A visual tour of my rides to the Beach

This entry will essentially be a visual tour of Golden Gate Park, which I ride through on my way to the beach. This is my favorite short ride, well worth the hour it takes to complete a roundtrip.
Above is the De Young Musuem, one of the first structures nestled within the green velt of the park. Below is the Conservatory of Flowers. This day people were sun bathing on the lawns flanking the Conservatory. Ah.
































These two pictures are of the interesting courtyard of the De Young. The nobby trees in the two pictures are a mystery to me. They're planted in various places throughout the city. They are deciduous, and so they don't have leaves now.



Buffalo paddock. That's right... Buffalo.




Almost there...


Beach! Ocean!

Ships spewing exhaust!

Turning back to the park...

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.

Thursday, Tahoe and Driving home

Thursday I did another ride to Ocean Beach. It has become a positive little addiction for me.

On Friday I got out of work at 12pm and took the BART (see photo) to the Ashby station in the East bay to meet up with my good friend/Needle Exchange enthusiast/Snow Board teacher/ Only Asian Friend/Ride to Tahoe. I've been a little more than lucky to meet this girl, as she is intelligent and interesting and carts my ass up to Tahoe for snow boarding trips. We call her Jules up in Tahoe, but she keeps signing her e-mails "Julie". Could that be a hint? Nah.

Why am I writing about a boarding trip in my ALC6 training blog? Well, I want to give everyone a sense that I am working hard toward becoming physically able to tackle this bike trip. The training does require a bit of crossover to other activities, like board sports (surfing, boarding, etc...). Boarding actually uses secondary leg muscles I need to strengthen for biking.

Anyway, I always have a grande ol' time when I venture up to South Lake Tahoe. Ally is there and, with great generosity, houses me and whomever I bring. She also hooks us up with some of the best food I've ever had, e.g. our dinner at the Chart House on Saturday night.

The snow in Tahoe was essentially ice. I fell three times on my right knee on Sunday. It soon thereafter became swollen. As Jules described it, "It looks like you have an extra knee cap." Gross. Lucky, it healed quickly and as not affected my cycling. The rain we are finally getting is, however.

We've have had some sort of mini drought out here. I heard on NPR's "Living on Earth" podcast that the snow pack in the Sierras is 57% lower than normal. That was certainly evident up on the Mountain. Saturday morning, as Ally, Jules and I were taking the Gondola up to 8,000ft, Ally remarked that she had not seen this little snow in all her three seasons there. Indeed, there was almost no snow at all. The ground was sandy and bare rock warmed in the sun.

After watching the super bowl Jules and I drove home. Well, Jules drove and I struggled to stay awake.

There is something surreal about the drive from Lake Tahoe to San Francisco. You start in the Tahoe basin, a giant bowl of 3 shades blue water guarded by mountains on all sides. The forests that skirt the mountains and blanket the basin have an unusual homogeneity, consisting of mostly Ponderosa Pine. At lake level it is about 5,500ft above sea level. CA route 50 makes its way through the Sierras that stand between the basin and the western foot hills. The pass brings you to 8,000ft before declining finally into the foot hills and Sacramento area. After shedding off the foot hills, you find the forest thickening and other tree species appear--the pines fall away behind you. Just outside of Sacramento, a mere hour and a half after leaving Tahoe, Palm trees pop up on the margins of highways and adorn the landscaping of box stores. These are the thoughts that run through my East-coast mind, "Palm trees don't belong so close to places where snow is. No. Does not compute." Seeing as I had not seen a palm tree until I was 22 during a road trip to Florida (22 hour drive) with the Top Cats, the proximately of the two here and now seemed monumentally unfair. Also, it brought home to me in a big way that I was, I am, in a different world.

The land flattens down near Sacramento in to a broad wet valley with rivers and marshes. Hitting the beginnings of the Bay Area, the hills timidly reappear as waves of grassy round mounts. They increase in amplitude and stripes of trees sprout from the narrow hollows between them. High voltage towers adorn their rounded tops--the only indication, at points, that you are entering a seriously populated area.

Then you across the Fairfield bridge in the North Bay and enter Contra Costa, and you are in the land of highways and humans. The 880, 780, 580, 280, 80, 101, huge ports and 6.7 million people. Palm trees everywhere and not a flake of snow. Total trip time: 3 hours.

We used to travel 3 hours to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire. Guess how many palm trees I saw. Zero. Guess what the temperature was: the same as Maine. So strange, so strange.

Ocean Beach: a routine.

Ocean beach and back 9.8 miles 45 mins avg speed 14.4 mph

I started doing this route the first day I received the Trek mountain bike my parents generously shipped from Vermont April last year. Since then I've made the trip through Golden Gate Park at least a couple dozen times. I've spend a solitary year here, both in number and in companionship. It is really nothing new, I've always had cycles, dry spells. And so I'd make the trip to get out of the city noise and into the cleansing "crash" of the vast lines of waves. Completely worth the hour/hour-and-a-half out of my life.

Tonight I left the house at 5:30 and it was already dusk. The roads that make up my route through Gold Gate park run the gamut from smooth and well maintained to "Maine-tained" my little adjective for shittly paved roads. Next time I do this route at night I will take my high-powered headlight. Road bikes are too fragile for that degree of jostling.

It is essentially all down hill to Ocean beach through the park. Toward the west-end of the park the street lights thin out to nothing. There is an interesting little gem too: a buffalo paddock. Honest-to-god buffalo grazing and living out their lives in the middle of a city. The nights I ride through the air is unfailingly rich with the scent of Eucalyptus trees. The air is cool most nights too, as this time of year it dips into the 40's.

My arrival at the ocean is always a heart-lifting experience. My failure to apply to medical school with gusto, my lack of money and money management skills, my romance dry spell, all that melts into the miles behind me to the East as I face the fading, red western sky. The waves at night take on an inverse image from the waves in the day, or at lease they seemed to then and there. The bases would reflect the street lights (Highway, a four-lane affair, is about 100 yards from the breakers), like a parabolic mirror. The caps, on the other hand, were dark.

On the horizon ships crawled slowly on the ends of the earth, their lights like orderly constellations. The moon is almost full and was very bright, otherwise I would have seen more actual constellations. But I was content to take this artificial substitute. To my right--north--the Marin Headlands shaped darker mounts against a darkening sky.

When I look around California, where ever I am, I try to envision it as it was before the finger of modern man scratched the landscape, leaving it bleeding with box stores and track homes. The grasslands between the Bay Area and Sacramento: where they always there? Where were the red wood forests? Muir Woods in Marin is the last vestige of a system of forests that ran along the coast. And what did San Francisco look like? Just a peninsula of rolling grassy hills, topped with dry grass 9 months out of the year. Fires and earthquakes burnt and shook the land; no one knew, on one cared.

From the East I am pulled back to my life on concrete. I don't mind. I've stopped wishing to share this with someone, stopped wishing I could experience it forever, stopped wanting days filled with doing only what I wish.

With a long exhale I don my helmet, situated myself in the saddle and start back East through the woody, fragrant park; I'm going home.

Lake Merced loop and Sunset Hills 22.2 miles 1.5 hrs

Morning Ride 2

6:30am ride loop. Finished at 7:45am. Downtown, Fisherman's Warf, Presidio loop.

This is actually an overpass on 101 just before the Golden Gate and doubles as the old entrance to Fort Winfield Scott. Turns out Win Davis (Top Cat Alum) is a direct descendant of the general for whom this fort is named.

While riding down Market street this morning I was reminded of how unique this city is. It was 6:30am and the city's main thouroughfare was almost empty. Take a city like New York: the streets of the financial district would be flooded at that hour. I rode through San Francisco's financial district and saw only a handful of people.

At the end of Market street is the Ferry Building, where ferries servicing the East Bay, North Bay and other points arrive and depart still. The ferry business was quite necessary before the completion of the Golden Gate(1937) and the Bay bridge (). The building is essentially a basillica with a clock tower situated at its center. The Embarcadero, a large road that runs along most of the eastern edge of the city, is peppered with joggers around this time in the morning.

I headed North on the Embarcadero with all intentions of doubling back when I reached the Northeastern most point, where the the road turns into two smaller ones, and where the picturesque palms cease their procession along the center divider. Instead, I cut into the city and made my way toward Fisherman's Warf. Arriving on Jefferson, caught the early moring deliver trucks parked with four-ways on and their drivers darting in and out for the trailers. I passed that most touristed marine strip and entered into a park that lies between the Warf area and the Marina.

Crissy field is part of the Golden Gate National Recreational Area and has a well-used bike path that traces the north end of the city. On a clear day you can look north to Alcetraz, Angel Island and Sausalito--nessled in the rolling Marin hills. Today is it's foggy and I see none of what I've described. But, as the sun turned the world a light grey, I was able to see the Golden Gate's towers protruding from the dawn moisture. I ride west parallel with the shore to the Presidio. On a map the Presidio (an old army base) looks like a European city, with streets that wind around randomly. That is the case on the ground, but there are also many hills involved. They gave me a good early morning ass-wooping.

Good 12miles in 1:15 minutes... I'm beginning to feel strong again.

I knew it.

Yeah!

I've seen people riding road bikes since I got out here, and I wanted one from the first. Now I finally got one and I love it. I knew it.

Like I've said before, I've never been an athletic person, mostly because most of the athletics I was introduced to were competitive. Soccer, Football, baseball... I hate competition.

Cycling is different, you can be alone, competing with only with time, wind and gravity. Toiling for hours and getting as far as you might in a car. Suddenly 30 miles becomes an hour an a half ride. That's amazing... and you propelled your bulk the entire way with out any poison fossil fuels.

I though of putting a sticker that said "Zero Emissions Vehicle" on my bike, but the scientist in me wagged a finger at me, "You emit CO2, remember?". Oh, yeah. My catabolism is more efficient at least and is based on renewable energy sources, at least.

With my first training ride down, I feel positive about this endeavor. People participating in the Life Cycle met at the MaClauren lodge in Golden Gate Park last Saturday. Surprisingly, most of the people--there were about 40--were older, mean age probably in the early 40's. I was one of 3 people under 30. We set out in single file north through the city toward the Golden Gate bridge. There I was, clipped in to my petals, stopping and going and almost running a red light in front of 15 people.

We crossed the bridge on the west side, the side dedicated to cyclists (and tourists with bikes who stop to take pictures). More power to them, the tourist that is, for the Vista is second to none in beauty.

5am comes soon

My morning ride to on the Embarcadero

The seeding of aspiration.

I heard about the AIDS LifeCycle through my co-worker Talia about this time last year. At the time it sounded like something I could never do: a 585 mile bike from SF to LA in 7 days. Like a marathon, it held a the same ominous promise of a lot of physical exertion. Last year those things did not appeal to me. But that was a whole year ago.

It took 12 months, 365 1/4 days, for me to fall in love with SF and California. I don't think I belong here or that I could ever call this place home. Yet, one gets the feeling they are in the middle of it all here. There is everything you could want: agreeable weather, urban and rural areas, every type of community, every race of people, all topped off with some of the world's most beautiful land.

I've submerged myself in the culture of this city, which one of progression and compassion. The darker side of the culture of SF is drugs and sex and diseases without cures. The needle exchange has exposed me to shaky, worn figures who carry on with lives that are hard beyond reckoning. Some have HIV/AIDS. Their situations are more closely related to people suffering with HIV/AIDS in Africa: no access to the support one needs to treat the disease and improve quality of life. Like their situational counterparts in Africa, the homeless and poor here have little hope of dying with dignity.

Last year I was interested in the AIDS LifeCycle, but it was temporally, financially and logistically impossible for me then. This year finds me in good health, financially sound and ready for a challenge (I've recently completed applying to medical school). Whats more, I have seen too many people check the "positive" box of the survey sheet at the needle exchange to realize that HIV is still a problem in this country. Turning on the news to see the tragic effects of HIV in sub-Saharan Africa, Russia, India and China expands its effects to the scope of Humanity.

Biking 585 miles in 7 days: it will easily be the most physically demanding undertaking of my life. Strange for me, I feel positive about the prospect of completing this ride. After all, the end products are 1) funding for research of this most horrific pandemic and 2) accomplishment.

Never think you are far from the HIV/AIDS pandemic, or that it will never affect you. It already does, if only indirectly. This is not a fact to fear, but rather a reason to act. Smallpox was eradicated, polio too, shouldn't HIV be next?

Please visit http://aidslifecycle.org/5423 and help me reach my sponsorship goal. Whatever you give, no matter how little, will be greatly appreciated. Check this blog frequently to get updates on my sponsorship and training. Thank you for your generous support.

Email me at matthew.lecomte@ucsf.edu