Experience AIDS/LifeCycle 2 (2003)

Tien's Journal

Why I Ride

Ten years ago, I met an exceptionally courageous woman.

She came into the women’s self-defense class I was co-teaching, and told us the first day that she was HIV+. Her fiancé had contracted it, known he was HIV positive, and had deliberately infected her. After she found out, he fled.

I don’t know why he couldn’t, or wouldn’t talk to her about his HIV status. There are many possibilities: it might have been an abusive relationship, or he might just not have felt comfortable telling her he had contracted HIV. But it doesn’t matter: he had infected her, and then left, because he couldn’t face her afterwards. She, in turn, couldn’t tell people she was HIV+, because of the stigma associated with AIDS; so she was struggling with it, with only her closest friends and family knowing.

I didn’t know what to say. I had been working with survivors of rape, domestic violence, and incest for awhile, and really thought I had heard everything; but that night I went home and spent one long night thinking about the cruelty of the universe. It was just wrong: that he had contracted it, that he had deliberately infected her—and then on top of that to have to deal with the shame and secrecy surrounding AIDS alone—it was just too much. No one should ever be hurt that badly.

But this is not a victim’s story. Over the next few weeks, as she learned to fight in body, her fighting spirit emerged. She chose to fight for her life—literally—and it was nothing short of a miracle. When she left our program, she told us she was going to beat this disease somehow and that she was moving to another state to start a new chapter of our self-defense program and empower other women. She was not only going to fight and win, she was going to make every day count. She was going to live.

I promised myself that night, that someday I would pay tribute to that inhuman—that so human—courage.

Nine years later, I signed up for the inaugural AIDS/LifeCycle to fulfill that pledge.

AIDS/LifeCycle was a revelation. Physically, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—the ride is grueling, especially if you aren’t a natural athlete, which I’m definitely not. It hurt, especially in the last few days, when absolutely every muscle was sore. But it was a wonderful experience nonetheless—because of the wonderfully supportive community, and the dedication of the other riders. The sweeps would drive by, cheering us on; fellow riders would honk cheerfully as we passed; the glamorous pit crews, with a different outfit every pit stop, every day of the Ride—it was heartwarming.

I could write reams about my experience on AIDS/LifeCycle 1, but you’ll see the same thing again on this year’s Webcast, so I’ll skip over it for now. Let’s just say, at the end of ALC1, I signed up immediately for ALC 2.

Then I decided to travel Southeast Asia—Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, and India.

I had never thought much about AIDS in the developing world before—I had thought of it only in the U.S., where antiviral medications are relatively easy to come by, and the number of infections had been dropping steadily for the last decade, and the public perception was that AIDS was over.

Oh, was I wrong.

We are at the very brink of the AIDS epidemic. We haven’t thought about it much, because we’re only looking at the very tip of it. A 1% infection rate doesn’t sound like much—and it isn’t, by itself—but understand, it is not stable. It is only the start of the epidemic, the tip of the iceberg. In most nations, the HIV epidemic is only starting. In two or three decades, much of the “undeveloped” world may look like sub-Saharan Africa.

Understand: it takes about twenty or thirty years for AIDS to really hit a country. It appears first in the IV drug user and gay communities. Several years later, it appears in commercial sex workers; five or ten years after that, just as everyone begins thinking the country is immune to AIDS, it appears in the men who patronize the sex workers. Five years later, it infects their wives and girlfriends. At each point, the infection rate doubles or triples.

What this means is, a 1% infection rate, mostly among IV drug users and gay men, unless stopped, implies a much, much higher infection rate in ten or twenty years. And what we are seeing now, is a major uptick in HIV cases, worldwide, everywhere but the U.S. and Western Europe.

I spent six months traveling through Southeast Asia. Many of the countries I visited are in the early stages of the AIDS epidemic, and most of them are extremely poor. Laos doesn’t even have money to maintain roads—there’s only one paved road in the entire country, and that is kept open largely with foreign aid, from Thailand. Only 13 of the 18 provinces can even test for HIV, and there is no money for antivirals. The average income in Laos is only $220/year, less than a dollar a day.

So AIDS is coming to Laos, very visibly. Migrant workers contract HIV while working in Thailand, then return home, bringing the virus to the capital; workers migrate from the provinces to the capital, and then return home; the epidemic continues to spread. Laos is still struggling to bring clean water and basic hygiene to most of its people—it does not, at the moment, have either the will or the money to control the spread of HIV. It is nominally a low-incidence country for AIDS, but that is deceptive: Laos is on the brink of an explosion, according to what I “read”. Much of Southeast Asia, is in the same boat.

And that is just Southeast Asia. The statistics for the rest of the world, according to the latest UNAIDS report, are also grim: massive increases in infection rates in Russia, Eastern Europe, China, India, Indonesia—everywhere but the “developed” world. I’ve read the report, and it frightens me.

A very good summary of the report is online, here: http://hopkins-aids.edu/publications/report/jan03_6.html
And the full report is here: http://www.unaids.org/worldaidsday/2002/
press/update/epiupdate2002_en.doc. They are both well worth reading.

From a pure geopolitical strategy viewpoint, this frightens me. Countries like India, Russia, and China—nuclear powers with massively increasing HIV infection rates—imagine 30%, or even only 15%, of the population dying from HIV. Without programs, without intervention, this is quite possible. That’s scary. People don’t just die quietly of AIDS; when that many people die from a plague, it has economic, and geopolitical, consequences. The prospect of AIDS sweeping through these nations is, at the very least, extremely worrisome; and if nothing is done to contain it, it will happen. The CIA has identified AIDS as one of the greatest threats to geopolitical stability around the world, and they are not kidding.

But from a human perspective, it disturbs me as well. I spent six months traveling Southeast Asia, meeting a lot of people, and encountering a lot of different cultures. What really came home is that these are people—they are not numbers, not statistics, not “peasant farmers”—they are people; they have faces, they have names, they have friends, family, work, worries. Maybe they plow with water buffalo instead of combines, but that’s a cosmetic difference.
They’re people.

So why ride? For me, it's partly a celebration of the human spirit, of courage, like the woman who first brought me into LifeCycle.

But it’s also because AIDS is the Black Plague, combined with leprosy. It's killed a lot of people. It's going to kill a LOT more. We in the U.S. tend to concentrate on the human face of AIDS, because that's what we see...outside the industrial world, AIDS is beyond faces. It's death incarnate. I just spent five months in countries that are going to take the brunt of the AIDS epidemic...I can easily see countries like Cambodia and Laos losing an entire generation to AIDS. I met a lot of wonderful and delightful people on my travels...I think a lot of them are going to die of AIDS. I don't want that to happen.

It's hard to imagine. During the height of the U.S. epidemic, I think over 30% of gay men in San Francisco were HIV positive. I have a hard time imagining the extent, and the pain, of *that*--of going to so many funerals of so many friends. But now imagine that grim statistic across an entire COUNTRY...oh, dear God. Well, there are already countries in sub-Saharan Africa, where that's already true. I see the same thing poised to happen in Asia. I think that's very, very bad.

We're lucky in the U.S. We, at least, have money for prevention campaigns, and drug cocktails for people who are HIVpositive. Other countries don't have those resources. A lot of people are going to die. I think that's wrong.

Obviously, the bulk of AIDS efforts within the U.S. are going to U.S. causes. But I think it's imperative to raise AIDS awareness generally, across the U.S....Americans have largely forgotten about AIDS, because we've mostly escaped the plague. It doesn't affect the "average" American, or at least, they don't think it does. But outside the U.S., it's destroying whole countries. I don't think we should forget this.

So that, in essence, is why I am riding. The San Francisco AIDS Foundation has been fighting AIDS since before AIDS even had a name; and it is working in Africa as well, through its sister organization Pangaea. I think that’s worth supporting.

June 5

Well, I’m excited, and terrified, and thrilled all at once…I’m psyched about riding, about finally being done with training, and most importantly done with all those HORRIBLE Power Bars…I always like them at the beginning, and by the end I’d rather die than face another one.

Training has been really grueling for me this year…I got started late, because of my Southeast Asian travels, and then injured a calf muscle early on…so I had just over seven weeks to train. (Do not try this at home, kids!) If I’d actually been employed at the time, there’s no way I could have done it…it was exhausting, and a real strain on my body and metabolism—seven weeks of doing almost nothing but eat, sleep, and train. But, thanks to an amazing coach (Curtis Cramblett), and a hell of a lot of work, I think I’m actually ready.

So, we’ll see what happens.

Right now (T minus 3 days) I’m still in the “frantic” stage—putting together my gear bag, arranging costuming, writing up my bio, writing thank you notes, and trying to remember if there’s anything I’ve missed. I wasn’t planning on being this disorganized, but the last few days I’ve been in the tenth circle of hell—I got a bad case of poison oak on a training ride a few days ago, so the last couple days have consisted mostly of sleeplessly trying not to scratch. (I’m not going to complain too much, though—some poor fellow rider went over the handlebars a week or two ago, face first into an entire bush of poison oak. Swelled up completely, all over—I can’t believe he’s riding anyway. These Lifecyclists, they’re nuts, you know? ;-) ) So, if my rider information and bio are completely incoherent, now you know why. Fortunately, my dermatologist assures me I’ll be healed up by Day 1, and I’m almost starting to believe him. I still look like a piebald pony, but the worst of the sweling and itching are over...

So, Friday and Saturday are going to be spent frantically accessorizing, because I am riding in four fabulous tutus this year.

Why the tutus?

Well, last year I made a bet with my donors: I said that if I raised over $5,000 in donations, I’d go “in drag”: I’d ride in a pink tutu, all the way down the coast of California. (Realize that most of my friends have never seen me in a skirt, let alone a tutu. <g>)

I didn’t seriously expect to make $5,000, although I gave it my best try. A day and a half before AIDS Lifecycle 1, I thought I was safe: I had raised $4,700, and with only a day and a half to go, I wasn’t expecting to get any more donations.

Then my boss called me into his office late Friday afternoon, and handed me a check. And my mom sponsored me for $200.

Damn. Where can you find a tutu on short notice, while frantically packing? And in hot pink?? (I’d rather die than appear in pink and frilly.)

Well, okay, I have a sewing machine, and I made my own wedding dress, so I’m a reasonably competent seamstress. I wound up making my own. Hot pink, blazing, with these fabulous fluorescent pink fishnet stockings that I found in a costume store.

Here’s a photo of last year’s tutu (click for a bigger version): http://www.travelingtiger.com/unindexed/day_one_tutu.JPG

It turned out to be a great idea. Not only was it eminently practical, but it cheered everyone up--me, the other riders, the sweeps, and so on. It was fun. Fun is important around mile 400, when absolutely everything hurts.

So this year, I decided to expand the tutu idea, and made myself a couple of custom tutus, which I have been busily accessorizing. I have four tutus for this year's ride--the hot pink classic from last year, a blue/orange one in official AIDS/Lifecycle colors, a white and sparkly silver one, and an extra-special red tutu, for Day 5, which we are trying to do (unofficially) as Dress in Red Day. They are, in a word, fabulous. :-) Look for photos during the ride!

Is it frivolous to be wearing a tutu? Well, maybe a bit. I do take AIDS very seriously, as you'll have noticed if you've read the section on "Why I Ride". But I also think it's important to have fun--because AIDS is so serious, you have to be light at times, or you burn out. And "fun" is very much a theme on Lifecycle, too...the pit crews dress up as something different every day, in every pit stop--my favorite from last year was Cirque du SoGay! So it's right in the theme of things.

And, it's wicked fun.

And, with that, it's back to frantic packing...and accessorizing. (Do those red velvet ribbons really go with the silver tutu? How about those holographic sequins? Is my tentmate bringing tent stakes? How about the plastic flamingoes? Is just one tube of BenGay enough?? Oh, decisions!!)

Have a great time everyone, and see you on Day One!!

Tien
Cyclist #5004

Day 1 (Monday, June 8)

Well…I was terrified of Day One.

Day One is the hardest day on AIDS Lifecycle, 96 miles long, with one very steep hill, and several miles of steady, steep climbing—over 3000 feet of vertical climb. Worse, because I started training so late, I hadn’t done anything longer than 60 miles, and certainly not with such difficult terrain. And, last year, with more training, I had strained a muscle on that hill, which grounded me two days later.

(This year the only thing that let me train for Lifecycle was a very good cycling coach…I got back late from Southeast Asia, then injured myself…so eight weeks ago it seemed impossible, until I got an extremely competent cycling coach who’s also a physical therapist, perfect for working with an injury-prone rider. (His name’s Curtis Cramblett—he put together the training guide for Lifecycle as well—Curtis, if you’re reading this, THANK YOU.)

So anyway, I was pretty nervous as we went out for Opening Ceremonies, nearly 1000 riders flooding out through Golden Gate Park and down through the foggy, early-morning city.

Excitement was in the air, just as last year, with crazily-costumed riders and throngs of rider teams sorting themselves out over the first few miles…rabbit ears and fluffy bunny tails, pink helmets with pig ears and snouts…Chicken Lady with his chicken helmet and rainbow skirt, wizard hats, pipecleaners, roadies in all sorts of colorful costumes. And, of course, lots and lots of cyclists, pouring through the city.

But the main question on my mind was, would I make it through the hills, this year?

We rode up through the gray, foggy city, up a very steep hill to Skyline Blvd, and started going up Skyline. Miles and miles of continuous, difficult climb, up to a 2500’ pass.

I started getting more and more concerned as we climbed…I hadn’t had time to do any hill training, so I was working at a higher intensity than anything I’d ever trained. Last year the strain had done in my calf muscle a day or two later…and I had already been pushing overtraining, trying to get ready in time. I was acutely aware that I was even less prepared than when I’d injured myself last year.

Up, and up, and up, through the gray fog…cold, wet, and dreary….more and more exhausted…muscles and butts sorer and sorer….but every few hundred yards, just where we might be flagging, a cluster of brightly colored roadies, family/friends, or community supporters, would meet us and cheer us on..

(One of the most wonderful things about riding Lifecycle is the amount of support from the community…it is really true that the riders do not ride alone. Every time we finished a tough section, every time we got to a point where our will might be flagging, someone was there—friends and family, community supporters, roadies and other riders—to cheer us on, give us water, candy, or just a pat on the back. It was wonderful.)

Finally, after seemingly forever, my fellow riders and I rolled into Pit 2, near the top of the toughest climb. The theme was “Southwest Airlines,” and the pit crew were all wearing hilarious airplane hats, handing out in-flight peanuts and dressed up in an aeronautical theme (they even put “warning” signs on the portapotties). I ate, stretched, took photos with riders and pit crew, and headed out for the last of the big climb.

A mile later, my left calf started hurting. Then the right calf started, too.

Cyclists are very prone to overuse injuries, and I’d been fighting them off the entire training season. Curtis is a great coach, but to go from injured and out of shape to fully trained in eight weeks is a pretty big change, and we’d had to push my body to the edge of what it could do. I’d pulled the right calf before I started training, and it still wasn’t fully healed; and last year’s injury on the same hill had been in the same area. So I was really worried.

Fortunately, there was only a mile or two of gentle climbing to go…I cycled very gingerly, and finally crested the top of the hill, and began the twenty-mile, swooping, thrilling descent to lunch. (Somewhere in the first few miles, the blue mini-tutu I was wearing as a helmet decoration blew off…I guess the wind at 35 mph was a little too much. Whee! )

Finally, I arrived at lunch a bit dehydrated, and completely exhausted from the climb. I grabbed lunch, drank an entire can of Gatorade, and collapsed on the ground for half an hour, too tired to move. Finally, I picked myself up and moved on.

Seven miles past the lunch stop, my left calf started hurting. Seriously. It felt exactly like the previous year’s injury.

I rode very gingerly into the pit stop, where I stopped by the medical tent (the ride is very well-supported; there’s a medical tent at every pit stop), to see what damage I’d done. Thank goodness, the orthopedist declared it to be just a muscle spasm, not an injury—probably the result of dehydration. I drank two quarts of water, massaged the calf, and rode on. Amazingly, as soon as I rehydrated, the muscle spasms and exhaustion cleared away, like magic.

The rest of the ride was beautiful…easy, sunny, coastal….we rode down the Pacific Coast Highway (Route 1), watching pelicans soaring overhead, stopping to admire the bright crescent “sails” as parasailers played in the surf below. The fog had cleared away, the cool sea breeze and the gentle sun played on the dunes and cliffs—a thoroughly beautiful ride, wonderful after the long, foggy, cold climb of the morning. Long gentle climbs and thrilling descents (I hit 30 mph several times on the straightaways!)—a far cry from torturous morning worries. A pair of Santa Cruz drummers met us at the outskirts, cheering us on.

Finally, eleven hours after starting, I rode into camp at 5:30pm, to be met by a throng of cheering roadies and community supporters….seven and a half hours of cycling, 96.1 miles, and three gallons of Gatorade later, I’d finished Day One! And, unlike last year, no injuries, and no muscle strains.

Best of all, our route the last two miles took us right by my favorite chocolatier in the world (Donnelly Chocolates, in Santa Cruz)…so I’m sitting here now, refueling on chocolate gelato, and munching on the world’s best chocolates. Life is tough.

On to Day 2!!

Day 2 (Monday, June 9)

104 miles. Eleven hours. 3280 calories (!).

Got into camp really late—7pm—and nursing a strained right calf, so I’m off to Sports Medicine, then to sleep. Day 3 is hard (lots of hills) but shorter, only 60 miles—I’ll write up more then.

Fabulous costumes at the pit stops—fortunetellers, police officers, circus freaks—and clusters of schoolchildren cheering us on…the wonderful folks at Ugly Mug in Santa Cruz started us off with free coffee and cappuccino. Artichoke and strawberry fields, passing tractors, and a fantastic view of the agricultural valley from a tall hill near the end.

More tomorrow!

Day 3 (Tuesday, June 10)

Well, today I met a few of our fantastic roadies. Did you know there are over 300 volunteers supporting the riders on the road? This always amazes me…the roadies give up a week of their life (and vacation time!) to spend twelve+ hours a day feeding, cleaning up after, carting stuff around for, directing, and protecting cyclists. Not to mention cheering us on…which, believe me, is important. Tired, grumpy, hot, and sore…counting the miles to the rest stop and thinking about how hot it is, how badly my butt hurts, why my odometer is OBVIOUSLY broken, why we have to fight headwinds and hills in the same day…then one of the sweeps drives by and yells “GO RIDERS!!” or “GO TUTU GIRL!!” and I have to smile.

Anyway, Day 3: did I say it was shorter than Day 1? Silly me. We fought strong headwinds all the way out, which meant that instead of my customary 18 mph flat pace, I was down to 9 mph and struggling. (Headwinds are particularly frustrating because, unlike hills, you don’t get the downhill afterwards. It’s just up, up, up all the way, and to add insult to injury, it looks flat, so you don’t even get the satisfaction of knowing you’re going uphill—you’re just moving very, very slowly.) Worse, the roads out were very, very rough—which, on an already saddle-sore butt, was pure torture. (I compared it to using a belt sander for a vibrator, but I’m not sure the rider I was talking to appreciated my comparison—especially with several miles of belt sander left to go.)

I was still in good spirits, having a fresh Tutu of the Day, but physically very, very tired from yesterday, so moving slowly. (Tutu of the Day: bright turquoise tutu, with frilly pink roses and a hot pink cycling jersey—plus big ribbon bows on the helmet. Quite fetching, if I do say so myself. I really must get those photos up soon.)

Then we hit a monstrously steep hill, aka Quadbuster.

Oddly, I was quite happy to see Quadbuster, at least initially. Last year, I saw it from the back of a bus, after injuring my right calf/heel—I had to sit out Days 3 and 4. This year, I trained for less than half the time—and here I was!! (Thanks again, Curtis—it’s amazing what a good cycling coach can do.)

So, just seeing Quadbuster was a major step forward.

I’m not quite sure how I got up Quadbuster. I think I may have suppressed the memory. I remember at one point staring intently at a patch of asphalt about two feet in front of my wheel—which was all the attention I had left—and I was already exhausted from fighting the headwinds to get there, and from the two long days before that—fortunately, the calf problems from the day before had cleared up overnight, but I was still worried about straining muscles. (I injure myself so regularly that my friends have accused me of cycling solely to meet cute physical therapists.) So I walked partway, and cycled partway, up. Towards the end the wind was so fierce I was seriously worried it might blow me backwards…I was barely making better time riding than the people walking their bikes up the hill.

But, we finally made it, to be met by Ginger (the fabulous transvestite who cheers on the riders on every AIDS Ride), looking gorgeous in a Fairy Godmother blue ball gown, with big sparkly, sequined tulle skirt. And the most amazing pair of crystal heels. Of course I had to stop and take a photo, like everyone else.

I don’t remember much else about the rest of the day…I was fighting exhaustion and dehydration for most of the day, and also had four (count ‘em, four) flat tires within two hours, which was intensely frustrating. The second to last was particularly frustrating—I had been noticing that the ride was bumpier than expected, but thought it was a problem with the bike frame. So I had been riding along on it for at least a mile and a half, getting progressively more puzzled/frustrated! And then felt like an (hot, tired, dehydrated) idiot after another rider helpfully pointed out the flat.

So there I was, changing my third flat for the day, when…the tube I was inflating blew up. It was my last spare tube.

At this point I thanked the wonderful other riders who had graciously stopped to help me, suggested they move on before the caboose caught up to them (we were nearly the last riders of the day), and then used up my stock of curse words and started inventing others. A minute later, one of the sweeps arrived.

Sweep vehicles patrol the ride route, looking for riders in trouble. (They also cheer on riders not in trouble, which is very sweet of them, but isn’t part of their job description.) Generally, any time you’re in trouble, a sweep isn’t far behind. This particular sweep was traveling with the caboose (a yellow truck which follows the very last cyclist of the day), so couldn’t pick me up, but they offered to stay with me and keep me company, so I wouldn’t have to wait by myself. Which was also very sweet of them.

Two minutes after that, the caboose passed by, and right after that another cyclist pulled up. A bike tech! Usually the bike techs live at pit stops, but towards the end of the day, they’ll often ride the route, looking for riders in last-minute trouble.

Unfortunately there wasn’t anything he could do about my exploded tubes—especially since I have nonstandard wheels (extra-small for my extra-small bike). But a moment later, another sweep arrived, picked me up, and brought me into the next pit stop, where the bike techs repaired my flat and loaned me an extra tube, even though I’d run out of cash for the parts. (Labor is free, but parts are extra—and this was my fourth flat for the day.)

So, after all the woes, I rolled out of the last pit stop, and fought my way through brutal headwinds another 12 miles, to camp. I was exhausted, dehydrating again, and couldn’t think straight. I almost ran off the edge of the road twice on the last few miles, because I was too exhausted to pay attention. I was one of the very last riders into camp.

I still got a hero’s welcome.

That’s one of the best things about Lifecycle in my opinion—no matter how late you are, getting into camp (and thus far I have always been one of the last riders), you will always be met by a crowd of people cheering you in—roadies, earlier riders, townspeople, all of whom wait for the very last rider. It’s wonderful.

Tomorrow is 100.7 miles. Given how exhausting today was, I have no idea how I’m going to manage it. But what the hell.

Day 4 (Wednesday, June 11)

Well. Today was a good day.

Day 3, of course, was hell on wheels, but apparently Day 3 is the traditional day for riders to melt down (they warn all the roadies about this). Or maybe it’s just that being hot, tired, and dehydrated makes people a wee bit irritable—and there’s plenty of that going around on Day 3.

At any rate, this is Day 4, and I’ve come to accept my place in the universe. Which is to say, about two miles ahead of the caboose, and about 50 riders from the very last. (I am getting to know the other slow riders very well.) Fortunately, I’ve also realized that the rest stop closing times are quite flexible—despite the dire threats, they really won’t sweep you into camp unless you have no possibility of finishing by sunset. (Most riders who are sagged because they’re running out of time, know very well they can’t finish in time, and quit voluntarily.) So, I’ve quit worrying about running late—I’m a slow rider, but I can ride 100 miles by the end of the day, so I’m not worrying about it anymore.

I’ve also discovered the secret difference between being frustrated, tired, and hating life, and enjoying the beautiful scenery on an absolutely gorgeous ride between here and LA. Surprisingly enough, it turns out to be about one mile an hour.

Yep, that’s right. Riding at max possible speed, I can get there about an hour quicker, and hating life. Riding just a little bit slower, I can kick back and enjoy the view. So today I decided to slow down a bit, to the point where I could focus on other things besides riding. Surprisingly enough, I enjoyed it a lot more.

(I am sure this discovery has deep philosophical implications for life in general, but I’m studiously ignoring them. My friends have been trying to beat some sense into my Type A personality head for years now, and heaven forbid that I should deprive them of the joy of continuing. They should rest cheerfully assured that I have not secretly been replaced by a space alien, and will go back to my normal habits as soon as I finish AIDS/LifeCycle.)

So anyway, today was fun. We started out with a long but not too steep climb up the Evil Twins (a pair of hills near camp). The weather was cold and foggy, perfect for hill-climbing: warm and sunny makes it too easy to overheat. At the top of the second Twin, we paused for photos with the fabulous Ginger, who was wearing a beautifully coutured gown made of pink plastic bubble-wrap—specially designed for the occasion by one of her fashion-designer friends. (It looked a lot better than it sounds—in fact, I didn’t even realize it was bubble-wrap, until she pointed it out to me.) Then we all stood in line to take photos of … the halfway point!

Yes! We are now more than halfway to LA … which amazes me, considering how good I feel. Last year I missed this day of the ride, having injured myself on Day 3. So it was great to be riding today at all, and wonderful seeing the big banner reading “Halfway to LA!” We all got up on a big rock by the fabulous view at the top of the hill for photos—I plan to use that photo as my Christmas card this year. It’s me in a great Tutu of the Day: hot pink tutu with orange roses, Halloween orange cycling jersey, and fluorescent orange fishnet stockings. I’m standing over my bike with a giant grin, in front of a sign saying “Halfway to LA!” I figure if that doesn’t convince my relatives I’m nuts, nothing will.

But I digress.

After the photo session, I was running late, so I coasted down the fantastic downhill (5 miles of downhill!) at 30 mph, and pedaled quickly into the next pit. The rest of the day was fun—almost completely flat, and most of it coastal, meaning pedaling smoothly along the gorgeous California coast, admiring the view. The beaches looked inviting, the surfers decorative, the sun was shining, a cafe was offering free coffee to riders, and the winds were all tailwinds. Life was good.

The rest of the day was mostly like that. It was a long ride, though—over 100 miles—so I got in pretty tired, and late—around 7:15pm. Thankfully, I found that the roadies and fast riders had set up my tent and even hauled out my gear bag! for which I will be forever grateful. (That’s one nice thing about the ride—the riders really do go out of their way to support each other, which is great when you’re coming in exhausted at the very end of the day.) I grabbed a shower and got to dinner around 8pm, right around the time the last rider came in (she got a standing ovation from the entire camp, that lasted almost five minutes). I’ve spent most of the time since in Sports Med, getting some kinks worked out of my left leg. Sports Med is a hoot, but I’ll write more about them tomorrow; it’s late, and I want to get to bed.

Tomorrow’s tutu, in keeping with the “Dress in Red Day” theme, will be a fabulous red tutu, and I do mean red. It has two layers—the underskirt is flashy red sequins, the overskirt is a bright red metallic mesh. It goes with the ever-fashionable red-and-gray AIDS/Lifecycle 1 jersey from last year, a Miss America sash of bright red sequins, and flashy metallic silver fishnet stockings. I even have sequined armbands and wristlets to match. (Remember—you saw it here first!)

Oh yes—I signed up for AIDS/Lifecycle 3 today. This was the result of a very unsporting trick by Pat Christen, Executive Director of the SF AIDS Foundation, and I think you should all write in and complain to her about it. She announced free AIDS Lifecycle logo towels—on the spot!—for anyone who signed up for ALC3 tonight. If you don’t understand why this is unsporting, you have not seen a camp towel after four days on the road. So I have just signed myself up for countless hours of agony next year, my friends will probably never speak to me again (they won’t have a chance to, because I’ll be too busy training anyway), and my sponsors will all run when they see me coming—but hey, at least I’ve got a clean, new towel.

I personally think it’s despicable of Pat to be preying on confused, suggestible riders like that, and I encourage you to write in and complain about her unethical behavior. I have no idea what her email is, but I’m sure you can find it on the San Francisco AIDS Foundation’s webpage, http://www.sfaf.org. And while you’re there, make sure you donate a couple thousand bucks, so she can give us all free towels next year.

(I’m joking, of course. I think AIDS is an extremely serious social/political issue—probably the biggest crisis in our generation—which just hasn’t hit yet, so people don’t fully understand how bad it is. (Read my rider bio if you want to know more about why—and check out my travel photos on my website, at http://www.travelingtiger.com, for a look at the people likely to be affected.) So, I’m happy to sign up again. But I could use a free towel next year—so write that check anyway.)

Yours from Day 4,

Tien

Day 5 (Thursday, June 12)

Okay. I just have to share this with you, because it’s too damn funny. Today, our fastest rider hit a cow.

Yep, a cow.

AIDS/LifeCycle, of course, attracts all sorts of riders, from the very very fast, to slowpokes like me. Some of the faster riders are in extraordinarily good condition, and in fact our fastest cyclist biked all the way from Tennessee to San Francisco (!) to join up with us for AIDS/LifeCycle. (I hope he’s flying home!)

At any rate, he’s Cyclist #5556, and, as might be imagined, is an extraordinarily fast rider. In fact, yesterday he was the first cyclist into camp, arriving there in just two hours (!)

However, today he was riding at his usual 35+ mph speed (a speed I only see when going down really steep hills), and somehow (I’m still not quite sure how) hit a cow. And went flying.

Fortunately, he’s only slightly bruised (his sheepishness may be considerably more bruised), but I’m still impressed that he managed to hit a cow, considering how fast-moving the critters are. Pat Christen’s comment on this was, “So, Cyclist #5556 may be fast, but…”

Then again, we’d ridden 375 miles in 4 days. I’d say he’s got an excuse.

Which gets me to my own Day 5.

As you might imagine, riding three centuries and one 75-miler in four days is the sort of thing that turns one’s brain to cottage cheese. The folks at AIDS/LifeCycle are perfectly well aware of this, which is why you are issued two sets of dogtags at the beginning of the ride: one tag with your tent number, which goes around your neck, and one hospital-style bracelet that goes on your wrist and does not come off—it has to be cut off after the ride. This bracelet identifies you by rider number, and gives the AIDS/LifeCycle emergency contact number. So, if you mysteriously wind up lost in a coffee shop off the route (don’t laugh—you try living four days without a latte), get smacked by a car door, or, say, hit a cow, you have the number right there, the paramedics know to contact the ride organizers, and the farmer knows who to sue. This is handy when dealing with confused cyclists.

So, by Day 5, I’ve more or less accepted that I will have the brains of a grapefruit, and any small objects not chained to my cycling jersey will crawl away. Nonetheless…

Day 5 dawned bright and early—too early. I had been up late last night writing Day 4’s journal, which meant that I really hadn’t had enough sleep. A cup or two of coffee didn’t really help, so I staggered out to the ride start in my fabulous orange tiger jersey, sequined sash, and metallic red tutu (for Day 5, “Dress in Red” Day), and blearily started riding.

Now, on Day 4 I’d been having trouble with my left leg, all up and down the entire leg. I had been stretching it, keeping it warm, and working out the knots, but kept having trouble. I was also annoyed that my left shoe seemed to be “sticky” on the pedal. But I was running behind, so I took off without looking into it more deeply.

Then I got shooting pains in my left knee, ten miles out of camp.

AIDS/LifeCycle is a great place to learn about pain, because there’s plenty of it. But there’s really only two kinds of pain: the kind you ignore, and the kind that means STOP IMMEDIATELY. Knee pain, as far as I’m concerned, is the latter. Knees don’t heal, so it’s way better not to injure them.

So I slowed way down, pedaled gingerly for awhile, and, noticing that it was getting more irritated, flagged down a sweep vehicle and went to the next pit stop, in search of Sports Med.

Ah. I haven’t talked about Sports Med yet, have I? I call them the Angels de Sade. Angels, because they are fantastic about fixing muscle and joint problems. De Sade, because, well…let’s just say that masochists are wimps. If you really want to experience pain, date a physical therapist. Never in my life have I experienced anything near the sort of pain that Sports Med hands out on a regular basis.

This is basically because overused muscles tighten up, and knot. So to restore muscle use, you have to get the knot out. You can tenderize meat either by gently massaging it over a period of days, to get at the knot—or you can beat on it with a hammer. Guess which method Sports Med uses?

Yep. Their priority is getting athletes back out on the field (or on the road) now, so they dig in as deeply as possible to get the problem fixed. The result is usually a couple minutes of blinding agony followed by the discovery that your leg works again. Which is wonderful, in a horrible evil sort of way. There’s almost always someone screaming in the Sports Med tent, but they usually leave smiling.

At any rate, to cut a long aside short, Sports Med wasn’t at the next pit, so I went over to Bike Tech to see if they could suggest saddle adjustments, to make things easier for the knee. They suggested moving the saddle up, and I blearily grabbed the tools and started fixing it myself.

Somewhere in the process, I found myself staring at the pedal, and remembered the sticky foot. I suddenly put two and two together, looked at the bottom of my shoe, and discovered that a cleat screw was missing. Oh.

Bike fit is extremely important for LifeCycle, because even minor problems with alignment will cause major problems later. One of the reasons I’ve been relatively injury-free this ride is because my coach (Curtis Cramblett) fit my bike down to the millimeter—so I’ve avoided many of the foot, leg, and neck problems the other riders have had. The missing cleat screw had taken my knee very slightly out of alignment, straining all the muscles in the leg, and finally doing in my knee.

This should probably have occurred to me, since the exact same thing had happened a few weeks earlier in training. But, as I said, a tired rider has the brains of cottage cheese.

There’s not much else to be said about Day 5—I did finish out the day, pedaling very gingerly, and Sports Med fixed most of the knots (ouch, scream, OW!!) this evening. I missed about 14 miles due to sweeping ahead to the first pit, but I’m still riding. I’m worried about the knee—strain is strain—but there’s not much to be done about it, and fortunately I caught it early. Thankfully, Day 5 was really short—less than 60 miles—so it’s practically a rest day. Tonight is the Talent Show, then we’re back on the road for two “short” days. More than halfway to LA!

Oh yes: despite my brain-dead state, I did not manage to hit a cow. So I still have my aspirations. :-)

Day 6 (Friday, June 13)

Ah, Day 6.

Day 6 is traditionally the day when your week of fast living catches up to you. Up until then, body parts are still introducing themselves individually, and can be reasoned with. On Day 6, they get together and have a block party.

So the legs are seizing up, your butt is on fire, your shoulders hurt unbelievably, your hands and feet are going numb, and your back is not happy. Fortunately, there’s also only one more day to go, and you can survive anything for one more day, right?

Actually, I enjoyed most of Day 6.

Day 6 features my very favorite hill of all of AIDS/LifeCycle: a long, gradual climb in the morning, through beautiful rolling hills (and lots of cows, although I didn’t hit any ;-) ), followed by a thrilling descent through five miles of similarly beautiful hills.

In fact Day 6 is my favorite day, even though all the muscles are tightening: the scenery is beautiful, the ride is mostly flat, and I’ve had a “rest” day on Day 5. We’re almost to LA, the pit crews make an all-out effort on the costumes, and people are happy.

So after climbing up and down through the hills, we wound along the California coast, on the shoulder of the 101 freeway, watching seagulls over the blue Pacific, admiring the surfers, and enjoying a fantastic, leisurely view. We rode through Santa Barbara, including a beautiful coastal road, turned inland for awhile, then rode along the coast for the rest of the day. I think it’s the most beautiful day on LifeCycle.

The pit crews were also fantastic: one pit did “Heaven,” with angels strolling all about, and another did “Space Aliens,” with ray guns and far-out alien costumes. Paradise Pit—an unofficial pit put together by ALC supporters—served ice cream, and at the water stop I bought and ate the best hot dog I’d ever tasted in my life. (You’re not supposed to eat that kind of stuff while riding, but after four days of Clif Bars, bananas, bagels, and oranges, I was not about to listen to reason.)

And, I was having fun with my costume. I’d saved my very best costume for Day 6. The hot pink tutu from last year, with the same trashy pink fishnet stockings I’d worn the last year, and a go-go-girl bikini top I’d bought in Bangkok—all sequins and sparkly dangles. But the best part was the 8’ whip I’d borrowed from a friend, with pink ribbon wrapped around and around, and two giant frilly pink roses on the handle. It was unbelievably silly, and also very funny. People were giggling all day, and the pit closing captain borrowed the (frilly, pink) whip to shoo people out at lunchtime.

Probably the funniest part of the day was just before lunch, though. I had blown out a tire somewhere along the road—I mean really blown it, no hope of repair—and was standing by the side of the road with my thumb out, waiting for a sweep to drive by. In a skimpy, sequined go-go-girl top, a bright pink tutu, and cycling shorts.

Now, if you’re familiar with suburbia, you know that any time there’s a minor accident, people slow down to rubberneck. Usually there is in fact nothing to see—which makes this behavior all the more puzzling—but this costume was a traffic-stopper. I thought it was hysterical, watching the cars slow down for a closer look—then I decided, what the hell, let’s give them something to look at (and amuse my fellow cyclists, limping their way up the hill). So I brought out the pink, frilly whip, and started waving that around.

Sadly for the fashion show, a sweep arrived almost immediately (they are very good about patrolling the route), and they swept me into lunch, where the bike techs slapped on a fresh tire and got me rolling again. (They really are very well-equipped; I have non-standard tires, but they had them in stock.)

The rest of the day was more beautiful riding, relatively uneventful. The knee didn’t bother me until near the end of the day…in the last ten miles, though, everything seemed to seize up at once, so I’m off to Sports Med (scream, scream, agony, writhe, scream, AHHHHHH) to get it taken care of. I think it’ll be OK, at least for tomorrow.

I love LifeCycle, as physically demanding as it is: it’s a very warm, welcoming community, and it’s also a great challenge. It’s also good to meet some of the folks whom LifeCycle benefits—the Positive Pedalers (who are a real hoot, at least the ones I’ve met), people who have lost loved ones to HIV/AIDS, people who have friends or relatives living with HIV. I’ll talk about that a bit more tomorrow, if I have time.