The AIDS Ride was an amazing experience, in more ways than I could have imagined. I expected—and was extremely focused on—the physical challenge of it. In my training, I never surpassed a single 40 mile ride, nor more than about 60 miles on consecutive days. I didn't know what I would do with 500 miles in six days—that's an average of 83 miles per day, day after day after day. For some time before the ride I was approaching it with dread, then decided that was the wrong attitude. I began to view it like a week at a spa; I didn't have to do anything that week except ride a bike. I also resolved to simply do my best, listen to my body, and not hurt myself.
I last rode on Monday, July 3. I dropped the bike off for shipment on Wednesday, July 5. For $35 we could have our bikes shipped via semi trailer truck to Minnesota, no disassembly required. That seemed like the way to go. For the rest of that week it was odd not having it in its usual spot in the kitchen.
On Sunday morning, July 9, we flew to Minneapolis-St. Paul. We took our gear to the hotel and went to Concordia University to check in. They call this "Day Zero." The check-in process took several hours. We also had a chance to find our bikes and check them out. There were bike mechanics available if the bikes needed any final repairs or adjustments. Bike mechanics were available throughout the week whenever you needed them and you only paid for parts. The day was very sunny and hot.
As we went through the various stages of check-in, we received a wrist band that identified us as riders, and another one to prove that we had watched their safety video. We had to wear these the whole week. We also received numbers to put on our bikes and helmets, luggage tags for our gear bags, and a tags to wear around our necks that identified our tent location. Everything was extremely well organized.
My friend Shellie had done a number of training rides with a team called "Shagadelic" (a reference to the Austin Powers movies). She made me a member too so we would be camping in the same basic area and to facilitate finding a tent mate. Through email, I made arrangements to be tent mates with a guy named Dexter, but we didn't meet until Concordia. Shellie had similar arrangements with her tent mate.
We dined that evening with members of the Shagadelic team. We made it an early night, as we had to be up at about 4:00 AM to get to Concordia by 5:00 AM, eat breakfast, stretch, and get ready for the ride out at 6:30 AM.
We gathered in a large gymnasium. As we arrived they gave each person a laminated route guide for the week and that day's issue of "The Daily Ride," our daily newspaper. They were very good about reinforcing key messages in multiple media, typically safety and health, the key to health being hydration. "Drink and pee" became a mantra. You were supposed to drink enough water (plus some Gatorade, to replace electrolytes) so that you urinated frequently and your output was clear in color. You have never heard so many people talking so much, and inquiring of perfect strangers, about their urination habits.
There were 1,400 riders, plus crew and staff. After some group stretching they had an opening ceremony. There were speeches from some of the organizers and some of the beneficiary groups. Then they led a rider-less bike through the center of the room, to symbolize everyone who has died of AIDS. At the end of the ceremonies the curtain behind the stage was supposed to rise, revealing open doors leading directly to where our bikes were parked, but there was a glitch. The stage backdrop was supported by two large poles on stands and some genius had decided to strap the stands to the bottom of the curtain. When the curtain went up, so did the stands, which collapsed the poles and backdrop unto the stage. No one was hurt, but several people had to scramble and it sort of spoiled the mood. They stopped raising the curtain at about 4 1/2 feet, so everyone had to duck under it to get out of the room. Not the effect they were going for. Still, everyone was so pumped up by this point that it didn't matter. I was so ready to get started, so tired of waiting, that most of my trepidation had evaporated.
Our bikes were parked in numbered rows and that was the order in which we rode out. Again, everything was very well organized. We were supposed to ride single file, but they had closed at least one lane of most of the streets, so people were more bunched up. Still, 1,400 riders makes a long line. The streets around Concordia were lined with people cheering. Even as we got away from the University, there were lots of people on the street to cheer for us. (Remember, it is 6:30 – 7:00 AM on a Monday.) People would come out of their houses, or had driven over and were sitting on their cars. There were small groups in front of churches and other places, all cheering, clapping and holding up signs. Some had come to support friends or family members who were riding, but they were cheering for everyone as we went by. This really affected me emotionally, more so than the formal ceremonies had, and continued to throughout the week whenever it happened (which was often). It still chokes me up just thinking about it.
After not having ridden for nearly a week, I felt good. There were numerous hills leaving St. Paul, but they didn't seem too difficult. I was well rested and stoked with plenty of adrenaline by that point. Lots of riders were passing me, but I was keeping up pretty well. Until we really cleared the city, most of the streets we rode on were at least partially closed and there were police stopping traffic at the major intersections. After we got clear of the city, we had to deal with more traffic, but it wasn't too difficult. In the safety video and at every opportunity in the handbook and other materials, the "rules of the road" were strongly emphasized. Failure to signal, obey all traffic laws, and call out when passing could get you thrown off the Ride. They were very serious about it and most people rode very conscientiously.
We got to the first "pit stop" after about 15 miles and I was still pretty energized. By now, it was starting to get hot and I reapplied my sun screen, which I had to do several times a day throughout the Ride. The pit stops were placed at 15 to 20 mile intervals, typically in some kind of park. However, since few parks are equipped to handle a sudden influx of 1,400 extra people, the Ride crew supplied all of the necessary facilities. At some locations there were pavilions they could use, otherwise they brought in tents. They brought in their own port-o-pots. At every pit stop they had water, Gatorade and snacks (bananas, bagels, oranges, nutrition bars, pretzels). You could get butt balm (a lubricant) at the medical tent. Everything was provided for us.
To support 1,400 riders there were about 400 crew members. In addition to setting up and running the pit stops, they set up the camp each day, drove the gear vehicles, drove the "sweep" vehicles that followed the riders and picked up anyone having trouble, marked the route, removed the route markings after the last rider, etc. There were also the bike techs I already mentioned, plus doctors and nurses, chiropractors, and massage therapists. In addition to the sweep vehicles, which were mostly SUVs and mini-vans, there was a traffic crew on motorcycles that helped direct traffic at busy intersections and otherwise kept an eye on everybody.
As it turned out, Monday was probably the hottest day. By lunch, I was pretty fatigued. (Lunch was just another pit stop, except they gave us a sack lunch instead of the usual snacks. Typically it was a sandwich and some kind of salad, with chips, a cookie, and some fruit.) All of the ride to that point had been on roads, but near Red Wing, Minnesota, we went off onto a trail for about ten miles. It also started raining lightly, which felt pretty good.
By the time I got to the Red Wing pit stop it was after 4:00 PM, which meant I had been riding for about nine hours. I had covered 61 miles of the day's 93 mile route. I was wet, tired, sore, and a little woozy from the heat. I decided I was finished for the day. I dropped my bike in the area marked "bikes to be transported to camp" and headed for the bus.
I felt defeated. I really thought I would be able to ride the whole thing. Even though 61 miles was a personal best, I was depressed about being on the bus. Everyone else looked pretty beat too. Of course, we were all both depressed and exhausted.
The bus was nice; air conditioned and equipped with a VCR on which they played movies while we waited. We waited there until that pit stop closed, then they took us on to Wabasha, Minnesota, to camp.
In camp, I claimed my gear and headed for the tent area. Your gear was hauled in a truck that corresponded to your tent area. All of the Shagadelic team camped in area "C" and our gear was on the "C" truck, where we had put it that morning at Concordia. The truck crew unloaded the truck, so the gear bags were on the ground and easily accessible, but we had to haul them to camp. On that first day, tents were delivered to the campsites at random. Thereafter, we attached a tent tag to our tent so it traveled with our gear and we always got the same one. Some kind soul had put up our tent for us, an example I followed thereafter, anonymously setting up tents at random whenever I got into camp. I also found that, while I wasn't the best bike rider there, I was one of the better campers, so setting up tents and otherwise sharing my camping skills became a way I could contribute to the community.
One of the most remarkable things about the ride was the environment that was created at the very beginning, during check-in at Concordia, and carried through on the road and in camp. There was a great emphasis on kindness; be kind to each other, encourage each other, support each other. "Commit random acts of kindness." All that sounds good, of course, but in this case it really worked. People actually did it and it created an amazing environment. Everyone looked for ways to help out and you rarely heard a short or cross word, even though people were frequently tired and sore and had every reason to be cranky. On Wednesday it rained very hard, both on the trail and later in camp. About the only place with good cover was the big dinner tent, which was like a circus tent. The set-up crew was still bringing in and setting up the tables and chairs. At one point, someone (I don't know if he was on the crew or not) called attention to the fact that they could use some help. Instantly, without another word spoken, probably 50 people started grabbing tables and chairs, pitching in. Suddenly, the crew almost had too much help, and the rest of the tent was set up in about five minutes.
This environment also extended to security. No one worried about anyone touching their bikes or their gear, because no one did. Especially after living in a city like Chicago, the idea that you can trust and expect kindness from strangers as a matter of course is truly mind boggling. To me, at least, this was one of the most profound parts of the experience. For one week, I was able to live in a city of approximately 2,000 people, of whom I knew only a few, with a feeling of complete acceptance, comfort and safety. Like everyone else, I tried to contribute to this in any way that I could. Setting up tents for people was one of my big contributions.
Back to Monday afternoon/evening. After I got my gear stowed I took a shower and had dinner. Our campground that night was on the grounds of a rural high school. The camp always had several areas, although their arrangement varied. There was bike parking, which was always fenced off and access-controlled. Bike tech was usually near bike parking. There were typically two tent areas, with tents side-by-side in long rows. Each tent location had its own "address" (I was C11) identified by a stake in the ground. There were large signs marking the sections, and some riders provided flags and other landmarks to make it easy to find your way around, especially after dark, which otherwise might have been difficult since the tents were all virtually the same. Portable toilets were conveniently placed in banks throughout the camp. Waiting in line for the toilet became part of the routine. Everyone went to the toilet a lot.
The shower trucks would typically be parked on a parking lot. They were four semi trailers. They would tap into the local water supply, typically through a fire hydrant. This also supplied water for the kitchens, which were also on trucks and typically nearby. Some of the riders were HIV-positive and needed filtered water, so all of the drinking water was bottled. The shower trucks were precisely that. Each truck had two shower areas, consisting of a changing and drying room, and several individual shower stalls. Each truck had its own water heaters. Outside each shower truck was a row of sinks for face washing, shaving, tooth brushing, etc. There was also an area provided for washing clothes, so people wouldn't do it in the sinks. The kitchen trucks were pretty similar to the shower trucks, built on a semi trailer platform. They were also able to tap into a local electricity supply at every camp.
The dining set up consisted of several small tents, with cafeteria-style serving lines, and one for self-service of beverages. The food was brought from the kitchen and kept warm in the serving lines on steam tables, just like in a cafeteria. Vegetarian meals were provided and they had their own serving line. There was a large dining tent with tables and chairs, and adjacent to it was a stage with stage lighting and a sound system, for the evening's announcements and entertainment. The trucks had electricity, as did the stage. The serving tents were lit, but the dining tent was not. There were no lights in the tent areas, except flashlights. Since most of the places where we camped were parks, sometimes sports fields, there were usually lights illuminating the whole area, so it never got completely dark.
Before the ride, several people told me how good the food was. It was good if what you are used to is prison. Actually, I'm told it is very good relative to other supported rides. Breakfasts and dinners were always hot and ample. At breakfast, there were typically eggs, oatmeal, meat (ham, bacon, sausage), pancakes, potatoes (not everything every day, but plenty of variety), cold cereal, fruit, granola, yogurt; pretty much anything you could want. Portions were generous and you could always go back for more if you wanted to. Considering how much exercise we were getting, they wanted us to have plenty to eat. At dinner there was lots of pasta, salads, vegetables, rolls. In retrospect, I think the only meat may have been chicken. They served it enough different ways that I didn't notice until later, but I can't remember having anything else. I don't really remember the dinners very well, but they were decent and generous, and everybody pretty much shoveled them in as fast as they could. There wasn't a lot of conversation at meals.
Routine in camp was pretty much the same each day: arrive in the afternoon/evening (whether by bike or bus), get your gear, set up your tent, shower, eat, listen to the announcements, watch the entertainment, go to bed. In addition to the other areas of camp I've already mentioned, there was a camp services area where they had a tent for meetings, a medical tent, a chiropractic tent, a massage tent (free 15 minute massages, one per rider for the whole week, so you had to pick your moment carefully), a "general store" (toothpaste, disposable cameras, T-shirts, water bottles), a media tent, and the Ride office. There was a "remembrance tent," sort of a chapel, to go in and remember people who had died of AIDS, or just to have some quiet, private time. It really was like a chapel in that respect, although it wasn't overtly religious. Guests were permitted in camp but they had to sign in and out. Media coverage was, of course, heartily encouraged and video crews were a common sight in camp and on the road.
Another fixture in camp was the photographer. They had a professional photographer who would shoot all day along the route, go to a one-hour processing place, insert the prints into long plastic sleeves, and hang them on ropes somewhere in camp. If you found yourself or some other picture you wanted, you took it out (two prints) and paid the guy $6. There was a picture of me from the first day, but I never saw another one. Just as well, since that probably was as good as I looked all week.
Each evening starting at 7:30 PM they had announcements, followed by short speeches. Usually there would be someone from one of the beneficiary agencies, telling how they used the money we were raising. There was usually also the mayor of the small town where we were staying. They seemed very happy to have us. I learned that a big part of the impact of the Ride is the fact that it goes into all of these small communities, where riders talk to the local citizens. We were each like individual ambassadors for AIDS awareness. It was all very positive and it helps make HIV and AIDS much less closeted.
After the speeches came the night's entertainment. The first night it was a comedian. Night two was a movie, "Austin Powers, The Spy Who Shagged Me." Night three was a talent show. Night four was a rider's rock band. Night five was disco dancing. Bonus entertainment on night three was a wedding, between a rider and a crew member who had gotten engaged last year on the Ride.
Typically, we were all in bed between 9:30 PM and 10:00 PM, and after 10:00 PM camp was amazingly silent.
Here's another example of how the kindness principle worked. That first night it sounded like there were small, distant explosions going off all night. It turned out to be the portable toilet doors slamming shut. The next day it was mentioned that everyone should try to close the doors quietly and everyone pretty much did. There was much less toilet door noise thereafter.
Mornings were also always the same routine. We arose about 5:00 AM, had breakfast, got into our biking clothes, packed up our gear and tent, hauled them to the trucks, and headed for our bikes. The trail opened each morning at 6:30 AM and you had to leave by 8:00 AM. If you hadn't left by 8:00 AM, which was when camp officially closed, you were on the bus for the day. I did manage to ride out every morning, usually between 6:30 AM and 7:00 AM, but didn't get too far on some days.
On Day Two we crossed the Mississippi into Wisconsin, near Wabasha. We rode along the river mostly, heading toward Sparta, WI. It was all on roads, but very pretty. The water was almost always in sight. Almost immediately, I felt bushed. I had very little muscle recovery from the day before. I also had my first flat tire, which I patched. Another rider stopped and asked if she could watch, as she had never done one before, so I wound up giving a little seminar.
Even after that unscheduled break, I was still bushed. I had felt ready to quit by the first pit stop but went on to the second one. I managed only about 33 miles. Because it was still early in the day, those of us who were "sagging" ("To sag" is a verb, meaning to be transported instead of riding. I don't know the derivation.) waited at the pit stop until it closed, then boarded the bus. I don't remember if they took us to the lunch stop or just gave us lunch on the bus. I think it was the former. They never took us right to camp, so although I probably quit riding around noon, I probably didn't get to camp until about three. At the pit stops I would look for ways to help, if I could. I was into the whole "kindness" spirit and felt guilty about not riding. I also tried to ice my knees (they were my biggest problem. They still hurt) and was taking anti-inflammatory medicine. Tuesday was another hot, sunny day too.
Back in camp, in Sparta, WI, I did the usual routine stuff, then positioned myself with a group of people who were cheering in the riders as they arrived in camp. This also helped assuage my guilt about not riding. The whole guilt thing got easier as the week went on. Several of us who pooped out talked each other through it. Each day, especially the first two, there were multiple people who collapsed, typically from dehydration. Several had to be taken to hospitals and many others were put on saline IV's. The medical tents always had lots of people in them, especially later in the day. My new friends and I decided that it was better that we had listened to our bodies and quit, rather than wind up in the medical tent because we went too far. Although I was among the oldest riders, the people who gave out were of all ages.
Based on the number of people in the buses and the number of bikes I saw being transported back to camp, I would estimate that about 1,000 of the 1,400 riders rode every mile, the other 400 riding something less than 500 miles. Almost everyone I encountered was taking it seriously and trying to ride as much as they could each day. I met a very small number of people who were being cavalier about it and not pushing themselves at all, but just a handful. Most people were pushing themselves and only quit when they really couldn't go on. Day Two was the longest, 95.4 miles, of which I managed about 33.
But I had high hopes for Day Three. It was the shortest day of the ride, only 59 miles, and most of it on crushed gravel trails, as opposed to highways, which I enjoy. It was supposed to be a lot of fun, riding through the woods, going through several old railroad tunnels. Sparta, where we camped Tuesday night, advertises itself as a bicycling Mecca because of this Sparta to McElroy Trail.
I began Day Three at the usual time and in the usual way, but as was the case on Tuesday, I felt like my muscles hadn't recovered at all. The trail was neat, but it was very slow going. It was an old railroad bed, so the grades were moderate but relentless. The first ten miles was one continuous uphill grade, which can really wear you out. It was more overcast, not as hot. I tried to keep up a slow, easy pace, and make use of the pit stops. I thought if I just took it easy I could make it, even if it took me all day.
The tunnels were very neat. The first one was about a mile long. There was no lighting except for some candles the crew had placed inside. They did a lot of fun, silly stuff there, in part because they did that everywhere, and in part because I think they were worried that some people would find the tunnel genuinely creepy. Crew people were dressed up like aliens, Elvis, anything with a "mystery" theme. Someone had a large, stuffed toy carp, the joke being "carp-l tunnel syndrome."
They had warned us to bring our flashlights. They didn't warn us to wear our rain gear, although the tunnel was quite damp. I did put mine on for the next tunnel, which wasn't as long or as damp. There was also concern about hypothermia because the tunnels were very cool.
After the second tunnel I got another flat. This time I replaced the tube rather than patch it again, but my pump broke. (Note to self, you still need a new pump.) I had to wait until someone came along to lend me a pump, and by this time I was already near the back of the pack. Once I got going again (after topping off the air at a gas station), I was pretty much alone on the trail and it was starting to cloud up. Then the thunder started, then the lightning, then the rain, lots of it. I donned my rain jacket, which worked well, but I didn't have rain pants or goggles, and even with all the gear in the world, it is still difficult to ride a bike on a dirt and gravel path in a heavy downpour. Although I had only gone about 26 miles, I knew it was about 2:00 PM and the next pit stop would be closed when I got there, which meant I wouldn't be allowed to ride any further. Instead of riding the approximately 5 miles to the next pit, I took advantage of the next sweep car I saw. I was frustrated now because I wasn't that tired, but I was too far behind and riding in the rain was miserable.
It rained hard again in camp that afternoon. The gear bags were off the trucks on the ground, covered with plastic sheets. They had warned us something like this might happen and to pack everything in plastic bags, which I did. I managed to get my tent up and get my gear inside it before it really started to pour, then I set up as many other tents as I could before the deluge sent me scampering for the dinner tent. Riders were coming in with their bikes and selves literally covered with mud. This was in Reedsburg, WI, where we camped in a city park right in the center of town. (Sparta was the same way.) I was told that, after the rain let up, people who lived along the streets close to camp pulled out their garden hoses and offered to hose off the mud-covered bikes and, in some cases, their riders too.
The strongest riders made it into camp before the rain started. Some of the early saggers also missed the rain, but most of us got wet and a lot of people had wet gear too. Quite a number of people overreacted, in my opinion, virtually wrapping their tents in plastic. Luckily it didn't rain that night, so they didn't suffocate themselves. We did have an extra sheet of plastic we threw over our tent during the worst of it, though the tents really were adequate. Again, we had a lot of people who may have been expert bikers, but were amateur campers. My tent mate and I stayed generally dry.
The tents were your typical, modern one-piece nylon jobs, essentially hung from a pair of flexible poles, crossed at the top. They had floors, to which we added a drop cloth underneath. The tops were open mesh, for better air circulation, which could be covered by a rain fly that went on over the top of the poles. I would guess they were 6 by 6 or so, and stood about 4 feet tall.
Although it didn't rain again that night, it did stay pretty damp. Thursday morning (Day Four) was cool, moist and foggy. Once again, I rode out with everyone else, but was hurting immediately. This was supposed to be the most demanding day: 90.5 miles and lots of hills. I managed to go about 3 miles and realized I had nothing. I decided that, rather than push it, I would take the day off and try to make a better showing on Friday. As usual, I spent a lot of time in the sweep car getting to the pit, helping out as I could, changing a tire for a rider and giving another tire changing clinic. The best part about being "swept" was spending time with the crew, who were all terrific. They took it as part of their job to keep the riders entertained. They decorated their cars, passed out silly trinkets and wore silly costumes. While the pit stops always had healthy snacks, the sweep crews always had candy (as well as water and Gatorade).
The pit stop crews also did their best to keep the riders upbeat. Each pit would have a different "theme," usually an excuse for the guys to dress in drag. One pit might have a Hawaiian theme, another Mardi Gras, another was "Slumber Party."
We never saw the route marking crew, but they always did a great job. They put up temporary route signs, marked the pavement with temporary spray paint, and would also put up messages of encouragement.
Although I didn't ride but three miles on Thursday, it turned out to be a pretty good day. I was comfortable with my decision, enjoyed visiting with people at the pits and on the bus, and helped out wherever I could. One good deed I was able to do was lend my bike to a rider who had been riding a tandem with his girlfriend, who couldn't continue for the day. They were very appreciative and it was nice that my bike got to finish the day, even though I couldn't.
One of my new friends was a woman whose husband was one of the massage therapists. She encouraged me to get a massage when I got back to camp, which I did. I've never had a massage before. A typical professional massage lasts about an hour and these free ones were only 15 minutes each, but it made a huge difference. I also met Amy, who was charming and effervescent, and told me her life's story. She had a log book in which she asked all of her customers to write something. Again, the openness and friendliness of the whole environment was tremendously exhilarating.
Thursday was also hot and sunny again, and our camp site was a big open field with very little shade, but the massage tent had the coldest, best tasting water I drank all week. I felt much better after my massage.
I also resolved to keep "listening to my body" in other ways. I was drinking a lot of water, but didn't think I was drinking quite enough (my pee still had some color to it and I wasn't peeing often enough), so I drank more. I decided I was eating a little too much, so I started to cut back. The last two nights it had been after ten before I got to bed and I resolved to be down by 9:30 PM that night. It just felt like everything was falling into place. I also evolved a new ride strategy: keep going, use my gears more (so as not to kill my legs trying to muscle up the hills), keep a pace that felt good for me, rest in the pits but not too long, rest frequently along the road if I found my breathing and heart rate getting too elevated, especially after hill climbing, but most of all, keep going.
Thursday night camp was in McFarland, WI, near Madison. There were a lot of visitors in camp. The excitement of getting close to Chicago was starting to build. I was determined to have a good day Friday. It was supposed to be the second-most challenging day in terms of hills, and fairly long at 89 miles.
The long and short of it is, everything worked. I felt good, all the pieces fell into place, my muscles benefited immensely from the day off and the massage. My metabolism was right where it should be, and my riding strategy was working. I managed to ride (as opposed to walking) up every hill but two, though sometimes in the lowest gear at barely 5 MPH. I set as my goal to achieve a new personal best, i.e., to ride more than 61 miles. I really didn't think it was possible for me to ride all 89 miles.
It was hot and sunny again (mid 80s) and a lot of the day was on open road, with little or no shade. There were a lot of hills, but I managed them, taking them slow. Sometimes my goal was just to get to the next hilltop, or to the next patch of shade that I could see in the distance. By mid-afternoon I was riding near the end of the pack, but with a few other people. Naturally, we all helped and cheered each other on. I had another flat, and no pump, but was riding with someone at the time and borrowed hers. No problems this time, and it was fixed and I was rolling quickly. By the lunch pit I was running pretty close to closing time, leaving that one with maybe an hour to spare. By the next pit it was even closer, but I managed to get back on the road about 15 minutes before that one closed. I hit the final pit with only about 2 minutes before it closed. They let me quickly pee and refill my water bottles, and I headed out again.
By this time I had passed my old personal best and established a new goal, to cross the border into Illinois. The last pit was at about 72 miles and the border was only a few blocks beyond. I was too late for the crowds that typically line the border into Illinois on Day Five, but the signs and the red ribbons were still there. One guy, in the back of a pickup truck, had decided to stay and cheer until the last rider had passed by. That was as moving for me as any crowd could have been. Again, I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it.
The red ribbons are another touching fixture of the ride. The "Ribbon Lady" is a woman from McHenry County, Illinois, who has been HIV-positive since the early 1980s. Every year, she and her friends put large red ribbons (crossed, like the ones people wear on their chests to symbolize AIDS awareness) on every tree and every light pole between the Illinois border and the McHenry campground—17 miles of them. In solidarity with her, most of the riders wore something red that day. I had a long red scarf tied to the back of my helmet, which was a lot of fun and got a lot of comments.
Luckily, at about this point the land begins its descent to the lower elevation of the Chicago area, so most of the 17 miles from the border to camp is either flat or downhill. I was able to coast a lot but, still, it was another 17 miles after already riding 72. It was getting late and I was near the back (although now I was actually passing people), so the crew was watching me pretty closely, but also giving me lots of encouragement. They can close the trail anytime after 7:00 PM and pull you in, and you have to stop when they tell you to or risk being thrown off the Ride, but I learned earlier in the week that as long as the weather is good, there is enough light, and you look pretty healthy (and aren't too far away) they will let you try to finish if you want to. I didn't wear a watch so I didn't know exactly how late it was, but I knew it was getting close to 7:00 PM. My butt was so sore I could barely touch the seat. Whenever I could coast I stood up to do it, but I kept going.
Once we got into McHenry the local citizens were just amazing. As I've mentioned before, the support and encouragement we got from the local people we encountered along the way was great. There were one or two jerks, but hardly any. I honestly expected more. People would ask you questions at stop signs and stop lights. One woman in McHenry either decided I needed special encouragement, or she was doing this all day with everybody. She stopped her car next to me at one point to tell me what was up ahead ("It's all pretty flat from here"), then she apparently circled the block or something, because a few minutes later she was next to me again to tell me, "just get to the top of that hill and you can coast in from there. Really, you're that close." People walking along the sidewalks were doing the same thing, shouting encouragement or just clapping and cheering. I'm sure it was obvious by this time that I needed all the encouragement I could get.
As soon as I crossed the border into Illinois, I knew I was going to make it into camp or collapse in the process, even though 17 more miles seemed like an impossible challenge. For most of the week, I had spent at least some time each afternoon and evening cheering other riders into camp. I wanted to experience that for myself, especially now that we were so close to home. I wanted to ride into camp at least once and this was my last chance. I knew that a lot of people from the northern suburbs and even the city came to the McHenry camp on the evening of Day Five. I knew there would be a big crowd.
And there was. After you turned off the road into Knox Park in McHenry, there was a parking lot, then you rode along a winding sidewalk between some buildings, into the camp itself. There were probably 200 people there. There were no other riders close to me at that point, so I soaked it all in myself, high-fiving anyone I could reach without falling off the bike, my emotion blending with my fatigue.
I quickly parked my bike, got my gear, took my shower and headed for dinner. I was pretty happy with myself. I ran into Shellie on the way to dinner and she was thrilled for me. I was thrilled for myself. It was an incredible accomplishment and I could actually see what it would take for me to be able to ride the whole thing next time. Mainly, I need to get to the point where I don't have to haul so much weight around. Then I should be able to pick up my pace so I can finish the route in a more reasonable amount of time. I managed to ride every inch of Friday's route, but it took me about 13 hours. I need to knock that down to eight or nine at the most to make it something I can realistically do several days in a row.
It was late and I barely had time to shower and eat before it was time for bed.
The next morning I had a lot of enthusiasm for being able to ride the whole day. Day six is the second shortest, at 67 miles, and it is mostly flat or downhill as you descend into Chicago. The biggest hazard is traffic as you approach the city, but I am fairly accustomed to that.
I didn't get a chance to find out. My knees started to give me a lot of trouble. Usually they don't hurt while I'm riding, just later whenever I try to sit or stand. Now they were hurting all the time. I iced them at the second pit stop, but it didn't help enough. I got a few more miles and had to quit. I managed about 26 miles, plus a few more later in Grant Park. My total for the week came to about 240 miles—I'm calling it 250. Before the ride even started I had that figure in the back of my mind, feeling like even that would be an accomplishment. I didn't really aim for that, but that is how it worked out.
I rode in the sweep car to the lunch break, had lunch, but was starting to feel a little woozy. At first I thought it was because I hadn't eaten enough—I had been cutting back a little compared to the first few days—and I thought lunch would take care of it. It didn't. As soon as I got into that air conditioned bus I essentially passed out. The final pit stop was in Evanston and I woke up there, so I probably slept for an hour or so. I still didn't feel very good. We rode the bus to Grant Park in downtown Chicago. They had a "holding area" for us at the north end of the park. The closing ceremonies would be at the south end. I was still not feeling very well, probably a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment at not being able to ride into Chicago, and sadness that this amazing experience was nearly over. Also, during most of the ride I was in unfamiliar surroundings, which combined with the unusual interpersonal environment, made it feel like I was in another universe. Now I was in Grant Park, familiar turf.
I couldn't find anyone I knew when it was time to ride into the Closing Ceremonies, so I did it alone. Of course, I was in the midst of my fellow riders, so I didn't feel all that isolated. The "victory ride" amounted to a little riding, a little walking. As we waited in the holding area, I began to think I wanted to ride the bike home, to be alone with my thoughts for a little while, and back on the bike for a little longer. That notion evaporated the instant my butt hit the seat. I eventually determined that I had, not just some chaffing or a few saddle sores, but a full scale rash that is only now (a week later) starting to clear up.
I knew my family and friends would be there somewhere, but I really didn't expect to see them until we got to the Closing Ceremonies. As it happened, they had figured out where we would be riding and I just managed to spot them as I rolled past and I heard them shouting my name.
The closing ceremonies were moving but, again, I was more moved by the people who lined the streets to cheer us in. When we first hit the crowd gathered by Balbo St., it was the crew lined up cheering us, which was great. We were really cheering each other. We couldn't have done it without them. Balbo is a street that runs between Columbus Ave. and Lake Shore Drive, at the south end of Grant Park. The stage was at the east end. We entered from the west end and filed in until we filled the street from the stage most of the way back to Columbus Ave. As there had been at the Opening Ceremonies, there was a narrow chute blocked off down the middle, where they once again led the rider less bike. Then they introduced the crew and let them come running down the chute, so the street was filled with people, riders and crew. The spectators were in the park on either side of the street, behind dividers.
People were using their water bottles like squirt guns, spraying water all over the place. There were several speeches, again from beneficiary agencies. The tone of the Closing Ceremonies was much more serious than most of the ride had been, primarily for the benefit of the spectators and the media, but it was all appropriate. After the ceremonies they let us breech the dividers. The "meet and greet" area was set up along both sides of the street, alphabetically by last name. As it happened, where I wound up coincidentally was just opposite the "C"s so I could see my friends there during the ceremony and they could see me.
I was pretty drained physically and emotionally by this time. There were several people there to greet us, which touched me emotionally and had the very practical benefit of relieving us from having to carry our gear bags, attend to our bikes, or think very much.
So that is my tale. I didn't really know how long it was going to go when I started writing. It went pretty long. Guess I had a lot I wanted to get down.
Copyright © 2000, Charles Kendrick Cowdery, All Rights Reserved
View my AIDS Ride Slide Show.
Update. March 30, 2003. Pallota TeamWorks, producer of the AIDS Rides and other events, appears to have self-destructed sometime last August. Here is an article from the Washington Blade that sheds some light on what happened. Too bad. Pallota didn't fit the typical charitable fundraising model, but they did a lot of good.
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