AIDSLifeCycle 2007
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