ALC5: unforgettable and unparalleled

Never in my life have I ever done anything like this.  Never did I dream I ever would.  I am not an athlete, I’m one of those kids who avoided physical activity almost whenever possible.  And I just spent seven days riding a bicycle from San Francisco back home to Los Angeles, with about 2,000 other people doing the same thing, to raise money for the care and treatement of HIV/AIDS patients and awareness of the epidemic.  Given the option between spending another week home, at work, at play, I chose to (figuratively) chain myself to my bicycle for a week and see just how far my body can go.

And it can go a damn long way.

I learned a lot this week.  I learned that it’s not about the strength of your legs, it’s about the strength of your will.  And I learned that I actually have the strong will I’ve always imagined myself to have.  I’ve learned that I do, in fact, hold myself to a different standard than I hold other people — it’s fine for my friends to decide they’re too tired and SAG themselves (put themselves on the Supply and Gear trucks for a leg of the journey) and I’m still proud of them for doing all they could, but if I should ever SAG myself, I would be deeply ashamed.  I’ve learned that there are times when it is OK for me to be proud of myself.  And that it is possible to make a difference in this world.  And that just because something is overused as an example of suffering, that doesn’t cheapen the actual suffering it represents.  And I’ve learned that all the years I’ve spent trying to convince the people around me and myself that mankind is good and strong and brave and caring by nature, I actually was right.

It may well be that the AIDS/LifeCycle was the hardest thing I have ever done.  Sometimes it sure felt like it.  I remember falling into my sleeping bag in my tent at the end of Day 1, and thinking, my G-d, how can I possibly do another six days of that?  And at the end of Day 2, thinking, five more days?  I’ll never make it five more days.  And at the end of Day 3, thinking, I’ve made it half-way, I can make it the rest of the way…  And by the end of Day 5, wondering what I would ever do with the rest of my life after Day 7.  What I could ever do that would equal this.

I think, more than anything, for me it was the children that kept me going.  Kids lining the streets with their hands out for high-fives as you rode past them…kids chanting "GO RIDERS GO!" as you came round the corners of their tiny towns…kids giving you messy, misspelled letters telling you to keep going and that, when they grow up, they want to be just like you.  Imagine a little boy from Bradley Middle-of-Nowhere named Robert who has never met me in his life wanting to be just like me.  Or the 3-year-old from Santa Maria donating her life savings of 50 cents because her mother died of AIDS.

Oh yes, there are reasons why we ride.

The community that forms each year for the ALC is an incredible one.  It is a community of brave, strong individuals who come together to fight for something they believe in and to help one another through the hardest parts and the most joyful parts of this most extreme of weeks.  Never have I felt so many opposite emotions so strongly so quickly.  Sometimes I was completely elated by the views and the motion and the wind and just the sheer beauty of our world; sometimes I was furious with myself and despairing that I couldn’t do it stronger or faster or better.  It took me all day most days to complete the route, from 7:00 in the morning until 7:00 at night…I was usually just ahead of the sweep team, going as fast as I could to avoid being swept to the next stop…and I spent so much time on the road worrying that even if I gave all I had it wouldn’t be enough and they would still sweep me.  But they never did, I always made it in on time, I took care of my bad knee and stayed hydrated enough to ride (although a couple of days it was close), I kept myself determined enough and strong enough in my will to ride up all the hills instead of giving up and walking some of them, and in the end I rode every mile.  All 585.

This from a girl who, five months ago, did not even know how to ride a bike.

California is a stunningly beautiful state.  Allan, the guy I rode most of the ride with, never stopped commenting on how beautiful it was, and how varied…everything from beaches to deserts to "enchanted" forests to mountains (and oh yes, do we have mountains…).  Allan’s from Maryland, and apparently it’s very different there.  It was really nice to ride with him — he just graduated and I’d never really talked to him before, but he’s great and we got along really well.  I met lots of amazing people on the ride…Jeff, my lucky breakfast roadie…Duane, the Mojo man…Josh, who was definitely hitting on me even though he turned out to have a girlfriend…Albee, who read the most heartbreaking poem at the talent show, and rode the whole ride wearing a bridal veil…Matt, who joined our team because he was all alone, and is an honourary Syracucycle 🙂

But the most stunningly beautiful thing in California this week was the positive pedalers.  180 HIV+ riders who identified themselves with shirts, jerseys, and flags on their bikes…never have I been so proud and so in awe of a group of people.  Every time I met a posped, I wanted to give them something, something to show my…I don’t know, my appreciation or support or what.  Just to acknowledge them.  To let them know that they are why we ride.  For next year, I’m going to make them all rosette pins like I did for the Wax and Feathers group.  That’s a big job, so I’m starting very soon.

And yes, I will be doing the ride next year.  Unless something comes up and I can’t…I just can’t imagine myself letting the chance to do this again pass me by.  Lori Jean, our announcements woman, told us the night before the closing ceremonies that we had raised $8 million this year, making AIDS/LifeCylce 5 the biggest AIDS fundraiser in the world.  This year, the ride fell over the 25th anniversary of the first CDC report on AIDS, and the catch-phrase for the ride was "Not Another 25 Years."  And I really do believe we will do it.  I believe that, 25 years from now, AIDS will only exist in the history books, and of course in the living memory of those who have suffered because of it.

Day 1 was 77 miles, across forested area and beaches.  Day 2 was 105 miles, relatively flat but oh-so-long and with brutal cross-winds.  Day 3 was 79 miles, across the Central Plain (ie the desert), like riding into an oven.  Day 4 was 95 miles, still more desert.  Day 5 was 45 miles, a day of rest, Red Dress Day, too many hills but at least not too hot.  Everyone wore red, so that when we went up the winding mountain roads, from above we would look like the AIDS ribbon.  And from the ground, we just looked like fun.  I saw some of the most amazing red dresses this week, mostly on men.  Day 6 was 85 miles, rolling hills heading back to the coast.  And Day 7 carried us into LA over 60 miles along the coast, bringing us in for the Cl

osing Ceremony in Westwood at 4:00.  We raised money and we raised awareness, we had the media’s attention and the children’s attention, we had locals making us signs and bringing us food at the tops of hills.  At the end of the ceremony on Day 7, they played a video of clips from the road, and the music in the background was a man singing the lyric "What have you done today to make you feel proud?"

And I do feel proud.  I do.

–Stephanie