my family and friends, but simply ran out of time and ended up only sending out three of these. In addition to sending out email and letters, I talked about the event and its importance to every one I knew who asked me about it. What's funny is that I never once directly asked anyone in person to make a pledge. People simply volunteered to do this, and seemed very happy to do so. However, I'm sure a few of these folks made a pledge simply to get me to shut up about the AIDS/LifeCycle event. ;-)

Did I achieve my fundraising goal of $5,000? No, I didn't. Actually, I doubled it! I'm blessed with wonderful friends and family, and they made an emphatic statement against HIV and AIDS with their generous pledges. Although there are people in the world who have little empathy for people with AIDS, the past few months have made it clear to me that compassion is still alive and well.

As for my training, I didn't really get started on it as early as I would've liked. I started cycling regularly in mid February with rides of 20-25 miles three times during the work week, and longer rides of 35-45 miles on Saturday and Sunday. You have to understand that I'm one of those guys people point to when they need a visual example of "husky." So, in addition to getting my legs and lungs in shape after being off my bicycle for several months, I also had to lose some weight so the hills wouldn't be so tough for me. Over the next two months, I gradually increased my training mileage to 250 miles a week, with the bulk of that continuing to be on the weekend days. This sounds like a lot of mileage, but cycling is a lot of fun for me and gives me a chance to do my best thinking in solitude. Also, whenever I felt like things were getting tough for me, I thought about why I was putting in the miles.

During the past 13 weeks, I've logged 2,920 miles on my trusty Trek Cyclocross and have lost 25 pounds. I've done three century rides, and have slowly inched my way up a significant number of [in my opinion] steep hills. My allergies have made me miserable several times, but I've seen some wonderful scenery in between sneezing. My diabetes is much more manageable now that I've lost some weight and am exercising regularly, and my doctor has reduced my medication. Although I've gone through two sets of tires in the past few months, I've met several wonderful people out on the road while wearing out the tread. I've cycled through rain and hail, and almost collided with several deer when I was caught out on the road after dark! All of this was fun for me, but knowing that I was preparing for the AIDS/LifeCycle event also gave it a lot of meaning.

So, after all the fundraising and training, we're now ready to leave on our 600-mile journey through California. My fellow cyclists have worked just as hard as me, and some have worked harder. During the next seven days, we'll be one huge family heading down the road. We'll be united by our thoughts of those we've lost, our compassion for those living among us with AIDS, and our passion to end the pandemic. I'm hoping that our AIDS/LifeCycle family is even bigger next year.

Other than being a little cold, it was a beautiful morning. We were told that the Opening Ceremonies would start on time. They did. We were told the Opening Ceremonies would be brief. They were... ten minutes long! We were told that we'd be on the road by 06:30. Actually, we were headed out by 06:20 for the first day of the inaugural AIDS/LifeCycle event.

This day was one of the longest, scenic, and most challenging days I've ever rode, but it was also one of the most inspiring. As I left USF and headed toward the Pacific ocean, I thought about all the people who had supported me and my fellow cyclists by making a financial investment in the quest to end AIDS. I rode among dozens of Positive Pedalers, some who are good friends and many who have been AIDS symptomatic for many years, and were riding in a fight against an enemy way too familiar to them. But, I was also riding with many people whose lives had not been directly impacted by AIDS, but were motivated to participate through compassion and a desire to make a difference.

As we headed up into the Santa Cruz mountains, it became colder and windy. It was a long slow climb, and some folks made several stops along the way to catch their breath. Perhaps it sounds odd, but the first 50 miles of hill climbing is where I think a lot of the riders and crew bonded as a family. Riders were asking folks who had stopped if they were alright, people who had stopped were cheering on those who were riding past them, and the magnificent crew were patrolling up and down the route and yelling out encouragement.

We finished the climbing portion of the Day One route and arrived in San Gregorio for lunch at mile 53. While eating lunch in some welcome sunlight, we had time to think about the other 68 miles along the California coastline we still had ahead of us. But, it turned out to be pretty cool. We had a great tailwind pushing us along some mostly flat terrain punctuated by some rolling hills, so we were able to make some excellent time.

I think pit stop 3 was at mile 83 or so, and it was after this point that I really began to feel tired. I kept drinking lots of water, thought about my reasons for doing the event, and tried not to be discouraged by the cyclists hollering, "On Your Left!", as they passed me. I'm not a stud rider, but I am determined and methodical, and this is what got me into evening camp.

It had been a long day.... 118 miles. And, although it was 06:00 p.m., I was finally done with the day's mileage and in evening camp with friends I had met from last year's California AIDS Ride, people I had met in training rides during the last several months, and with a large number of people who had just finished their longest day ever of cycling. I was also in the presence of a family of crew and cyclists who were just as determined as my sponsors and I to put an end to the AIDS pandemic.

After showering and eating, I joined hundreds of other riders in the main hall of the Santa Cruz County Fairgrounds to listen to the San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus <after some last minute program changes> provide a moving tribute to Tom Gilder, one of our fellow riders who died of a coronary earlier in the day on the route. We were all very saddened by the loss of Tom. Although I had never met him, I found out that he had made a difference in the lives of others through his work with Project Open Hand and other AIDS service organizations.

Shortly after the evening program, lights were turned off and we were in our tents ready for some rest after a tough day of cycling. But, just before most of us finally went to sleep, we were treated to a true California experience... a 5.2 earthquake lasting several seconds! We all hooted and hollered in our amazement at the timing of this natural event. The excitement didn't last long, though. We were exhausted, and the camp soon fell silent... and Day One of the inaugural AIDS/LifeCycle event ended.

Although cyclists have until 08:30 to be on the road each day, my tentmate and I were awake at 05:00 this morning. There's a lot to do before we get on the road including repacking everything, eating a breakfast that will help us get off to a good start, taking down our tent, stretching our muscles, and making sure our equipment is ready for the day. So, getting up early is a very nice way to avoid feeling rushed and to be on the road before it starts to warm up too much.

Today was supposed to be fewer miles [80] and involve a lot less hill climbing than yesterday, but this did not necessarily mean that it was going to easy. Judging from a number of remarks I'd overheard, a lot of us were feeling more than a little sore and tired from the 118 miles we rode yesterday. Although I had done a lot of stretching, I was still tight as I cycled the first few miles of the day on my way through Watsonville.

During the miles before lunch, I ran into three of my favorite people who are veterans of AIDS cycling events. These folks always do more than their share of contributing to a Mardi Gras spirit.

The "Chicken Lady" is a challenge to describe for those who have not met him. He's reminiscent of Dame Edna; just as charming and outrageous, but with more of a common touch and a barnyard bird theme to his antics. And, can you even believe it? He rides in full drag, offering all of us encouragement and laughs as we pedal along.

Another one of my favorite people is a Positive Pedaler named Linus Altman. He's truly a brave and silly heart who has lived with AIDS for several years and has been riding in events like this since their inception. Up until just a few days before we left San Francisco, Linus' doctor had advised him not to ride due to some of the side effects he was experiencing from AIDS medications. But, there he was out on the course pedaling his ass off while wearing a foot high circa 1952 woman's hat with a lace veil affixed to his helmet. Incidentally, Linus is just one of many Positive Pedalers who are taking an active role in fighting AIDS by participating in events like this.

One other fantastic person is named Ginger Brulee. He's this muscular guy you see at the entrance to pit stops, the summit of really tough climbs, or wherever it seems like you need a reason to laugh. I saw him earlier today in a tight brown dress cracking a whip as we pulled into pit stop two.

After a brief lunch, we headed out to River Road near Salinas. This is where the wind started. Luckily, it remained a tailwind for most of the rest of the route, except for those times we'd briefly turn into it... and were reminded why the AIDS/LifeCycle route goes north instead of south! This is also the point where Will Hutchinson, my fellow Team Uffda member, and I started riding together. Usually, I find myself riding alone, but this was a fairly desolate area, and I was glad for the company.

Mission La Soledad was our last pit stop of the day. It's a little Catholic mission in the middle of a very isolated agricultural area. It was here that I was moved to tears. After hydrating and grabbing a little food, I was told that I should check out the mission. As I walked into the chapel, there was a beautifully decorated altar on which people could write their messages of remembrance for our fellow rider who had died on the route the day before. And, in the middle of the table was a single candle. It was so simple and so poignant... and in the middle of a place where few people have ever visited. This reminded me that caring people can be found every place on earth and that riding in this event helps bring a human face to AIDS for many people throughout California.

Will and I left the mission with 15 miles to go before reaching evening camp. It was a long steady climb toward Greenfield, and we were passing through some beautiful vineyards where there was very little traffic and few buildings of any kind. I didn't have much energy left, my eyes were sore from sunscreen dripping off my forehead into my eyes, and my asthma was giving me problems. In other words, I was a miserable mess.

So, when I saw a woman by the side of the road in a bright green satin dress holding a huge tray of cookies, I thought I was hallucinating! But, she was real. I don't remember her name, but she had baked 700 chocolate chip cookies and drove all the way down from Modesto [approximately 200 miles] to stand by the side of a desolate country road to offer encouragement to riders who had now cycled 194 miles in two days.

After giving heartfelt thanks to the "Cookie Lady", we went through a canyon... three more miles to Greenfield! As we descended into the valley to approach evening camp, we turned directly into the cross current of the wind we had mostly avoided all day. It was incredible... there were several times where my bicycle was almost blown out from under me, and I'm not a small person. Still, the wind didn't deter us from finally reaching the end of the route. I wanted a shower, some dinner, and bed… in that order, and fast.

Oh, by the way... the first person to arrive in evening camp today? He was a Positive Pedaler from Los Angeles. He arrived at 11:38am. He receives AIDS medical treatment through the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Center, which a direct beneficiary of the funds raised by this event. Another interesting piece of information: 53 of the AIDS/LifeCycle participants are SFAF staff members, and several are also LAGLC staff members. These folks are directly involved in the event which funds the services they deliver to approximately 1.5 million clients each year. Pretty cool, huh?

We cycled out of Greenfield this morning expecting a route similar to Day Three of last year's California AIDS Ride. Well, this was the case for the first 50 miles or so. After leaving camp, we eventually came to a hill with the intimidating name of "Quad Buster" at mile 38.0 or so.

It was the most challenging hill for me in last year's California AIDS Ride, mostly because so much of it is visible to you as you climb. It didn't seem so bad this year, perhaps because I knew what was on the other side of it. After reaching the summit and cruising several miles downhill, we entered a stretch of road which to me is the most beautiful of the entire route. It's a very secluded and peaceful part of Monterey County, with the gold of dry grass covering the hills and oak trees that seem to float on the shimmer of the heat waves.

Somewhere near mile 50.0 we took a right instead of going straight. After this point, it was almost all hills… one after another. At the same time, it was getting very warm. Our dual challenge for the remainder of the day was to simply get up and over the hills, and take in enough fluids to replace what was continuously being lost in the heat. Several hours later, we arrived in Paso Robles having finished the most difficult day of cycling most of us had ever done, at least in an AIDS cycling event. We were absolutely exhausted, but exhilarated with a sense of real accomplishment.

After taking a shower and grabbing some food, I walked around and observed the crew doing their work in the various areas of the camp. Their dedication and magnificent support of the riders is so inspiring. A lot of what people hear about the AIDS/LifeCycle event concerns the cyclists or the clients who benefit from the services funded by the dollars raised. But, the crew members are the ones who are absolutely essential to pulling off an event like this! These folks take a week out of their lives to support the AIDS/LifeCycle event in all sorts of ways…

• The people driving the sweep vehicles who yell encouragement as they drive up and down the route looking for anyone who's having problems...
  
  
• The crazy folks at the rest stops who have a different costume theme at every rest stop on every day -- "Welcome to Hell", "We're Here to Serve You", "The Salon Girls"...
  
  
• The food services folks who have breakfast for over a thousand cyclists and crew members each morning by 06:00 and a hearty dinner for the same number of people ready each evening beginning at 04:00...
  
  
• The always cheerful gear crew who load and unload hundreds of 60+ pound bags every day...
  
  
• The massage therapists and chiropractic services people who take time away from their own practice to give hours of free massages to cyclists...
  
  
• The bike parking folks who are the most wonderful people to see at the end of a long day on the road because you know you're finished and can now have a hot shower and some dinner...
  
  
• The bicycle technicians who fix every conceivable mechanical problem while working out of the back of their vans...
  
  
• The many traffic control folks who stand out in the weather for hours at intersections, either busy or desolate, to provide safety and guidance for us as we ride through...
  
  
• Even the doctors and nurses who are available 24 x 7… ALL on their own dime.

The logistics crew is perhaps the most amazing to me. These folks are able to fully dismantle a camp for almost a thousand people in less than two hours after the cyclists leave for the day, transport everything 75+ miles, and have the next evening camp ready by the time the first cyclist makes it to the end of that day's route.

There are a couple of other considerations I find amazing about the crew. I've never yet heard anyone remark, "Oh, that's not my job." These folks may not have the answer to a situation, but they'll make sure you're pointed in the right direction.

The other thing I find truly remarkable is the attitude of all the crew members I've met so far, even though many of them are working 18 hour days all this week. Their commitment and effort is inspiring, and I'm humbled to be supported by them. Many of them have been cyclists in previous similar events, and have decided to come back as crew members to help others doing what they once did.

This is the way my day started…

I was awake at 04:45 this morning at the Mid State Fairgrounds in Paso Robles. I **must** be totally committed to the AIDS/LifeCycle event, because I don't get up this early for hardly any other reason! As it has been every morning this week so far, it was cool and foggy. I was feeling feverish and had a sore throat, and my asthma was still bothering me. Between the cool weather and feeling lousy, I had incentive to get dressed as quickly as possible and head to the breakfast area. After eating and socializing with a few folks, I headed back to my Camp Section A to pull my gear together and get it loaded on the truck.

Camp Section A is for some staff members and Positive Pedalers. Although I'm HIV negative, I'm in this section of camp once again this year because my tentmate [Ben Goldstein] is a member of this group. Anyway, when I got back to the tent, Ben was sitting on the floor in tears staring at approximately 30 pics spread out before him. He heard me coming and said, "My CamelBack leaked last night, and spilled water on all these pics of my friends. I brought them with me on this event because they're all friends of mine who have died of AIDS, and now the pics are ruined."

As I told Ben that I would help him salvage the pics, I found myself face to face with a panorama of loss spread out on the floor of our tent. I thought it was best if Ben left to get started on the day's route while I dried off the pics and stored them in our luggage until we got back to camp later that day. So, I gave Ben a hug as he left for bike parking. Then, I turned back toward the pics. And, even though I didn't recognize any of the people in the dozens of pics before me, I cried, too.

This year, I brought 13 pics of friends I had lost to AIDS. Ben had brought at least 30. In one 8 x 8 tent there were two people who had lost at least 43 people from their lives due to AIDS. And, each of these people had fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, and friends who were now living with a void that would never quite be filled. Next year, I don't want to bring more pics with me. 13 friends is enough… I want the destruction to end.

And, this is what I did the rest of my day…

I left Paso Robles for a 100.7 mile day. The first part of the route was a seven mile climb up highway 46. My ass was sore from saddle rash, and no amount of butt balm was going to make it feel much better. So, I alternated between climbing in and out of my saddle, to give my saddle rash a break. The climb was not that tough but long, and I began to think of one of my favorite cinematic scenes… Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. You know the lines, "Barbara, Please… Please, Barbara!" It was like, is this hill ever going to end?

Well, it finally did, to the cheering of some fellow cyclists who weren't cycling this day. I started down a fantastic grade toward Morro Bay. Along the way, my fellow cyclists and I crossed the halfway mark between San Francisco and Los Angeles. We all were pretty happy knowing that the toughest half of the route was now behind us!

Okay, so right here, I need to interject on myself. I wish you could see the dedication of my fellow cyclists, any one of which might be one of your loved ones. All these people of different sizes, colors, and shapes united for a common cause and busting their butts climbing the hills beside me. All of you have some loved ones who are pretty damn tough and determined! I'm extremely privileged to be riding in the company of these people. Anyway, back to the route…

After eating lunch in El Chorro Regional Park in San Luis Obispo County, we headed back out on Highway 1 toward San Luis Obispo, Pismo Beach, then Guadalupe. The sun was extremely bright, along this part of the route, so voluminous amounts of sunscreen were the order of the day. This was especially the case for the top of my head. My head is shaved very close, and over the past few days the sun had created a lovely pattern in red-colored flesh on my scalp in the exact configuration of the vent holes in my helmet.

As the route progressed, my asthma was becoming more of an issue. I couldn't get a full breath, and I was beginning to feel lethargic and very tired. I finally decided that the situation was becoming dangerous, and "sagged" the few remaining miles into camp. After arrival in camp, my friend Linus walked with me to the Medical area. My peak oxygen flow is supposed to be at least 700, but was measured by Dr Allison at 280. I was started on an albuterol nebulizer treatment right away and was also given some oral steroids. I was also told that I was on "Medical Hold" for the next day. A total bummer…

I was **not** in a good mood this morning. I was really pissed off at my body for betraying me, angry that I couldn't ride today when I had trained so hard for the event, worried that I was letting down my sponsors, and just generally feeling sorry for myself. Still, all I could do is suck it up and make the best of the situation. Besides, if I was going to miss a day, this was the best one since it was only 53.8 miles. If I played my cards right, I would still end up riding most of the AIDS/LifeCycle mileage.

After taking a sag vehicle to the next camp in Lompoc, I set up a lot of tents as a surprise for the cyclists who were riding and would be arriving in camp not wanting to deal with this task. This didn't take me long, so I checked in with the Medical folks again. My vitals were checked, and then I was cleared to ride the next day… fantastique!

In a better mood now, I proceeded to the Information Services tent to look through some of the email messages from people via the AIDS/LifeCycle web site. The messages were current as of Thursday evening, and there was hardcopy of over 600 of them in several duplicate binders. I had a blast looking through them! They were heartwarming and special and some made me cry. All of you who decided to send the cyclists a message should know that it means a lot to us. The Information Services staff told me that cyclists have been coming in all day to look the messages, and I saw people getting a real charge out of reading them while I was in the tent.

In addition to messages from all over the United States, there were words of encouragement and support from people in Jordan, Haiti, Korea, Philippines, Germany, France, Canada, Ireland, Sweden, Australia, and the United Kingdom. I'm being selfish with my little space on the AIDS/LifeCycle web site, but I wanted to acknowledge messages I received from Azad of Jordan, Greg of South Dakota, Pascal of France, Ron of New York, Matt of Australia, Nic of Dallas, and Coy of Sacramento. Just like all my fellow cyclists, it means a lot to me that my friends are thinking of me. Big HUGS to you all!

The rest of my day entailed showering, eating dinner, making some telephone calls, stretching and hydrating, and writing this journal entry. The camp is now quiet and I'll have to use my headlight to get back to my tent. I'm waking up real early so I can get a good start on getting over Gaviota Pass and on to Santa Barbara. The folks in Santa Barbara and Ventura have always been very supportive, and it's a beautiful area for cycling. It's going to be a good day.

Thanks to the treatment provided by the AIDS/LifeCycle Medical staff, my lungs cleared during the night, and I was able to sleep. I woke up feeling better than I have in several days, and was looking forward to the day's 90.9 mile route. Compared to 118 miles with 50 miles of hills on Day One, 89.4 miles with nothing but tons of hills on Day 3, and 100.7 miles on Day 4, this was hopefully going to be a comparatively easy day.

My friends Linus, Wilfredo, Ben, and I headed out at 07:30. It was cold and overcast, and the air had become very moist. We headed up Gaviota Pass for a gradual 17-mile climb, but it took longer than we thought it would since Linus had two flats on the way to the summit; one was caused by glass, and the other was a faulty tube. So far in this event, I haven't had any flats or mechanical problems, except for a minor derailleur adjustment. What's even more amazing, is that I haven't had any flats at all since I started training for AIDS/LifeCycle in early February.

We finally reached the coastal area by approximately 10:00, but the weather was still cold and overcast. We continued cycling along the coastal foothills as we approached Goleta and Santa Barbara. As we passed through these cities, we saw signs in driveways and front lawns stating support, small groups of people along the streets yelling encouragement, and heard people honking their horns in acknowledgement of our efforts.

AIDS/LifeCycle is about a lot more than fundraising. Cyclists provide local communities a human face to the issue of HIV and AIDS. The event generates a lot of coverage in local media, and all the support vehicles driving throughout the state of California give the event and its purpose additional publicity. Participants are educated during the event through a variety of means, and they go back to their communities better equipped to act as sources of information.

Anyway, back to the route… We made good time in getting to Santa Barbara, and after leaving lunch there were only 40 miles remaining along the beautiful Southern California coast before we were done for the day. We decided to take our time with the remaining miles, and goofed off along the Ocean Bicycle Path, stopped along the beach a couple of times to watch the waves, and ate some hotdogs in Carpenteria. We took five hours to ride 40 miles, but I figure that the longer we're out on our bicycles, the more outreach we're doing… right?

I'm now sitting in the AIDS/LifeCycle Command Center. My friends and I have set up our tents, showered, eaten dinner, and watched the evening entertainment under the community tent. The camp is quiet, and there are only a few of us still awake. During the past several days, I cycled all the miles except for 53.8 of them, climbed every hill without stopping, made some new friends, and learned a lot about the issue of HIV and AIDS. It's hard to believe that in less than 16 hours, we will have cycled our last 65 miles for the week, Closing Ceremonies will have ended, and almost a thousand people who were my family this past week will separate and go in as many directions.

I believe my fellow cyclists and I, the crew members, and the SFAF and LAGLC staff members were good stewards, and through our participation in this inaugural event helped form a strong foundation for future productions of AIDS/LifeCycle. However, what I'm really hoping for is the day when AIDS/LifeCycle is no longer needed. I'll do what I can to make this happen.

One other thing… I'm really looking forward to my own bed and some clean clothes!

I rode in my first AIDS cycling event last year, and dedicated my participation to my family and friends who had died of AIDS. I handled myself very well until the last day of the ride. As I cycled alone along the Malibu coast, the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean gave me a perfect setting for contemplation. I no longer had any diversions or reasons to ignore my grief. I thought about what was lost and what could‘ve been, and I cried for a long time.

So, here I was one year later with 68.1 miles between me and the finish of the inaugural AIDS/LifeCycle event. Although it was supposed to be some of the easiest terrain of the whole week, I wasn’t so sure how it would be for me emotionally. I felt like the previous year had been cathartic for me, and I had dedicated the event this year not to those in my life who had died, but to all people who were living with HIV and AIDS.

At 07:30, three of us left camp for our last day on the road. Ben and his 100 T cells, Wilfredo who’s been living several years with AIDS, and me… an HIV negative asthmatic. As we cycled through the cold and foggy weather, we were mostly quiet. We made only a few remarks about how we hoped the sun would come out soon, our sore asses, and how we could pretty much take our time getting to West Hollywood. I mean, c‘mon! Finishing 68.1 mostly flat miles by 03:00 p.m. was no big deal compared to what we had already encountered throughout the week!

Oxnard… Port Heuneme… Point Mugu… we were getting closer to the same place where I had "lost it" the previous year, which was at Rest Stop Two on the Malibu coast. Still mostly quiet and cold, we went up and down a few rises. The Santa Monica mountains loomed on one side, and the swells and kelp beds of the Pacific Ocean were on the other side. I began thinking of my family and friends. But, instead of thinking only of those who had died, I was thinking of all the people I knew. The courage, compassion, integrity, and love of the special people in my life… both living and dead. The weaknesses, stupid assed mistakes, and silliness of the those same special people in my life… both living and dead. Oh, yeah… and the incredible laughter that had been shared with so many people in my life… both living and dead. I was cycling for all these people and for many more I would never know. I was cycling to end HIV and AIDS. Period.

We finally reached Rest Stop Two at El Pescador State Beach near Malibu. After parking our bicycles, we went over to the tents to get some food and water. I stood with Ben and Wilfredo, and looked down the hill toward the Pacific Ocean as small shards of sunlight broke through the clouds. I saw a black triangle in the waves… and another one… then, there were more. Suddenly, there was a huge dolphin rising up in the wave and back down again. As I watched, there were more of them rising then falling with the waves. I think there were at least seven dolphins altogether… in the sunshine… in the same spot where I had “lost it” the previous year. Okay, so people told me that dolphins show up like this all the time off the Malibu coast. It was nothing all that special, really. Right?

I didn't cry this year. At least not here.

Three hours later, we were in West Hollywood for Closing Ceremonies. As I rode down Santa Monica Boulevard with my friend Jennifer. I saw my friends Anthony, Bill, and John. This is when I cried… again! Bill is a good friend who has lived courageously with AIDS for eight years, and was the one to whom I had dedicated my participation this year. I wish I could reach in and just pull the virus out of his body, but since I can't, the AIDS/LifeCycle event is my gift to him and others living with HIV and AIDS.

So, here we were, 601.5 miles from where we started. As Pat Christen stated in her Closing Remarks, we were filthy, smelly, and exhausted. Not all of us were wearing our AIDS/LifeCycle Victory tee shirts, so we were also mismatched. But, as she stated and as all of us felt, we were beautiful. Many of the people surrounding me had never rode a bicycle more than a few miles before training for this event. Several had been advised not to participate in the event due to their health. Some had been close to death more than once in previous months. Still, we were all here together. We had made a commitment and followed through on it. We had done our best to make a difference in the fight against HIV and AIDS. We had made our decision to participate in this event out of love, compassion, defiance, and a belief in what was right.

The staff of the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the L. A. Gay & Lesbian Center did incredible work the past several months in making the AIDS/LifeCycle concept a reality. Although the inaugural event turned out to be extremely well organized and an overwhelming success, the cyclists and crew were committed and were going to ride out of San Francisco on Opening Day regardless of what was in place by that time. We believed in our leadership and we believed in ourselves, and all of us kept each other focused on why we were riding this past week. Although we were well taken care of throughout the event, it was clear that money was not being spent on unnecessary luxuries. And, when it came to the miles each day, it was really up to each of us to get up and down the hills, and pedal the distance between morning and evening camp.

We had done our best to change the lives of those who needed our help, but our own lives had also been changed for the better in the process. As I looked around at my fellow cyclists and crew members at the Closing Ceremonies, I could see the extraordinary happiness on many faces. In dedicating ourselves to helping others, we had each done something pure and joyful.

The AIDS/LifeCycle event will likely be refined and become much bigger in future years as we continue to fight the AIDS pandemic. But, there was something incredibly special about being one of the thousand cyclists and crew who launched the first AIDS/LifeCycle event. No matter where any of us go from here, we'll all remember these past seven days in the presence of heroes and angels.

A special thanks to Dr Eric, Dr Wayne, Dr Allison, Rich, Garrett, Elmer, Alicia, and one nurse from San Diego whose name I can't remember. Thanks for taking care of me, being my judgment when my own was faulty with ego, and getting me back on the road to do my part in honoring those who have died of AIDS and those who are still fighting for their lives.

As for my sponsors, they have my full gratitude and admiration. They were incredibly generous this year, and are the ones who will make the real difference for those with HIV and AIDS. People will lead better lives with less pain because of each of them.