On a trek from San Francisco to Los Angeles, 500 cyclists challenge themselves to seven days and over 533 miles of pouring rain, desert heat, and relentless hills to raise funds for the battle against AIDS.

Jeff Miller, Rider #423, vanished as quickly as he appeared. After a surge of inspiration and some good old-fashioned sweat, I managed to catch this tiny speed demon, his welcome grin as wide as the fields we were passing. "Why are you on this ride," I ask. His grin was suddenly snatched up by the wind and left on the roadside, as his head fell and tears began to spill from his eyes. I dropped back, but he waved me forward and after several attempts he finally managed, "I'm riding for Oscar...he died last November."

In the early spring of a wet and foggy San Francisco Sunday, a mobile city of five hundred cyclists and over one hundred crew members-from medical personnel to bicycle mechanics-left the pier at Fort Mason with tents and provisions on California AIDS Ride 1994. This seven day event would band together athletes and non-athletes from all walks of life; cover more than 533 miles of pouring rain, desert heat, and relentless hills; raise 1.5 million dollars to benefit the Jeffrey Goldman Special Care Clinic in the Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center of Los Angeles; and change the lives of its participants forever.

As early as September of last year, two hundred riders, gay and straight, people with AIDS and HIV-positive, had registered for this first time event. Most of them were not experienced cyclists. Jeff Masino, one of the three rider representatives, expressed the staff's concern early on, "We were worried about people who wrote on their registration forms that the longest ride they had ever taken was less than five miles...some said they didn't even own a bicycle."

What were these people thinking? How would they make it through seven days and five hundred miles of treacherous terrain?

In many cases people's lives changed overnight. If you registered on a Friday afternoon, by 10:00 P.M. you were probably in bed and by Saturday morning you somehow found yourself climbing that nasty little hill on what became known as the "Griffith Park Spin": an eight mile loop including one unfriendly quarter mile straight up, and a downhill swing. It intentionally took you past your car, in case you weren't up for a second time around. That was September.

If you followed the training committee's program diligently -or even not so diligently- by December those eight mile rides turned into forty and fifty miles. By April you were covering more than eighty miles in a day, one hundred seventy miles in a week, and you hadn't had a Saturday or a Sunday to yourself in over eight months. What you did have, however, was a great figure and a host of new friends. And thank God for these new friends because your old ones were getting tired of hearing about Kanan Dume's four mile incline and your latest set of Allen wrenches.

If the training part of the commitment wasn't enough, there was always the fundraising to tackle. Each rider was required to raise a minimum of two thousand dollars. For many, the two thousand dollars often seemed more insurmountable than the looming 533 miles. For the most part, sponsors were so impressed with the undertaking that many riders exceeded their minimums and came in with dollar amounts as high as five to ten thousand. The numbers were staggering. In the end, more than eight hundred people had raised over 1.5 million dollars to go directly to AIDS care, research, and education.

"It was a totally present experience in which the time of day and the day of the week had no meaning. We didn't talk about the outside world. We were people who had had task to do. We had to set up tents. We had to take them down. We had to eat. We had to shower. We had to repair our bikes and make sure that flats were fixed. We had a number of tasks to do that completely filled our day in a real way." John Keitel, Rider #94

From day Zero at Fort Mason, where riders checked in and reassembled their bikes, to leaving camp at San Buenaventura on day seven, every moment was filled with small and large tasks that when added together would take riders and crew members from a point of origination to the next day's destination. Each morning riders rose as early as 4.30 A.M. and in most cases, headed out in under an hour. Support and gear vehicles, known as SAG trucks, left even sooner, stocked with water, snacks, medical supplies, doctors, nurses, and even massage therapists. They awaited the weary, injured or even those who just needed a little SAG or -as some put it- a "stop and gossip" break from the lonely hours on the road. By mid morning the catering trucks were long gone and the campsite but a memory, like so many other places and scenes along the ride.

Day one was "do or die", but from the very first mile in San Francisco a quiet magic began to descend upon the group. Urban attitudes of pushing and groping for space and the "me" way of life seemed to lift away and was replaced by a barrage of greetings: "Hello, how are you?" "Pardon me," "On your left," "You go girls!" and "Are you all right?" as riders passed one another along the route. Nervous anticipation and fears aside, the banded group of like-minded individuals, on a mission personal to each, had begun its trek across the state. Each rider and each crew member would, from this moment forward, lend a hand to help one another to support the effort.

With shouts of joy, laughter and the occasional off key song, the first few miles slipped away. This overcast morning had the promise of an adventure-of-a-lifteime written all over it. All too soon however, a bit of clarity and foresight descended upon the riders. At about mile 27, of what would be by day's end 93 miles, appeared Crystal Springs Road, a dandy little ten percent incline in the direction of Half Moon Bay.

While breathtaking from a car perhaps, hills like Crystal Springs took on an entirely different meaning by the time lunch rolled around. The Riders were freezing and wet, knee problems reared their ugly heads, ibuprofen was on the loose and flats became a regular occurrence -these were some sort of reminder that though the goal was admirable, the task would not come easy. Yet somehow, the smiles grew wider, the concern for one another became greater, and the spirit seemed to grow stronger. And this spirit would continue to mount with each mile, with each injury sustained, and with each new day.

"Rider!" shouted the look out volunteers, signaling the approach of each and every cyclist as they arrived, like tired and worn out warriors at the end of another day's battle. Seasoned riders, whose agile bodies carried them to the campsites hours earlier, dropped whatever they were doing to join in the applause for the heroes who had ridden eight, ten, and sometimes twelve determined hours to get to the next campsite. For some, who had always been chosen last on the baseball team, a moment like this would help them find the energy to put up a tent, carry a duffel bag, take a desperately needed shower, and face the knowledge that the whole process would repeat itself all over again tomorrow.

Friendships made on the road solidified themselves in the evening with the knowledge that the battle to complete the ride, to conquer AIDS, would no longer be fought alone. The old impatience left behind on day zero had by mid week been replaced by a pervasive feeling that every moment could be embraced with love and lived to its fullest. Long lines at dinner time became places to meet new people, share a near death experience with an eighteen wheeler, rather than a place to complain about being in a hurry to eat. People began to recognize this new feeling and talk about it out loud without embarrassment. As they began to marvel at what had been unexpectedly gifted to each rider, staff and crew members, sleep descended upon each tent.

And this spirit carried on into the towns and cities along the route. In Paso Robles people came with paper cups and bottled water. Migrant workers reached into their empty pockets, collecting two dollars and forty-seven cents in support of the ride. Farm children, awestruck at the sight of the endless train of cyclists, were heard screaming, "Where are you going?" With a child's innate recognition of so much unconditional love pouring into his midst, one boy couldn't help shouting, "Please take me with you!" By day four every rider within earshot understood why.

"These are small obstacles...when I saw what my friend Terry and my neighbor went through just to go to the bathroom. To move ten feet was such a tremendous thing for them. They would refuse the bed pan until they had to use it. They were determined to get to the damned bathroom...to just get there." Carl Pace, Rider #757

On one 93 mile day, from Pismo Beach to El Capitan, the wind and rain swept in from all directions. The new found camaraderie was at many different moments truly being put to the test. It was cold and riders were wet to the core. On the grounds of the Zaca Mesa Winery, cyclists huddled together for warmth. Some even tried to take refuge inside the winery until they realized that refrigeration is essential to the wine making process.

For so many riders, the wind and rain seemed minor compared to the struggle that someone living with HIV faces every day -a struggle that takes no breaks and offers no SAG vehicles. Riders kept going, riders with injuries and PWAs. This is what the ride was all about. This is what people saw as they drove past in the protection of their cars on that 93 mile day -the ride as a metaphor for the struggle faced by people living with AIDS.

Back in the spring of 1993, Dan Pallotta and Joel Saphranek, Director of Development at the Gay and Lesbian Community Services Center of Los Angeles, came to Lorri L. Jean, Executive Director of the GLCSCLAm with a proposal for what would become "California AIDS Ride 1994". Although the proposal was, as Jean said, "inspirational," there was skepticism about it becoming a reality. After all, it's one thing to ask people to write a check or to attend a dinner, but here, as Pallotta clarified, "People had to give up months and months of their lives. They had to train. They had to fund-raise. It was a commitment, so to speak, that was beyond the call of duty."

"From the instant the outreach started in the community, it surpassed all expectations and ultimately we had close to eight hundred riders registered. Who is his right mind would've thought that this many people would commit to ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles?"Lorri L. Jean, Executive Director, GLCSCLA

Having often been described as visionary, it is no surprise that the board at the GLCSCLA gave its consent and backed it with an initial $50,000.

By November, Tanqueray became the corporate sponsor of the ride with a donation of $120,000 to start. The response within the community was enormous. People were registering day after day. By January, over seven hundred people had signed up to ride.

But Why? Why did people from all over the world, old, young, gay and straight want to ride?

"My son is HIV-positive. He told me he was going to do the ride. I was scared, but I wanted to be there for him...no matter what. When I asked Josh if I could do it with him, I thought he'd be embarrassed to have his mothers along, but he said, "Come." Sydell Connor, Rider #55

Living with AIDS is a day to day process. You have good days, you have bad days. Luckily I've had a lot of good days, but I don't know, if I said, 'I'll do the ride next year,' if there'll even be a next year...I've always wanted to accomplish something really big in my life."Brian Leonard, Rider #3

People came with partners, friends, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. Some rode for the challenge. Some rode to support those living with AIDS. Some rode for the cause and most rode for all of these reasons. The list was endless. All you had to do was catch a glimpse of a determined cyclist on an uphill incline at mile 80 to understand what Sarah Jay meant when she said, "I did this ride because we have to."

Red, blue, green, purple, orange. Five hundred worn out cyclists, grouped together by the colors of their t-shirts, formed the colors of the rainbow flag as they traveled though Beverly Hills on their way to the closing ceremonies at West Hollywood Park. If you were there in the middle of the riders, you would have heard a lot of joking around, some sadness about the ride's end, and a little nervous laughter. For the most part, however, you would have heard nothing about what had just been accomplished over the past seven days, nothing other than an occasional argument over exactly how many miles had been covered: was it 529? 565?

But, as the riders entered West Hollywood and made the right from Santa Monica Boulevard onto San Vicente, row by row the joking stopped, mouths dropped open and tears began to spill from their eyes. The applause of over two thousand cheering spectators welcomed them home.

"I sat through the usual ration of predictable speeches feeling nothing...until I saw the faces of the riders as they came around the corner...For the first time in my life I felt so proud of my brothers and sisters...of myself."Lily LeeBraithwaite, Spectator

Not one of the riders could have imagined the impact they had made upon so many people, not, at the same time, could they be sure if their efforts would reach those who were not able to be with them at this moment -those who were either too sick or no longer living. But, for this moment here it was...the applause and the cheering...and it did not stop...not even after the last rider had rolled into the park. "People will not forget this ride and they won't leave people (with AIDS) to be by themselves. We'll become selfish again. I'll become selfish again, but hopefully I'll be a little less selfish the next time around. Jeff Miller, Rider #423 In an age when the struggle to find a cure for this insidious disease often seems futile; when so many efforts to raise money for research and care are approached with an air of sorrow and despair; when too many of our brothers and sisters are afraid to say out loud, "I'm HIV-positive," "I have AIDS," or simply, "I am gay;" this event comes to us as the first successful endeavor of its kind to clamor, "There is hope!" When gays and heterosexuals rally around a cause that has so inspired them to put themselves to the test, to push themselves when tired and cold, to glimpse in some small way the battle fought by people living with HIV and AIDS, we are all reminded that we do not have to sit by and witness this destruction as victims filled with anger and fear, but can fight back with positive action and embrace courage and love...as did the 500 warriors of the first California AIDS Ride.

About the Ride | Beneficiary | Safe $pending | My Support Team
Articles from Rides | Photos from Rides | Route Map | Email Chip
Home