ALC 6 - Day 1- 89.9 miles part I
June 3rd -- Opening Ceremonies: The Cow Palace, Daly City CA
3:00am
Can't sleep. I keep dipping in and out of reality. It is not nervousness that keeps me awake, but anticipation and the roar of city buses just outside my window. One thing is for sure, I will be tired for the first day's eighty-nine-plus miles.
4:38am
"I was just here less than twelve hours ago", I thought to myself as the Cow Palace cut through the 5am mist.
Just the day before all riders were required to come to the Cow Palace, a large multi-purpose metal concert/monster truck rally venue located just southwest of San Francisco in Daly City. Yesterday, I had come by way of a BART train, in the company of my friend Nina, and my bike. The orientation was uneventful, really just a bunch of standing in lines and watching safety videos and squaring paperwork. But, I did get a tent mate assignment; more on that later.
So, there I was staring in wonder out of the taxi's window at all my arriving fellow riders, all in full cycling gear, towing the size baggage one would expect for a trans-continental l voyage by dogsled. Needless to say, it was a strange scene to behold at quarter to five in the morning: no sign of the sun, hundreds of spandex clad people--cycling Sherpas, by the look--reflective tape on their shoes and apparel flashing in the head light beams. The whole mustering for the ride.
The morning weather was typical for San Francisco: surprisingly chilly and foggy.
Nina and I had shared a cab, and as the cab sped off we joined the hypnotic mass of riders. People were cheering somewhere in the distance, but it sounded forced and unenthusiastic. Clearly people were not awake just yet.
Everything we needed for a week of camping and cycling was either with us in the luggage we carried or on our backs, save our bicycles and tents. I remember looking at the packing list thinking that its exhaustive length was surely due to a fastidious author suffering from OCD and a bad social life. Surely I would not need nail clippers, lip balm (what for? it's not winter), and a shower cap for my bike seat at night. What are they talking about? So, in short, I second guessed the experienced author and packed about 50% of what they suggested. The upside is that it fit neatly into my Hartmann sport duffel (this bag 12 years old as of this July).
I waddled up to my assigned gear truck with my bag and heaved it onto the ramp. The roadies working with the "M" gear truck would soon win my undying love and respect. Right now, in my early morning lathergy, I barely managed to uphold the social contract. They rapturously took my luggage and wished me a good ride. I eyed them suspiciously.
Just then, a whoop and cheer came from one of roadies in an adjacent truck and was answered enthusiastically by the riders in the area.
"Oh ho ho no, I don't think so. Not this early my friends.", Nina say darkly. I rolled my eyes in solidarity with her mood. We couldn't understand their energy yet, but we would soon.
6:00am
2,300 riders gather in a large room for the pre-ride stretch. Every training ride I had been on that was organized by AIDS Life Cycle started in this manner: with group stretching. Today was significantly different. Today I stretched not to train, but to apply my training. I stretched my legs and arms, my neck and back, in preparation for a week of riding. The thought was so exhilarating I almost lost my balance while I stretching my right quad. The atmosphere was beginning to get to me, to seep into my tired nervous mind. Speakers came to the stage to inspire us with stories, to report the total our fund raising efforts and to remind us why we were there. I was glad of this, as I needed a good pep talk. I was still in a state of shock. Was I really about to bike with 2,298 perfect strangers 545 miles through places I've never seen, through a state still very alien to me? Who would I be sharing a tent with one of those strangers everynight for 6 nights? The speakers soapy excitement washed all that gritty doubt away with the poignancy of their stories. This IS really happening.
7:30am
1,500 bikes all with riders wearing white and red helmet covers twitched and shifted with excitement. We were all packed into bike parking, you see. One reoccurring and very representative image would reemerge throughout the ride: the thousands of completely unique bikes and the completely unique people who occupied their saddles packed together. I saw this image now in all its dazzling variety as we all scuttled and shuffled in that way that people do when they are packed in tight, moving en mass.
This was the moment we've all been waiting for. I was with two friends Emilia and Nina, all three of us lined a breast and waiting for the go ahead. While we waited, route sheets were distributed. I glanced at it briefly. The elevation profile caught my attention. I thought I saw a long, somewhat steep climb to 2,500 ft. But, before I could examine it closely, I was elbowed in the ribs by Emilia. I looked up to see the riders on their bikes and rolling! The crowd began to thin toward me. I swung my leg over the cross bar and clipped in my left foot. Kicking with my right foot, I began to roll enough to balance, then, clipping in my left foot, I took my first petal stroke of the ride.
We wove our way through the Daly City's streets. The day was just beginning. The sun had on started to back-light the fog that hung, shrouding the tips of palms and pines, completely obscuring the distant western hills that separated us from the coast. The streets themselves were lined with spectators, some with cupped mouths shouting boisterous cheers, some with bells and horns, some with children who waved as if we were in a parade.
Actually, that is not a bad analogy for what we were doing out there. There we were riding in unison, riding with a purpose. We had raised our money, and if that was the only thing the AIDS Life Cycle was about, that would have been that(and it would not have its name, either). Our purpose now was to make the all who witness our passing aware that HIV/AIDS is still an issue, it is hovering somewhere under the average Americans radar. In the background some new caster will read a brief report of increasing HIV infections in Heterosexual black men in the US, or will spout a handful of lines about the ongoing horrors in South Africa, where 12.5%, or 1 in 8 are HIV positive. Maybe those spectators will turn to the TV or cock an ear to the radio and regard that information in a new light.
And, so into the clouds...
