In its 8th year, the AIDS/Lifecycle 2009 ride took place May 31 through June 6. About 2150 bicyclists rode 545 miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles raising 10.5 million dollars to fight AIDS. My friend, Holly, took part in the ride for the first time, and spoke to me about her experience.
Holly told me she rode because she was looking for a bike-riding challenge and because she was concerned about the rising HIV infection rate in minority communities. She was pleased that so many people chose to support her when they learned she was riding and that, because of her own training, she was well prepared for the longest ride she’d ever undertaken. She was most impressed by the sense of community she felt throughout her participation.
I am always fascinated to learn how people organize themselves to do things and Holly told me some interesting details about AIDS/Lifecycle.
My biggest surprise was that riders weren’t allowed to wear headsets or earplugs during the ride. Music, audio books and talking on the cell were out. Safety was the imperative, Holly said. Riders were required to pay attention to what’s around them. Traveling single file most of the time in a variety of road conditions, cyclists shouted out warnings and pointed to dangers.
“Car back!” warned that a car’s coming up from behind. “Hole!” or “Glass!” warnings traveled down the file from ahead. The alerts wandered like instinctive shivers up and down the spine. When a rider wanted to pass another rider, she shouted, “On your left” to pass. Riders motivated and entertained each other by singing songs. Holly remembered singing “Foolish Heart” and “Oh, Happy Day”.
Riders who ignored the safety imperative might have their “bike pulled” by monitors riding with the pack. That meant a cyclist couldn’t ride for a leg of the ride, the rest of the ride or, in extreme cases, ever again. Think of a red card in soccer or the penalty box in hockey. For example, a rider passing without shouting out and going too fast and too close might startle even an experienced rider, breaking his concentration and leading to a tumble. If a bike were to be pulled it would happen at the next campsite at the end of the leg. Holly recalled noticing about six bikes in the “hold rack” once.
At rest stops, AIDS/Lifecycle looked after the needs of the rolling community. The ride had seven legs, one each day. Rest stops were scheduled along a leg about every twenty miles more or less, depending on the difficulty of the terrain. There, riders received “excellent” medical attention for sore knees and other ailments, nourishment and used portable potties that were trucked along. If a rider couldn’t finish the leg for any reason, she was picked up roadside by “sweeper vans and cars” to take her to the rest stop to board a charter bus for the next campsite. Holly said the care and support for the cyclists was extraordinary and well appreciated.
At the end of the day, riders pulled into the campsite set up by “roadies” in advance. They parked their bikes in racks with memorable names like “The Supremes” or “The B-52s”. Waiting for them was one bag containing their personal gear and the tent they had to set up. Evenings were spent eating, resting and listening to inspirational speeches from community leaders. The next day comes early, when the course opens at 0630.
Holly told me that among her favorite memories were racing downhill with panoramic valley views laid out before her; calling out to hardworking farm workers and the vigil on Ventura Beach where more than two thousand candles clustered under the night sky to remember those who had died from AIDS.
I asked her if she would do it again. “Absolutely,” she said and turned the question back on me. “Would you consider being a rider or a roadie?” Lifecycle needed about one roadie for every five cyclists. Some roadies traveled with the pack, but most participated as the ride passed their town or city. In San Francisco, roadies helped to launch the ride from the Cow Palace. I told her I’d think about it.
Go to http://www.aidslifecycle.org/ to find out about getting involved.
Holly told me she rode because she was looking for a bike-riding challenge and because she was concerned about the rising HIV infection rate in minority communities. She was pleased that so many people chose to support her when they learned she was riding and that, because of her own training, she was well prepared for the longest ride she’d ever undertaken. She was most impressed by the sense of community she felt throughout her participation.
I am always fascinated to learn how people organize themselves to do things and Holly told me some interesting details about AIDS/Lifecycle.
My biggest surprise was that riders weren’t allowed to wear headsets or earplugs during the ride. Music, audio books and talking on the cell were out. Safety was the imperative, Holly said. Riders were required to pay attention to what’s around them. Traveling single file most of the time in a variety of road conditions, cyclists shouted out warnings and pointed to dangers.
“Car back!” warned that a car’s coming up from behind. “Hole!” or “Glass!” warnings traveled down the file from ahead. The alerts wandered like instinctive shivers up and down the spine. When a rider wanted to pass another rider, she shouted, “On your left” to pass. Riders motivated and entertained each other by singing songs. Holly remembered singing “Foolish Heart” and “Oh, Happy Day”.
Riders who ignored the safety imperative might have their “bike pulled” by monitors riding with the pack. That meant a cyclist couldn’t ride for a leg of the ride, the rest of the ride or, in extreme cases, ever again. Think of a red card in soccer or the penalty box in hockey. For example, a rider passing without shouting out and going too fast and too close might startle even an experienced rider, breaking his concentration and leading to a tumble. If a bike were to be pulled it would happen at the next campsite at the end of the leg. Holly recalled noticing about six bikes in the “hold rack” once.
At rest stops, AIDS/Lifecycle looked after the needs of the rolling community. The ride had seven legs, one each day. Rest stops were scheduled along a leg about every twenty miles more or less, depending on the difficulty of the terrain. There, riders received “excellent” medical attention for sore knees and other ailments, nourishment and used portable potties that were trucked along. If a rider couldn’t finish the leg for any reason, she was picked up roadside by “sweeper vans and cars” to take her to the rest stop to board a charter bus for the next campsite. Holly said the care and support for the cyclists was extraordinary and well appreciated.
At the end of the day, riders pulled into the campsite set up by “roadies” in advance. They parked their bikes in racks with memorable names like “The Supremes” or “The B-52s”. Waiting for them was one bag containing their personal gear and the tent they had to set up. Evenings were spent eating, resting and listening to inspirational speeches from community leaders. The next day comes early, when the course opens at 0630.
Holly told me that among her favorite memories were racing downhill with panoramic valley views laid out before her; calling out to hardworking farm workers and the vigil on Ventura Beach where more than two thousand candles clustered under the night sky to remember those who had died from AIDS.
I asked her if she would do it again. “Absolutely,” she said and turned the question back on me. “Would you consider being a rider or a roadie?” Lifecycle needed about one roadie for every five cyclists. Some roadies traveled with the pack, but most participated as the ride passed their town or city. In San Francisco, roadies helped to launch the ride from the Cow Palace. I told her I’d think about it.
Go to http://www.aidslifecycle.org/ to find out about getting involved.
