Yo Yo Yobst !

Please help me out by clicking on the amount you want to donate below.  it will lead you through a paypal donation. You need to use your paypal account i can’t accept credit cards.  For a chance at the cash, you can also send me a check or pay me when you see me.  for a tax deductible donation, you can use your credit card to donate directly to the National MS Society (no chance at the raffle though)

Donate to my 2008 Waves to Wine Bike Ride Participation

Here is the 25$ link for 3 tickets.

Thank you very much!  GOod luck with the raffle.  i have lots raffle tickets ready to go !

we have a few open reqs and 2 are significant to my work.

the first one Product Marketing Manager is what i’ve done the last 1.5 years.  i love the job and the company (and i’m moving to another role).  its an amazing opportunity to contribute significantly, learn a lot, and develop career you might actually enjoy.

http://www.mercado.com/6_4_careers.shtml#prod_mark_man

the second role will work with my new team as a solution architect for an e-Commerce Mash Up Solution.  this is the very beginning of this project and this role is critical to the strategy and success of the company.

http://sfbay.craigslist.org/eby/sof/381951193.html

feel free to forward these on….we are looking to hire immediately.

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Team WINO rides again! Toph - thanks for keeping us all in order

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The following letter will be sent to my donors with a few treats. if your a donor- stop reading! wait for the hard copy!

Dear Donor,

Thank you so much for the money you donated to the 2007 AidsLifeCycle in support of my 545 mile ride from SF to LA! The magic you enabled is beyond words. You contributed to the 11 million dollars raised by 2,333 riders and 500 roadies (volunteer support staff) in support of the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center. It was the most successful AidsLifeCycle to date and an amazing experience!! You got some extra miles for your money because I had to do the ‘quad buster’ hill twice when I left my sunglasses at the bottom and backtrack 10 miles to lunch one day when I missed a turn. All in all I logged over 36 hours in the saddle. That explains the saddle sores.

For me, the AidsLifeCycle was my biggest physical challenge, the culmination of endless training hours, and the unique opportunity to be around people who share the passion of cycling and helping others.

On Saturday, June 2, Orientation day at the Cow Palace in SF began with a longer than necessary bike journey to the wrongly named Palace with many confusing turns. The journey was followed by an introduction to a week of waiting in lines, the first opportunity to meet my fellow riders, and a bit of separation anxiety leaving my bike in the corral.

What an amazing crew of participants! Riders represented 43 states and 12 countries. We spanned every walk of life, from corporate CEOs, to actors, to coffee barristers, to professional bike racers, to overweight homebodies. We were gay, straight, old, young, fat, and fit. We were hipsters, yuppies, divas, boisterous, and shy. We had high end racing bikes, heavy mountain bikes, single speed messenger bikes, recumbents, and beach cruisers rebuilt from discarded parts. But we all came together to form a mobile community full of love, patience, and humility. We joined the AIDSLifeCycle for a variety of reasons – from a challenge to honoring a dead father to a week away from work. But we united as one; each of us raised at least $2,500 for HIV, and we would all ride 545 miles from SF to LA. We would share tears, laughs, hugs, butt butt’r, porta pottie lines, more Gatorade than any human should drink (resulting in blistery mouths and tongues), and a rare sense of camaraderie and responsibility. We literally affected change with every pedal stroke.

The ride began on June 3, day one, as we rolled out of freezing and foggy SF at 6 AM. I was suddenly immersed in bike culture of yelling “stopping, slowing, rolling, car back, glass”. I was in a foreign country of extremely polite and happy bikers who all wore red and white helmet covers.

Supporters lined the streets. Partners, parents and friends cheered, clapped, and cried. The emotion was overwhelming. I had a few tears behind my glasses – signs of my anxiety, excitement and pride. I was finally doing ‘the ride’. I felt like I was in the beginning of a Hollywood movie- I was setting off the break a world record. I envisioned day 4 would be quite different. They would be no supporters, no drums, no smiling riders; just tired folks riding with sore butts and no fanfare. The movie in my mind sped through the grueling days and jumped to the triumphant ending. What I found the next 6 days seems too unrealistic for even Hollywood. The support never waned and we relished every minute of the ride.

The support from random folks with no association with the AidsLifeCycle was astonishing. The cheering spectators littered even the most remote spots of the route. They dressed up, tailgated, played music, and offered us homemade cookies, strawberries, and words of encouragement. Some folks, like the M&M guy, followed the ride offering riders M&Ms every day. “Mom and Dad” sat in their hatchback with treats and signs reminding us to ‘drink and pee’. Surrogate children for the week, we all yelled “Thanks Mom and Dad!” as we passed them. Any time we were disheartened, there was another supporter smiling, thanking us for riding, and boosting our carbs. On the first day, in the middle of a 5 mile traffic-y climb on route 92 some angel on the side of the road held out a homemade chocolate–peanut butter bar. I grabbed it like a marathon runner grabs water and for the first time I understood then the importance of this ride to so many people. I understood why I had trained and raised money. I began to understand the life changing depth of ‘the ride’.

In addition to supporters on the street, the ride was supported by over 500 roadies. The volunteer roadies took a week out of their lives to clear the route of road kill at 4 am, stand in the sun telling us where to turn, pick up stragglers in the sag wagons, serve food and clean up camp. My job, riding, was a cake walk.

We rode through some of the most beautiful landscape in the world – fields of strawberries and artichokes, forests of redwood and eucalyptus, desserts, coasts of palm trees and the shimmering Pacific Ocean. We climbed hills like the ‘the evil twins’, raced down them triumphantly, and fought with cars (and sometimes lost).

We did it all with selfless support for complete strangers- the HIV infected patient we would never meet, the kids we hoped to protect, and riders who shared our journey. We stopped at the top of hills to cheer on riders behind us. We rode back down to do it again. We literally pushed people up the hills with hands on their backs and clapped for walkers with tears streaming down their pained faces. We cried with them and hugged them. Our quads burned and our knees throbbed. One inspiring rider get people over the humps of earth by playing “eye of the tiger” from her cell phone into a megaphone she carried. We were a caring family of 2,666.

We talked to everyone and swarmed ‘riders down’ to help change their tires or share a Cliff bar. We groaned collectively for the ambulances that passed with fellow riders with broken bones, head traumas, and road rash.

The volunteer roadies created oasises of entertainment and refreshment scattered every 20 miles throughout the route. More than just places to refuel, the themed entertainment stations refreshed our minds and hearts. Each of the four rest stop crews strived to make their rest stop THE rest stop of the day – the one to talk about at dinner. They had full costumes, props, decorations and photo backdrops. I sang with the Dreamgirls in drag under a willow tree with disco balls hanging from it.

I sat on Santa’s lap,

danced with sailors,

ran into the flying monkeys from OZ

and waited endlessly in lines at the DMW stop . Even if I wasn’t tired or thirsty, I stopped for fun.

There were around 200 HIV positive riders participating in the ride. They proudly flew orange flags from their bikes and sported ‘positive peddlers’ jerseys.

In SF, I know only one person infected with HIV and I have never been amongst a group of people so clearly identified as HIV positive. It’s a powerful experience and effective in raising awareness and beginning to erode the stigma associated with the disease. Every inquiry from farm workers, other bikers, passing motorists, and townies was an opportunity to transform HIV into the face of a bicyclist. I feared hate scenes like the painted bus in Priscilla Queen of the Dessert, but this ride evoked only positive responses – even in small towns filled with cowboy hats. I know the responses would be very different in many parts of the world.

In Africa, seemingly everyone is affected by HIV. It does take a village to raise a child when parents die at incredibly fast rates. Every local I met in Africa has watched many loved ones wither into a breathless heap of skin and bones, yet they argued that HIV is a fictitious disease propagated by the whites to keep the black population down. The lack of education, disbelief, and tribal practices all perpetuate infection and guarantee this disease will not end without western intervention. This ride helped me understand that a cure will only come from the western world and my efforts here will trickle down into the international community that captured my heart long ago.

We held a silent candlelight vigil on the beaches of Ventura radiating silent hope and peace. I thought of all the orphans I met in Africa. I heard the Ugandan children singing “We are happy for our visitor”. I saw their toothy smiles and bald heads, their old American t-shirts full of holes and African red earth. They are infected with HIV or destined to become so. They have no parents and no family. Entire generations pass away before their children reach adulthood. How can a nation of children hope for a better future? I hoped for them.

Before the vigil, an older roadie serving food tried to express through tears how much it meant to her to be around people with whom she could express her grief and love for her dead son. In her small town in Missouri, she could not talk about his lifestyle, his disease, or his death. 15 years later she has 3,000 people with whom to grieve. I was honored to celebrate the life of her son and help her heal.

On day 5, a short 44 mile day from Santa Maria to Lompoc, we ‘dressed in red’ or more accurately, wore red dresses. The string of riders in red dresses brought the red ribbon of AIDS to life. One rider, a doctor from SF wore shiny red lace up platform stiletto boots to go with his red PVC dress. The bike shop installed clips on his stiletto boots and marked his bike with setting for his seat and handlebars.

Other costumes ranged from ruffled panties to red cone Madonna boobs to flowing glittery headdresses. Besides red dress day, people had costume helmets and festive bikes every day. I was totally unprepared. People had painted their bikes, put license tags with their names and home state and transformed their helmets into curlers, wigs, bonnets, headdresses, and everyone’s favorite - a scene with 3 Barbie dolls waiting in line for a miniature porta pottie. If you ever do the AIDSLifeCycle ride, make sure you dress up your helmet and put your name on your bike so your new friends remember it.

Life on the road was challenging, grueling, and exhilarating. We woke up sore and stiff before the sun, donning moist smelly spandex and trying not to touch the freezing wet sides of our tents. We ate breakfast and starting pedaling. By rest stop one it was warm enough to stuff all our warm gear into our shirt pockets. (I LOVE bike shirts and their back pockets). We usually put in 20 miles before 8 am. Every night I stretched my aching muscles, took a hot shower in a truck (yes a truck), ate, listened to the days announcements, reports from the road, safety and health report cards, and fell to my thermarest already asleep. This is probably the only time in my life it was good to be a girl in the shower line; the men outnumbered the women at least 3 to 1.

The logistics and facilities were top notch. They included sports medicine, massage, and chiropractor (although the lines were too long to actually use these most of the time). Every campsite was gridded out so we knew exactly where to set up our tent. The gear trucks opened at 5 am to haul our gear and start our day with a smile.

On the road, we quickly fell into single file lines with passing on the left. It felt like driving on the German autobahn. Riders of similar speed and skills joined together and yelled conversation over miles of pavement. Bay area riders led the pack on the hills. Mountainous training in the bay area gave us accelerated abilities to pace the climbs and scream down at 45 MPH without losing control. I saw a number of accidents on the downhills and I saw a rider a few people in front of me hit by a car who turned through us all into a car park with no notice of 1000’s of bikers. My tent mate got hit by a car the day we got back to SF. Please watch out for bikers when you drive. We are everywhere!

The ride ended with closing ceremonies in LA on June 8. I looked around the crowd recognizing friends, both new and old. As an adult, I rarely get the opportunity to meet so many new people. It’s a great opportunity to open up and learn from others - their culture, their experiences and outlooks. I treasure lifetime friendships that begin with shared experiences from the road (backpacking and biking).

The intensity of the week, emotionally and physically, made it very difficult to come back to my normal life. Sitting in a chair for 10 hours as the sun crosses the sky is a challenge. An hour a day is not enough exercise for the biking machine that replaced my body. I crave extensive conversations about life, dreams, and experiences; the things that make us who we are. Luckily the life I returned to is stellar. I have a job I really enjoy, a city that takes my breath away daily, a network of deep friendships, a supportive family, a boyfriend who astonishes me with patience, and most importantly, my health. I do not have an orange HIV flag on my bike or any other scarlet letters or handicaps; I am healthy and able bodied.

Thank you donors, for enabling a life changing week of biking and contributed to finding a cure for aids. Your generosity is humbling. I look forward to riding with you all! If you don’t bike, you should start!

Sincere wishes for health, happiness, and tailwinds :)

Dana

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Long distance relationships are hard - especially bi-coastal. On paper it seems really good -  you can do your own thing and they can do theirs and when you see each other it’s always a party. That may have been true in years past but i need a bit more from my relationship now. I like a Wednesday night dinner with my partner and relaxing times when you don’t have to cram a few weeks into a few days.

I look forward to having Juri here full time. I reckon life will be much easier or at least saner then. I have grown very fond of Brooklyn and his international crew of friends.

SF wins though

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Hiking in israel is really nice. it reminds me of the playa …without the noise, lights, music, and extra curriculars. our company hiked through this canyon and enjoyed a wedding like dinner outside under the full room and a running river (which is quite rare in israel).

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My dad rocks. He coached the Salisbury State Seagulls from 1972 - 1979 and I have his belt to prove it Good luck today dad!

:)

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I just returned from my second trip to the Israel, and I liked it even more than the first time. I think I could live there.

Overall, Tel Aviv and all of Israel that I’ve seen is uber hip and trendy. People are thin, good looking and dress well. The mix of Jewish, Arab, and immigrants yields a lot of olive skin and dark thick hair. Bald is pretty popular as well. As it turns out, I love Israeli style – it’s the grown up raver style that I can never find in the US. Wide legged pants with low waists, multi functional utilitarian shirts that can be worn 4 ways, and lots of somewhat confusing but interesting details on shirts that show your belly. Even older women in Israel dress like this- that’s what they have. I love shopping in Israel. It’s a little slice of Europe with middle eastern flare (and prices that are much more palatable). The restaurants are all really nice and stylish too. Every restaurant in Tel Aviv and Herzliya seem to fall within the top 5% of cool places in New York or SF. Since the weather is temperate, they have huge windows and high ceilings with exposed pipes and ambient lighting. People of all ages fill the tables every night and day chatting over leisurely meals and espressos. Hip music with beats play in the backround mingling with laughter and smoke. That’s the only downside – smoke. Living in San Francisco for the past 10 years, I forgot what smoky rooms were like. Dinner is a long event in Israel and us Americans sit a little bewildered at the end of our mint tea wondering why the check never shows up. You have to ask for it as they don’t want to rush you.

Weekends in Isreal start on Thursday evening and the Sabbath starts Friday sundown which means all the stores shut down Friday evening through Saturday. That means you have to run all your errands Friday morning which seems aggressive, especially when Friday nights are dedicated to eating with family.

On Thursday night (aka America Friday), we hit Kuman, a dancing bar in Herzliya. The European-ess of Israel showed loud and clear in the cheesy bar. Just when you thought the music could get no cheesier, an electro version of “I Need a Hero” from Footloose came on. The music changed from Reggae to Techno to local favorites in an unpredictable and pattern-less order. No matter what song came on the crowd danced and cheered like it was their favorite. They never skipped a beat. Large groups of women danced together and all the men danced too. The bar was split equally between men and women. I can’t remember the last time I saw a roughly equal crowd of men and women out at a bar, let alone respectfully co-habituating without hitting on each other. The it was Thursday night, and everyone was clearly out to have a good time, there was no meat market aspect. People tend to marry young (by SF standards) and don’t wear wedding rings but ‘hitting’ on people is a much tamer sport. The buff barmen kept the drinks flowing and occasionally released paper towels from the ceiling. Yes, paper towels. Like Ibiza where bubbles or confetti fall from the ceiling, paper towels fall from the ceiling at Kuman. Everyone loved it and the barman cheerfully worked the clean up into their dancing and pouring drinks routine.

We had a great time. People wanted to talk to us (because we speak English) and Israeli conversation get pretty personal by American standards quite quickly. I get frustrated with the surface conversation here so I enjoy actually getting to know people (even if I’ll never see them again). They ask how old you are, if you’re Jewish, what you do for work, and on and on. At first it took me off guard then I understood; people were genuinely interested. What a concept.

Besides cool bars, there are thriving rave-like parties all over Tel Aviv on Friday night. I haven’t had the chance to go yet since I like to go sight seeing on Friday but next time I’ll make a point to go.

My sightseeing this trip was fabulous. I went with my co-worker Ruti

and her darling daughter Karyn and husband Arud. They took me to the Dead Sea, the Dessert, and Masada. The Dead Sea is gorgeous – the salty shores and bright blue waters look like an icy sea – with Jordan visible on the other side. We dipped our hands in the water and Karyn through salty rocks into the sea. I made the mistake of tasting the water (to see just how salty it was). I can still taste the bitterness.

The dessert was stunning with wadi’s or canyons all over. Ruti and I went for a hike through a Wadi with climbing ropes and metal ladders built in. The last crevasse revealed the vast horizon of the dessert and dead sea. Karyn and Arud appeared below cooking thick strong coffee on a portable stove. We drank coffee and cookies just before the rains came and jumped back in the car.

Masada was amazing (though wet). Masada is a huge rocky natural fort that protected the Jews through out the years. The intro film taught me there was a massive suicide when 100’s of people were stuck in the fort with inevitable loss to the approaching romans. Rather than fall to Romans, the soldiers drew names to kill the women and children and all the soldiers, bar 10. One name was drawn from the 10 to kill the 9 others and lastly kill himself. Another spectacular tragedy in Jewish history.

The rain brought floods and waterfalls to the dessert with brown rainwater and drudge water rushing to the Dead Sea – the lowest point in the world. Everyone stopped to see the phenomena, which Ruti and her family had never witnessed. Apparently I bring rain because this it the second time it flooded in Israel while I was there. I brought a bit of snow to London too.

Back in Herzliya, the little silicon valley outside of Tel Aviv, I worked far too many hours and missed the opportunity to enjoy my beachfront balcony which was filled with rain water and wind nearly the whole trip.

Next time there will be sun, I hope!

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Although its cold and rainy outside, I’m preparing to do the AIDS ride from SF to LA in June. If anyone is interested in joining the 575 mile week long ride - I would love some company! Chad Fay and I are riding but more people would make it even more fun and it is supposed to be really entertaining. It is apparently competitive to become part of the SAG entertainment so you’re guaranteed some laughs…and a sore arse. You’ll get in good shape training too!

If you don’t want to join in the ride you can still participate in helping find a cure for HIV by sponsoring the ride. I need to raise $2,500 which is no drop in the bucket. Please give if you can - it’s tax free! Corporate donations are welcome too. A link to ride details and sponsorship are below.

Thanks in advance! Let me know i your up for any training rides!

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Here’s my advertisement

I have never been very good at mediocrity or taking things easy. This bike trip is no different. About a year ago I decided I needed a new hobby. Like a small yappie dog — I need a lot of exercise or I get a bit stir crazy.I bought a road bike and I was hooked instantly. Early morning rides quickly replaced late night outings.I love to wake up early, cross the big red majestic golden gate bridge, feel the burn in my thighs and race down the hills with the other funny-looking-gear-laden-spandex-wearing bikers.I LOVE biking. I am really looking forward to the physical and mental challenge of riding 545 miles to LA in June. My Dad did a big charity ride (from Maine to Florida) around 10 years ago and my mum supported it on the SAG wagon. That was a big inspiration as well.I also used to volunteer a lot. In fact, my ‘job’ in university was volunteering, but somehow I have gotten caught up in work and my own life and lost sight of helping others less fortunate which is inexcusable and sad.I am looking at this ride as an opportunity to get me back into the discipline of helping others.

If you have some dollars or kind words to share, please contribute to the cause and help folks living with HIV and AIDS (including many of our friends and neighbors in the Bay Area).

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I just got back from the documentary film Bridge, about suicide jumpers on the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s interesting but painfully slow. The topics that make it interesting could have been presented in a much more effective and efficient manner. Although it sounds terrible to say at some points we wanted the jumper to jump just to get that part of documentary over with.

Most of the stories where missing the mindset of the jumper (except for the kid that miraculously survived by a seal keeping him afloat after his ribs and back bones had shattered and the bone pieces pierced his organs). You didn’t get a clear view into their head or psyche or understand the path that had led to their last leap into the icy cold death of the bay.

Most of the suicide jumpers had chemical imbalances, metal illness, bipolar, and were severely troubled teens . It gave the impression that suicide and severe depression only effects low-middle class people with mental illness which is certainly not the case. There was suicide note from one jumper saying he was voted most likely to succeed, that he used to be smart, and now he was 50 years old with no money, no partner, no career, no home, no hope. He brought a touch of range into the film.

In discussing Bridge afterwards (with 5 girlfriends…you’d think we could pick a better chick flick), we thought that the golden gate probably attracts more suicides with mental illness and teenagers way more than shooting yourself or taking pills. I can’t imagine many recently divorced housewifes or bankrupt family men would choose the drama and fanfare of jumping from the bridge. Their death would seem to be a more private affair.

My friends and I began talking about this film on Friday night and this weekend I cycled across the bridge 4 times and each time I thought about people jumping. The balls and determination and dead-end feeling they have must conquer must consume their every cell. The bridge to me is so majestic and beautiful. It represents so many positive things – a symbol of the west coast and the city that I have worked to make my home; the setting where I first laid eyes on San Francisco in 1996 on a cross country road trip after a stop in wine country and my first authentic burrito; the pavement to cycling paradise that I cross at least once a week; the intersection of nature and technology; the sunshine warming my skin, or the fog misting my helmet head; my favorite color red; the smile in a tourists face and the goosebumps on their arms. Through the lens of severe depression and a freedom only achieved by death, I see how the bridge can be a golden path to icy success, a quick road to the freedom of the setting sun and welcoming waves, an unconditional acceptance and welcoming, a path to making your family pay attention, and the vacant smile in a tourists face and the goosebumps on their arms when they look through you.

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