Tiburon Loop

Tiburon Loop:

I had to be back to San Francisco by 2pm. That colored the rest of the ride, but that's not to say that it was a bad or rough time. In fact it was completely wonderful, except I had to rush at the end.

The Aids Life Cycle Foundation and its staff organize all sorts of events ranging from training rides to fund raising workshops to help us participants. Today, I decided to accompany my fellow ALC6 riders on a "CAT" training ride. I enjoyed the "CAT" naming of these series of training rides; my life had been full of "CAT" named things for those three euphoric years I spent at UVM.

The Tiburon loop: I've not done, but it is easily one of the most famous in Marin (the county north of San Francisco across the Golden Gate bridge). The entire trip from the mustering point in the Marina (in SF) and back was 45 miles. This would be my longest ride.

The day was glorious. Sunny, 65 degrees, lightly windy: it seemed crafted for spending the morning outside. At the mustering point--The Sport's Basement in the Presidio--about 50 or 60 riders meet to participate in the ride. The throng consisted of mostly gay men, many in their late middle years. I supposed they were in the generation when HIV/AIDS made it's horrible debut to the world here, in San Francisco. No more than 5 blocks from where I live, the Castro District of this city became gripped in fear as cases of a mysterious and sinister illness--appearing to affect only gay men and IV drug users --cropped up in partners and friends and lovers. These men at the training ride in their middle years almost certainly lost a friend or partner to this disease. This notion washed over my previous perception of them being curious, flamboyant participants. Enlightened by this notion, I came to appreciated their collective investment in HIV/AIDS fundraising and their dedication to completing this immense challenge; dedication composed of fear, grief, hope and, I'm sure, fond memories.

We rode out, all 60 of us, across the 0.9 mile expanse of the GG bridge and down a substantial hill that empties into Sausalito. The main strip of this rich, quaint town is peppered with outdoor fine dining establishment; there is the promenade with a beautiful panoramic view of the Bay north of San Francisco and the city itself. As I pivot my head 180 degrees (well not quite that much) I see, in order: Angel Island, the Bay Bridge, Alcatraz, the City washed white by the morning sun, the hazy Golden Gate Bridge. It's almost painful that I am the only one who can see this through my eyes. It is one of those views, and one of those moments, you want to share with everyone you know.

Having shed off the beauty and illustriousness of downtown Sausalito, we bore right and entered the parking lot of many-fabled Mike's Bikes, our first rest stop. I don't talk to anyone. I seem to be one of the only straight guys on this training ride. I am sincere and keep to myself, but if someone should say something in my direction I smile and laugh. I downed a banana, bought a vitamin water and cliff bar, and took my leave of Mike's bikes.



Truthfully, I did not need a rest. It was all down hill since the bridge. Besides, I wanted speed, to hear the almost inaudible whir of my thin tires over pavement. I slid on to the bike path, which runs along the water and connects Sausalito with Mill Valley.

Enlivened by my surroundings, I felt compeled to snap a few pictures. Braking, losing momentum, slowing, I unclipped and took a few pictures of the view in front and behind. Mount Tamalpias rose in front of me: rolling woody hills stacked to construct a verdant eminence of 4,000ft. clouds casting stripes over its face.














Camino Alto (a road) has an infamous hill on the loop that was not all that difficult. I was expecting much worse based on the laments of experienced riders, who wailed and beat their breast at hearing the impediment's name uttered. In fact, I find the Sausalito hill much more challenging; it is certainly a steeper, if not longer, climb. Camino offered beautiful views of the East Bay and the San Rafael/Richmond Bridge (the North Bay's only bridge). Alas, I couldn't stop. I was on a tight schedule, having to be back in the city by 1:30 for needle exchange at 2. In addition, I was terrified of being lost out here. I had not paid attention to the route instructions, so I needed to shamefully and stealthfully follow someone who did heed the directions.

About 3/4 the way up this climb I heard a loud crash and a body tumbling into brush. I should probably mention that on the climb up there was a small shoulder and a small curbstone separating the weary biker--possessing shitty balance because of exhaustion--from the type of steep hill so thick with trees and verger that the bottom is illusive. I whirled my around just in time to see a hapless biker vault the curb and summersault over: bike and body, all. He was lucky enough to come to rest before hitting a tree. I imagined a him performing one more turn and coming into painfully adhesive contact with the large unyielding truck, siding cartoon-like down its length. I dumped my bike and ran down steep soft ground to his aid. He was fine, albeit a bit shaken. Another gentlemen helped me hoist the bike back to the road. Feeling heroic and righteous I hopped back in the saddle and continued the climb.

Somewhere on the downside I met up with a guy named Mark who I had a small discussion with back at a mustering point over pumping up my tires. He was riding a mountain bike with thick nobby tires and doing really well. Riding a mountain bike on a 40 mile road ride is about 30% harder than on a road bike because of the gearing, tires and weight of the bike. Road bikes are superior in all aspects of road riding accept for steep climbs. Anyhow, we paired off and started another climb, which was mercifully interspersed with curvy descents. Mark and I talked over the wind and whir of tires about where we are from, what it is like there this time of year and other light topics of introductory conversation. He assumed I was gay with the comment. "There was a gay skiing event up in Tahoe. Did you go to that?". We were on the topic of other hobbies we enjoyed and I mentioned snowboarding as one of mine. I simply replied "No, I didn't." with out explanation. It did not bother me that me assumed I was gay. Odds are, on this ride, any guy you talked to was gay.

Mark and I descended into Tiburon amongst beautiful hill-perched houses looking over the shimmering silver bay. The route doubled back on itself at the tip of a small peninsula on which Tiburon is situated and we were again met with more ritzy and glorious views of Marin Houses seemingly stuck in the forest-covered hills. We dropped down into Tiburon proper near a ferry terminal. As with Sausalito, there was a promenade here too. We rode along a flat Main street and turned into Shark's Deli (local and non-touristed spot). I sat and chatted with Mark while enjoying a quick lunch.

Again, the time pressure I was under forced me to depart early. It was 11:45am and I had another 1.5 hours' in front of me. Two young ladies were leaving, so I tagged along with them.

The rest of the ride was basically getting back home. I did have another wonderful conversation with one of the young ladies(whose name I shamefully forgot) I followed. She, like Mark, was from the Bay Area; she had done the AIDS Life Cycle four times.

"So, let me get this straight. You've done all this training and raised at least $2,500 every year for four years?"

"Well, one year I was a volunteer and didn't ride. Other years I raised more than $2,500. It is slightly different every years, but the rewards are the same. Actually, it gets more rewarding every year." She corrected, then mused over the whir of our tires.

I broke off with her after about 5 miles and continued home at a quicker pace. It was getting late and I had to be at Needle Exchange.

As of March 1st, I'll be formally asking for support via e-mail, mail, phone and soforth. Thank you if you've already gave.