Experience AIDS/LifeCycle 2 (2003)

Day by Day Coverage: Day 7 - Ventura to West Hollywood

Closing Remarks by Pat Christen, SFAF's Executive Director

Less than one week ago, you left San Francisco on a foggy and blustery morning to begin your AIDS/LifeCycle trek to Los Angeles.

You were very different then.

You were clean.

You smelled good.

You were anxious and cold and eager to be on your way.

You were a collection of determined individuals. But you were not yet a community.

And so it began…..

That morning started out like so many mornings since. It was chilly. And it was hilly.

You started climbing. Up Trousdale, up Skyline, you climbed and climbed and climbed.

Over two-thirds of you were new riders—in many ways, the most courageous amongst you, because you did not know what was in store! On this day, you met the Chicken Lady, Ginger Brulee, and Scott the Cheerleader for the first time. Tinky Winky and a belly dancer would cheer you up the most brutal hills. Along the way, you would be fed, watered and boosted by Southwest Airlines crew and waitresses from Hooters.

That night in Santa Cruz, over 96 miles later, you would learn the in’s and out’s of camp life: don’t slam the porta potty doors, turn off your snooze alarm before leaving your tent and remember that 1,000 of your closest friends are eavesdropping when you talk on your cell phone at night.

You learned how the showers worked, how the food lines ran, how to locate your gear and set up your tent. There were a few exceptions to this, of course, our hotel dwelling cyclists—the so-called “Princess Tour” riders.

That night in camp, you met Quentin O’Brien and Scott Moore on stage, regaling you with tales from the road and useless but entertaining weather reports.

You finally climbed into your sleeping bags, tired and sore, wondering what on earth you had gotten yourselves into. But one way or another you had made it through Day 1.

Day 2 would be the first century of the week. You pedaled a staggering 104 miles that day from Santa Cruz to King City.

This would be a magnificent day of the senses—with unforgettable sights and smells.

You cycled past seemingly endless fields of cala lilies, artichokes, and grapes. The sweet smell of narcissus, lavender and strawberries surrounded you. The pungent odor of cauliflower, lettuce and collards assaulted you.

You were thrilled with the fresh fruit and fried artichokes at Petrini’s Market.

You would battle awful head winds and one of you would have seven flat tires that day alone.

You would see Mickey Mouse and Rainbow Brooms on sweep vehicles, Santa Claus with Bunny Ears on a support vehicle and Hooters turned into cops at pit 4.

Whether it was the miles, the head winds or sheer exhaustion, this would all seem like perfectly normal behavior to you by the end of Day 2.

You arose on Day 3 in King City to face the damp and the cold and Quadbusters.

For many of you, this would be the longest, steepest climb you had ever attempted. Some of you would sprint up the hill, some of you would ride in the saddle and some of you would walk. Some of you sang to the top. Some of you swore to the top. Some of you cried to the top.

And some of you made the rest of us cry by your sheer determination to struggle up that mountain. But you all made it!

By this point, bagels with peanut butter and bananas had become a delicacy to savor. Hydrating had become a way of life and ibuprofen was your new best friend.

You lunched at the small town of Bradley where children and school officials greeted you with hamburgers and T-shirts while the lunch crew welcomed you with Hawaiian leis.

Then you rode on. The head winds and jarring highway 101 grooves, grooves, grooves…. were almost too much to bear. When you were certain you could not go another mile, the pit 4 pilgrims were there to welcome you to the New World.

As you arrived in camp, you received beautiful notes from rider Carol Hedge’s grade school students. That evening, you learned of lives saved through the vital services and advocacy efforts made possible by your AIDS/LifeCycle donations.

You awoke on Day 4 to the three things that had become most predictable in your world: aching quads, weak coffee and cold weather.

You would ride another century on Day 4, 100.7 miles to be exact.

That day, you conquered the Evil Twins (which turned out to be quadruplets) and made your way to the Halfway to L.A. point.

At the end of the long downhill that followed, you were greeted by Pit 2 “royalty”—including the Queen Mum, Dairy Queen and the Queen Bee—who welcomed you with open arms and mylar blankets.

That afternoon, you muscled up agony-grade and headed toward camp. (A few of you took a delightful detour to the hot-springs, soaking away your aches and pains—at least for that hour!).

This was an emotional and exhausting day—the second century you would ride in a 72-hour period. At the end of the day, as the sun began to set, most of you had gathered at the dining tables -- showered, warm and settling down to dinner served by Dorothy and her friends from Oz. But several riders remained on the road, and as those last few individuals pedaled their way into camp—having cycled twelve hours or more—you rose as one to applaud their achievement—a roaring two-minute ovation that turned you from a group of committed individuals into a caring community.

Day 5 was like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

You rode up that hill.

You rode down that hill.

You rode ‘round and ‘round and ‘round that hill.

By this point in AIDS/LifeCycle, you had avoided a coral snake on the road, evaded gophers in King City and ducks in Santa Maria. You were warned about mountain lions and rattlesnakes in Lompoc and you had embraced the Chicken Lady. Nonetheless, on Day 5, one of you managed to hit a cow.

That night in camp, the infamous talent show occurred. Poets, singers, musicians and dancers wowed us all. A comic illuminated the possible genesis of the “Crabs 3-day” and we all now understand why “whatever Mama wants, Mama gets.”

By Day 6, you hated your clothes. Your towel was vile and your tent simply would not fit into that little tent bag any longer.

But then, something miraculous happened. The sun came out and your spirits soared. You rode together warmed by the sun and the camaraderie of a shared and moving experience.

The pit crews were in prime form. The dress stop, the angels, the aliens and the mullet-wigged softball team outdid themselves to cheer you, to support you, to humor you and to send you on your way.

You pedaled on to Ventura with the sun and the sea. The bike trail you thought would never end finally did and you found yourself at San Buenaventura State Park. You were tired and sore. But you had made it. What had seemed an impossibility a week ago was now nearly at an end.

You parked your bike, collected your tent and gear and set up camp for the last time.

Showered and warm, the sun kissing your glowing faces, you gathered at evening camp to cheer the staff, roadies, and other volunteers who made your journey possible.

It took a lot to move you all down the coast together.

You used 35,000 pounds of ice and drank over 14,000 bottles of water.

You ate 5,200 pounds of tri-tip and over 26,000 eggs.

You used nearly 2,000 rolls of toilet paper and 25 pounds of butt balm!

You were supported by a small army of volunteers—40 roadie teams in all.

They made you drink even when you weren’t thirsty. They fed you, guided you, picked you up, put you back together, and patched your wounded bodies and spirits. They believed in you when you were too tired to believe in yourselves. And they made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

Today, you rose early, your final morning in camp together. You packed your gear swearing you would never wear these clothes again.

As the sun rose in the sky you sped towards the shimmering blue of the Santa Monica mountains. You savored the coffee provided by the deputized “Star Bucks” of pit one. The Krispy Kreme donut holes at pit 2 brought tears to your eyes.

You pedaled past Sycamore Cove, where Mom and Dad Benbrook cheered you on. You rode up and down and up and down and up and down the Santa Monica mountains, past the sand and sun of Malibu.

You were anxious to get to closing ceremonies and anxious that the week was coming to an end. You were eager to see your family and friends and eager to celebrate your triumph with them.

So here you are.

Your lips are chapped.

Your nose is burned.

Your shoulders ache.

Your toes are crunched.

Your quads are cramped.

Your butt is bruised.

Frankly, you are a mess. And you are beautiful.

You rode in together, a colorful, powerful and caring community. You stand here now victorious and proud. Loved and appreciated. You have made new friends and have new admirers.

There will be people in this crowd today joining us next year in AIDS /LifeCycle 3 because of your commitment, your success, your inspiration.

You simply overwhelm us all with what you have accomplished today.

You set out to ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles to raise money for AIDS. You have done that and much more. You raised $4.1 million dollars. You raised awareness. You raised hope. You proved there is reason to believe in—and fight for—a better world.

You are a reminder of what is best in humanity.

It has been an honor and a privilege to accompany you this week. I look forward to riding with you on AIDS/LifeCycle 3.