alc6_2007

After a long long delay (sorry!!!)

Days 3 and 4 are finished!

Also, here's a silly little video of one of the groups I did some training rides with. I'm the one in the bright blue Wolverine t-shirt.


There's a lot of blank space and little hiccups on the end. Its really over after about 2:40.

I apologize for the slowness in updates. I started a new job upon returning, and it eats a lot of time (as well as energy). I'm leaving for about a week today, so there won't be any updates before Thursday of next week. I am trying to get Day 3 finished before I leave though.

Thanks for reading!

Hello, and welcome. A little bit about me first, if you don't mind. My name is Joanna. This year (2007) was my second year riding in the AIDS Life Cycle. This year I was rider 1690. I am HIV negative. I have never lost anyone to AIDS. In fact, the only people I know who are openly positive are people I met on this ride this year and last year.

So why do I ride? I ride because way back when I was a wee impressionable kid of 19 I broke my mother's heart when I decided not to go to medical school. I felt then, as I do now, that the American medical system is heavily flawed. I wasn't comfortable becoming part of a system that ignores those most in need simply because they don't have enough money to placate the drug companies. I wasn't comfortable becoming part of a system that only treats symptoms, often times long after its too late for any real healing to be done. I wasn't comfortable with the institutionalized discrimination, and inbred sense of disdain so many doctors seemed to hold for their patients. Of course, being 19 I wasn't coherent enough to state it that way, and simply told my mother I was moving to Atlanta to be a professional wrestler.

I won't bore you with the lengthy account of what happened in Atlanta, or the strange and varied circumstances that brought me to Los Angeles. Looking back sometimes I'm not entirely sure myself, but here I am. I had heard about AIDS Life Cycle (ALC) first from reading the journal of fd_midori I remember thinking "Wow, cycling from San Francisco to Los Angeles. That's crazy!" I remember thinking how much I admired the courage of everyone involved, and how I'd like to participate one day, time and money allowing. Well, the next year I had a pretty good year financially, but in mid-July I was hit by a truck while riding my bike back home from running errands. The driver crushed my left arm, and I was left with a crippling fear of traffic, an inability to ride (devastating to me, since I live in Los Angeles with no car, and in fact at the time didn't even have a driver's license), and an urgent sense of my own mortality. I knew I needed to stop complaining about things, but not taking steps to remedy them. I knew I needed to do something positive to both get me back on the road, and make a statement about what I believed. I knew it was time to do something small, yet epic.

So this time, when I saw the ALC booth at the Hollywood Farmer's Market, I took a pamphlet. I thought about it for a very short period, but I knew this was what was in store for me. Hundreds of cyclists, hundreds of miles, and millions of dollars raised for prevention, education, and to provide low and no cost medication to anyone living with HIV or AIDS. Unfortunately, I suffered some continuing health problems from my accident. When ALC 5 finally rolled around they were not fully resolved and I was restricted by my doctor to only riding half days. Still, thanks to my friends and family I raised just over $2,500 and with some 1800 other cyclists (who raised over $8 million in total) and 300 odd roadies (the number was odd, not the roadies... although... <3<3) I set off, and wound up completing about 60% of the route. What a rush.

This year I registered even earlier. I was feeling much better, and I'd bought some cycling gloves that pretty much took care of any lingering problems from my accident. This year I was going to ride the whole thing, I told myself. And a smaller voice in the back of my head told me, then you will have done your part. After all, I was going back to school. I was going to be a doctor, I was going to work for Doctors Without Borders. I was going to take these memories and this experience to the very top offices of the CDC and make them listen to me, because I did this bike ride once.

Once.

Twice.

Next year will be three times.

I don't know if I can fully explain the experiences I had. The experiences we had. These are my pictures, videos, and words, but they fall short of the enormity of our accomplishment. I don't just mean riding 556.8 miles. I don't just mean raising $11 million dollars, a new world-wide record for any single HIV and AIDS event. I don't just mean a(nother) record 2,333 cyclists. All that is amazing, yes, but there's also the intangible force of thousands of people standing up and saying "This is not how things should be. This is wrong, and I will fight, with every breath, with aching knees, bursting lungs, and screaming shoulders to see that it is put right."

Because what continues to go on in our world, and our country today <i>is</i> wrong. Children are being denied access to accurate age appropriate information that could mean the difference between a long healthy life and a tragically foreshortened one. Mothers are still losing children to this disease. Sisters, brothers, lovers, friends are being denied benefits, being denied assistance, being denied help. People are dying because they can not keep up with the thousands of dollars their medicine costs. Our government in slashing funding in order to continue killing people over seas. 40,000 new infections occur in this country each year alone, and over 10,000 of them are teenagers. Many as young as 13. What we have accomplished is such a small drop in the face of the vastness of need. But even a twig can turn an avalanche. And to the thousands of people who walk through the doors of the LAGLC each day, I know I've helped make a real step towards a better world.

Oh, and as a little note to avoid confusion, since the entries are back dated to correspond with actual date of occurrence, you may want to start from the bottom (day 0) and work your way up.

It is day four. Today we hit the official halfway point (which is actually a bit past the numerical halfway point, but makes a much better picture), scale the evil twins, and ride along some of the most beautiful coast line anywhere in the world. We also end up facing some of the strongest winds I've ever ridden in, and more nasty road surface leaving camp. But I don't know any of that yet.

Its five in the morning once again. Its still freezing cold. The tape on my ankle has not survived the previous night's showering and my restless sleeping. It looks more than a little frayed. I haul myself off to breakfast telling myself that I'm over halfway done, there's only 3 more days before I can not only sleep in, but be warm even in the wee hours.

There's a lovely surprise at breakfast. Ginger Brewlay has made home made apricot jam, and there's a mason jar full of the delicious amber goo being passed around. It tastes of apricots and honey, and is just about the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. Thank you, Ginger, that's just about the best way to start a cold dark morning.

I chew through the rest of my breakfast, pouring over the morning news and description of the route. There has been a nasty rumor circulating that this year there are two century days, and day 4 will be the second. I am much relieved to see that this is not the case. Day 4 is a mere 94.7 miles, a mile less in fact than last year's route. The day is getting better and better.

I am briefly joined by a British contingent, and help them in deciphering the morning weather prediction before I head back to my tent to dress. Finally, all that math I did on my flight to London pays off, and I can explain what 77 F is in C. We ignore the small byline mentioning 30 mph. winds.

I head back to the tent and decide to get rid of the ankle tape. Its peeling quite a bit around the edges, and I'm itchy under the layers. If you've never removed an athletic taping in a wet tent at 6 in the morning with the temperature in the mid 40's (F again), I'm not really sure I can adequately describe how uncomfortable the whole thing was. The low light, thanks to the sun not quite being up yet necessitated a certain amount of contortionism to get my face close enough to the tape to see where an end might be. Despite the peeling ragged state of the edges, the majority of the 1 1/2 inch strip was still firmly affixed to my skin, and I wound up getting an impromptu foot waxing. My enthusiastic efforts in removing this over sized band-aid sent my arm and hand careening into the side of the tent when the tape finally came loose showering me and all my possessions with a cold, clammy spray. And at the end of it all, I was left with a pile of slightly hairy tape, a wet sleeping bag, a sticky foot, and a sore but itchy ankle.

Still, I manage to dress myself and cram everything back into my ever shrinking suitcase. It is rapidly pushing toward 7 AM, and I ask Anna if she can handle breaking down the tent. She says yes, and I'm off to drop my gear and get on the road.

Today's route sheet looks like ( this ). The two climbs after rest stop one are the Evil Twins. A punishing climb, nearly five miles long with an elevation gain over 1000 feet. At least it will be sunny this morning.

Immediately leaving camp we hit an unfortunate combination of steep downhill and seriously rough road. Even riding my brakes (and being passed by psychotic riders with steel genitals) I'm jolted hard enough that one of my water bottles is thrown from my saddle bag. I pull over, and look back on the road of destruction. A trail of abandoned frame pumps, tools, tubes, and water bottles stretch up the hill toward camp. I go to rescue my water bottle, and my attention is arrested by a small purple shark lying in the street not far from where my water bottle has come to rest.

Poor purple shark! Denied gripping hands by evolution, he was unable to hold on to the bucking handle bars of his rider. I scoop him up along with my water bottle, and stow him inside my windbreaker for safe keeping.

Unfortunately, as I return to my bicycle I notice that the top to my water bottle was shattered in the fall. There's no way to put it on the bike and keep the water from soaking me or my belongings. Regretfully I empty it by the side of the road trying not to think about the nearly 25 mile gap between rest stops one and two.

Luckily as we head out of town and towards Rte 46 the road surface becomes much more reasonable. Unfortunately its a gentle but pretty consistent climb from the get-go. Its already a gorgeous day.

Sunshine and smiles. As road bikes pass me in the usual steady stream up hill I ask people if they've lost a purple shark, or know someone who has. No. Apparently purple shark's companion is a speedy rider.

More landscape and scrubby brush

Los Angeles stretches south pretty much to San Diego. The suburbs of Orange County blend non stop with the suburbs of San Diego County, so traveling south one often forgets that there is still some open space in California that hasn't been completely over run by housing developments and freeways.

I am happy to be riding again. My shoulder doesn't hurt, and if I pay attention and pedal correctly, my ankle doesn't bother me much. In high spirits I push ahead and slowly begin to sneak up to pass the rider ahead of me.

Well, technically its a poor sneak, as I call out "On your left" before coming along side, and we chat together as I labour past him on the hill. We are still going uphill though, so its a slow passing. Half of my front wheel has cleared his bicycle when I hear a loud "On your left!" from behind. "Thank you left!" I tell her, and both I and the other rider try to move even further to the right.

A bronzed gorgeous rider on a road bike come whizzing past. I am halfway past the rider I am passing. Apparently the speedy passer didn't have an opportunity to observe the situation, and as she passes me, she half turns in her seat to berate us; "I said on your left. You people need to ride in single file! Please, come on! You are jeopardizing the ride." And she sprints ahead before I can recover from my surprise enough to say anything.

I finish my slow pass of the other rider as quickly as I can and in total silence. I am struggling to hold back tears. I am doing the best I can. I am in pain. I have given ground multiple times throughout the week to prevent riding two abreast with other riders. I looked behind me before passing, saw no traffic coming, and no other riders advancing. My clairvoyant vision was not working this morning, so I get yelled at. And there's a rider out there who thinks I am maliciously endangering other riders, and the future of the ride its self.

The monumental unfairness of life crests and crashes over me. I am making deals with myself as to when I can cry, so as not to embarrass myself too much in front of other riders. I promise myself I won't do the ride again, that I'll stay where people don't yell at me for no reason (um, once I find a place like that, that is.)

"I'm sorry you had to experience that."

comes a voice from behind me.

I'm still silent for another moment, but the lump in my throat is starting to dissolve.

"I saw what happened, that was pretty nasty of her."

The lady riding behind me is also preparing to pass. But she is also my compassionate angel this morning. It was unfair! That other lady was nasty! I was right! And someone else knows too!

I blink away the tears.

"Its ok, I don't have to go through life as a nasty c**t, so really in the long run, I still win."

Oops. Ok, so maybe I'm still angry, but I'm not about to cry anymore, and I'm able to joke with the kind rider now ahead of me. The morning is saved, despite my momentary inability to take the high ground.

About a mile and a half from the first rest stop I have a chance to redeem myself a bit karmically. A rider has dropped his chain, and he and one of the PosPeds I've been friendly with are stopped mucking with it a bit. I'm good with chains. I've wrestled with mine on the road, in my apartment, and in the shower (don't ask). His is twisted and jammed between two bits of the bike frame. Time to earn some dyke stripes!

I manage to free the chain without breaking it, and get it back on the rings. I foolishly attempt to wipe off the thick chain grease on the road side grass. This works great when you live in lush green country side, or in well manicured neighborhoods or parks. This stuff isn't so much grass as woody prickly stalks eking out a miserable existence in dry sandy banks. A small amount of the grease comes off, and a large amount of seed pods and thorny bits work themselves deep into my riding gloves. I am regretting my enthusiastic bravado. Why couldn't I wipe my hands on my shorts like everyone else?

Perhaps everything happens for a reason. As I'm trying to pull the larger bits of woody stems out of my hands, I'm chatting with my PosPeds friend and fellow member of the street clothes mafia. I mention how my water bottle shattered on the early bits of the route, and I wasn't looking forward to scaling the Evil Twins and beyond with only 16 oz. of water.

This man is a prince. He offers me his enormous insulated water bottle to carry for the rest of the ride. He assures me he doesn't need it, as he's got a camel pack and another back up. I am touched, and thrilled. Thanks to his selfless generosity (and a very little bit my foolishness in mucking with roadside flora)I will not collapse into a little pile of dehydrated salts halfway up the looming climb. We head on into rest stop 1.

Purple shark has been safely tucked away all this time. As I ride into the rest stop I pull him out. Waving him around I start crying "Purple shark, anyone missing a wee purple shark?" Departing riders look at me like I'm slightly nuts, but no one steps forward to claim the poor little guy. The rest stop doesn't have a lost and found, so it falls to be to transport purple shark back to camp. I feel almost as bad for him as I do Frank the Abomination Shark. Perhaps if things do not work out for Purple shark they can be friends.

Its already fairly late in the morning, so I rush through the food and water lines to stand in line for a potty. I'm still asking everyone if they're missing a shark, or know anyone who might be. No luck, and in an even more unfortunate turn I manage to drop my sunglasses on the floor of the porta potty. I have a slow moment of panic. I have weird phobia about public restrooms in general, and while I'm able to sublimate parts of it enough to get through a week on the ride, I don't know if I'm brave enough to put something on my face that's essentially been indirectly peed on.

As it turns out, its a moot point. The fall has cracked my glasses neatly in half. There's no tape or glue at the rest stop, so the halves go in my windbreaker. Purple glasses now keep purple shark company.

It is time to go. It is time to lay the Evil Twins to rest for another year. Its a hard climb. Its long. Its twisty. There are plenty of false summits, and there's wind. I'm thinking its a lot of wind because I have no idea what's in store. Its not as bad as it will be once we get clear of the sheltering mountains, but there's a definite wind. Without my sunglasses I'm stuck squinting a lot. I am convinced I will get burn/ tan lines around where my nose wrinkles when I squint and I will look like some demented Klingon knock-off when I get home.

Still, eventually I make it up both the hills. My small water bottle is already empty, and I once again fervently offer thanks to the wonderful man who gave me his extra. At the top there is a small gathering, but none of the jubilation of the top of Quadbuster. The real party is just down the road at the halfway point. Still, exhausted riders stretch, take photos, and try to work out the math for the rest of the day.


The township has thoughtfully placed a nice little sign at the peak of the second twin

believe me, that's a heck of a climb.

As a personal aside, Peter, that is your Booger hanging on my neck chain there. See why my cords get so dirty?

After mucking about and helping some other riders take photos of themselves, its a short ride to the "halfway" point. Halfway is in quotes there because this year the route totaled 556.8 miles. Exact halfway would be 278.4 miles, or 5.8 miles out of camp this morning. This spot is the traditional halfway, a lot more climactic at 17.2 miles from camp (298.8 miles over all), and has a nice view and space for all of us who want to take photos.

And there's a lot. The lines here are actually longer than any I've seen so far for food or potties, and there are 3 of them.


Still, its almost entirely down hill to the next rest stop, and mostly flat to lunch. I naively think I'll whiz through it and I wait placidly in line. Off the road and standing still, the sun has a chance to warm me up and I start shedding layers. Finally its my turn.

I hand off my camera, and clamber up on the precarious rock overlooking a spectacular vista. I pray I don't tumble down the side of the mountain. I opt out of raising my bike upside down over my head, as is tradition, because my bike is a good 20 or 30 pounds heavier than the svelte sexy road bikes, and also because I've awkwardly attached a motorcycle saddle bag to the handle bars to carry my bike tools, and turning it upside down would rain tire irons down upon my head.

So I opt for a silly flex pose instead, and get a good picture of me and Pinky at half way.


Well, mostly good. You can really see the missing tissue from my accident nearly two years ago on my left arm there. I'm not wild about the way that looks. Still, I'm feeling pretty good, and we've lucked out. The visibility across the valley is better than most have ever seen it. I take a second to sneak around the photo spot to get a shot of the view alone.

Snatches of the Adict's song stick in my head
California sun
Shining through the window
Beating up and down
Like a yellow yo-yo
It's just the sun

California!
California

On the road again. Its just over 16 miles to the next rest stop, but the downhill is steep, and then we ride along the coast, so I'm expecting the be there in 30 to 45 minutes.

I am foolish. We are now coming down a relatively bare side of the mountain, and we are hit with a wall of wind. The cross winds are blowing somewhere around 35 mph, and some riders are at a literal 45 degree angle to the ground and they struggle down the mountain. I have to stop to put my jacket back on. This is the most difficult day to get comfortable. The cutting winds are cold, but we have to put forth that much extra exertion to counteract them, so I am sweating. There is hardly any cover from the sun, clouds or otherwise, and we're all spending a lot of time zipping and unzipping and taking things on and off.

The wind is intense, unforgiving and unabating. Deprived of my sunglasses my eyes are streaming, making my nose runny in turn. Despite the steep down hill , I'm forced to downshift and pedal hard in order to fight through the wind. Its almost like swimming through a very cold jelly. The wind resistance is so strong it almost feels solid.

After what feels like an eternity I reach the coast and make the turn to put the winds behind us (mostly). And its just about worth it for the scenery.

We follow the coast for the most part to rest stop 2, and on from there to lunch.




With the wind behind I'm making slightly better time, but the slow decent took its toll, and riding through the beach towns just after rest stop 2 I'm barely ahead of the caboose. Its another 16 miles to lunch.

Still, despite my imminent danger of being swept the coast line is just too exciting, especially after the last few days of being confined to inland and I can't help sneaking some more pictures of sea cliffs


a tiny rock island covered with birds


the green sea turning to foam around a rock


and the road behind.


I make it to lunch super late, after 1:30. I only have until 2:30 to swallow my lunch and get out. I manage to eat fairly quickly, but there's a long line for rest rooms. Just ahead of me I notice a guy who has a jersey with all the lyrics to the llama song. I am ecstatic and jealous. I won't leave the poor man alone, and question him about the jersey. He tells me a friend of his made it for him. The front has a picture of a llama and they mysterious caption "Where's Clif?" Unfortunately I am still not in the habit of bringing my camera to the bathroom with me, and I miss my chance to get a picture of this excellent jersey.

I manage to make it out of lunch with only minutes to spare. The route now winds through Camp San Luis Obispo. We cut back and forth across the wind. Once free of the camp, there's some climbing and we ride close along the 101 freeway. The wind isn't helping us for the most part, but there's some shelter from buildings, over passes and the like to lessen some of its impact. Still, its a struggle to get to the next rest stop.

I am disheartened to suddenly come to a steep climb not marked on the elevation map. I was expecting a mostly flat ride the remaining 45 miles after lunch. Instead there's another long climb with nearly no shoulder and heavy traffic.

Things could be worse though, fellow Los Angeles rider and Funky Monkey team member JR winds up behind me, so as least I have some one to chat with. As luck would have it, the guy from lunch with the llama jersey is also on team Funky Monkey, and JR is able to tell me the story behind it. It seems there were two friends who did the ride for many years, and grew rather fond of a llama along the route. So fond, in fact that they named him Clif (aha!). When llama jersey man (I'm so sorry, I'm terrible at remembering names) joined the ride last year, the llama was mysteriously no where to be seen. JR's discovery of the llama song gave them the idea for the jersey.

Heartened by the prospect of a possible llama sighting, and the eventual end of this hill, I struggle on. The winds have kicked up again, and we're now pushing into 30 to 40 mile head winds.

The going is slow, but eventually I see a small clump of riders up ahead. Yes, the llama has returned.


Though he doesn't seem to have much more than a passing interest in the crowds of people stopping to gawk at him and take his picture.


Aww. Fuzzy llama.

I can't stop for long though, there's barely half an hour before the last rest stop closes.

The ride there is only a few miles, but they are torturous. The road cuts through more farm land, and the strong winds trow grit and dirt in our eyes. Gusts push us into the roads. We are unfortunate enough to be passing as the sprinklers in the fields are running, their 360 degree rotation spraying cold water into the road. I am soaked three times running this watery gauntlet.

I am freezing and thoroughly miserable by the time I get to rest stop 4. Today the rest stop's theme is "Day at the spa" and they have someone passing out truffles, a manicure station, and massages. Too bad for me that there's only 15 minutes before they close, so I have to run to the potty, cram some food in my face and run as fast as I can.

I guess its ok, my nails are pretty chewed up anyway.

On the plus side, I do get to take one of the Kiehl's moisturizer samplers, which are seriously great.

Its only 12 more miles back to camp. I have an hour to do it. The sun is setting, and the wind is still blowing. I am cold and slightly miserable, but I grit my teeth and just keep pushing. Finally I manage to limp into camp about ten minutes before the route closes for the day.

I decide to head straight to dinner, and shower later. I'm starving and the lines for the showers are long. I manage to squeeze in at a table just as announcements are starting. Tonight they're thanking top fund raisers, so dinner takes a little while. We all have to keep clapping and occasionally stand up. I am grubby and tired and very very sore. Lorri Jean, CEO of the LAGLC fawns over all the high "earners" registered in LA, and all the roadies who fund raised at all. Unlike Mark Cloutier with the SFAF, however, there is no mention of thanks for the rest of us, the peons who did the best they could with no access to high profile political people.

Its a minor thing, really, and intellectually I know its silly to be petty, but its another grain of sand. Another minor irritant on top of a hundred others from a hellishly hard day. I limp off to the showers and then to my tent. I'm feeling so sorry for myself that I call my best friend back home and ramble on about how I'm so offended that I'm unlikely to do the ride again.

Bed time comes. The day is finally over.

Last night was cold. Its still cold when the alarm goes off. I've been up a couple times in the night, once to pee, and several times because my shoulder was bothering me. Apparently riding positioned like a cork screw, and sleeping on the ground are not ideal conditions for the human body. Who knew?

Since we got to bed so late, and others in our section came in even later I am exhausted. Today is day three. I am nearly halfway home.

I am not in the mood for breakfast, and certainly not in the mood to stand in line twice for meat. This year, though you're allowed as much food as you want, you have to get it in increments, and I just don't have the patience this morning. Besides, I have a small baggie of trail mix secreted away in my tent.

Today's route is a mere 77.3 miles. After yesterday's trek this feels like a small day trip in comparison. The route sheet looks like ( this ). The sharp point just after rest stop one is Quadbuster, the most talked about hill on the entire route. Its very name is used to strike fear in the hearts of newbies.

Its nowhere near as bad as that 10 mile climb on day one, and in all honesty I prefer it to the miserable climb on day 5.

Never the less, it is the first of the named hills, and a major climb after yesterday's 105 mile ride. I spend some time re-assuring my tent mate and other first year riders that its really nothing to worry about.

I am, as it turns out, a bit of a liar.

As we leave camp, we turn on some of the worst road surface anywhere in the world. Well, ok, maybe that's an exaggeration, but last year the ruts and potholes were shaking me so badly I could hardly see.

This year I am taking it a lot slower. Partly out of desire to spare my hand some trouble, and partly because yesterday's winds have not died away and we're facing headwinds as we wind up the foothills to the dreaded Quadbuster.

It is nearly 20 miles to the first rest stop, and I will make it in about 2 hours. My shoulder hurts. I realized I've been riding hunched up against the wind and the biting cold. Tensing the muscles this way seems to be making everything worse. Its also becoming apparent that I've been pedaling "lazy", pushing my toes down rather than my heel, and my right ankle is starting to bother me a bit.

An inauspicious start to the day. I am in danger of becoming seriously crabby.

Luckily we come to a small bridge,

the kind you see a lot of in New England, but not so much out here. The view from the bridge is both beautiful, and a little surreal thanks to the large numbers of birds wheeling and calling over the water.


The "June gloom" of the morning has yet to burn away, leaving the sky bright, but the landscape slightly brooding.


Leaving the bridge behind, we turn towards the hills. The rollers that come before Quadbuster are themselves a bit steep,

even if they are much shorter. And with the winds and the glowering sky, the whole thing seems monumentally unfair. As if somehow nature is irritated by the presence of so many loud and colorful people on these quiet back roads.

The cyclists rapidly passing me stream into a multi colored ribbon that flows up the hills.


We have left behind the vibrant green farmland from yesterday, and now are riding through fields of "California gold" ranches.


I finally reach the first rest stop, irritated and a little bit on edge. I spend my time in the porta potty line trying to stretch my shoulder as much as I can. Its giving me sharp pains when I turn to look behind me, and is generally uncomfortable as I ride. Thankfully its starting to warm up, and I hope that I'll be able to relax a little more as I ride.

Everyone is dawdling. The winds are lessening, but not gone, and no one seems eager to attack the 1.3 mile climb with the added challenge of head winds.

Still, the clock is ticking, and its nearly ten. The rest stop will close in half an hour, and as a slow rider that means I'm already nearly behind for the day. The next stop is only about 11 miles.

I leave the rest stop in a group of riders, most of whom quickly out pace me. I'd love to make it to the top this year without stopping (a lot) and without walking. Last year I walked maybe half the way up. It still counts, (I was simply commuting to my next cycle site.) but it feels a lot less impressive.

So I slide down into "granny gear" and slowly push my way up the hill. I stop once to take off my windbreaker (the trail mix now eaten, and various granola bars now jammed in the sleeves with my tissues for the inevitable early morning runny nose.) and apply some sun screen. It doesn't count as a stop if you're keeping busy!

Back on the bike, still pushing up the hill. I hear a hearty reminder to drink from behind me, and see Joel, the rider from Chicago I'm supposed to be hosting at the end of the ride, coming up from behind.

Drinking? I wouldn't mind a good whiskey, or a margarita I tell him, but he says there's only water in his camel pack.

Moments later Joel tires and dismounts at the side of the road to walk some of the way. I pass him again, and promise to see him at the top...

..which proves unnecessary, as moments later he passes me again, still on foot. I revel in my prowess that I am cycling slower than a man on foot uphill.

Still, I make it eventually. My shoulder is feeling a little better, though not yet good, and I seem to have not made my ankle any worse. I take some time out at the top of the hill to thumb my nose at Quadbuster for another year, cheer for the arriving riders, and take a quick picture back the way we've come.


Perhaps the worst thing about Quadbuster is the way it winds, so one can not take a clear sweeping photo of the climb. Do your best to extrapolate from the landscape you can see, and the exhausted faces of my fellow riders.

Quadbuster conquered, the remaining 8 or so miles to the next rest stop are fairly easy. The decent is swift, and the road stays mostly flat until the second stop.

Coasting, I am forced to stop suddenly. One of the ranches has opted for an intricate gate instead of a name.


In addition to the giant Pterodactyls on the posts,

there are strange little stick figures cavorting across the gate.


The owner (or tenant) arrives as I'm taking pictures, and seems baffled as to why I'd be photographing the gate.

I arrive at the second rest stop as my shoulder starts nagging me again, and my ankle starts sending reminders that flats are the same as hills as far as pushing with your toes down is concerned. To add to the mess the road surface, while improved, is still far from great, and the nerve in my arm and hand are feeling a little odd.

I try not to worry about it too much, well aware that working myself up into a state of hypochondriac paranoia will only make my muscles more tense, and the problems worse. Not enough paranoia though, and I risk doing myself serious injury. I'm very proud of my neat little paradox.

Rest stop two's theme for the day is fairies. Not the Fire Island kind, the live in the woods and drink dew kind. Surreptitiously placed in the surrounding trees and bushes are Barbies and other dolls with shimmering wings and princess dresses... well, some of them anyway. Many of us were delighted to spot some naughty fairies with dresses torn, missing, or hiked up in a most un-whimsical fashion.

Leaving rest stop two, its a straight shot a little over 12 miles to the next stop. Rest stop 3 is a little over half way for the entire route, and I'm hoping I can make it there easily. If I can make it to lunch I'm pretty sure i can finish the day, since I usually feel better after lunch.

Rest stop three is at Pleyto Plaza Store. The signs strike me as a bit funny:



The sign on the front states they sell groceries, bait, and camping supplies. The sign up top says they sell groceries, bait, and ammo. I guess if you're really efficient that is all you need to go camping.

The theme for this rest stop is "Christmas in June" and I try not to say anything as my first thoughts are memories of my mom telling us that "Christmas in July" was a plot device used by a family is some forgotten book or movie when their child was dying of leukemia and wouldn't live to see December. What are they trying to tell us here?

Nothing as it turns out, but I am wondering where they managed to get Santa lollipops this time of year.

I toss the lolli, as it turns out to be a rather disturbing flavour (I think it was supposed to be lime, but they kind of missed), and grab a handful of snacks. I need to figure out what to do. Its getting hot, though not as hot as last year where temperatures were pushing triple digits, but the heat doesn't seem to have relaxed me any. My shoulder is screaming. My ankle is hurting so much I'm limping a bit. I am exhausted.

I finish my snack, hoping for a magic restorative that will bring me leaping to my feet ready to charge ahead those twelve measly miles to lunch.

Alas, there is no Jeeves here, and while the oreos make me feel a little more awake, the rest of me is still miserable. I make the miserable decision to call it quits for the day so I can see a doctor.

I spend the next 45 minutes or so until the rest stop closes chatting with other riders waiting for the bus. One man's impressive thighs were spasming uncontrollably, his quads well and truly busted. He, however decided to push on 'til lunch. I feel like a lazy fool. This is not helped when I tell another rider I'm going to have to sag from this stop for the second year in a row. He begins berating me for not making it to lunch, as we lunch in the town of Bradley. The kids there sell burgers and pencils and junk to turn our little rest stop into their biggest fundraiser of the year benefiting their school.

I have very mixed feelings on this. I make around $13,000 a year, and I live by myself in Los Angeles. I'm not complaining, really, I feel I do pretty well. I have everything I need, and with careful planning and all, I can get most of what I want. But it seems like there are ever increasing things on the ride one "must" do. One must stop at the various fundraising events the towns we pass through organize. One must buy cycling gear. One must buy knick-knacks and stickers and whatever else from other riders to support them. Yet this year no one offered to put me up for a single night in San Francisco.

Of course none of these "musts" is actually compulsory, but I do feel a twinge of guilt every time I don't participate. The argument "but they're such cute kids!" really doesn't sway me at all. Do ugly kids not also deserve well funded schools?

The point is immaterial anyway. I was not planning on buying a dried out hamburger at lunch. I've spent hundreds of dollars getting to this point, and even were my body not giving out on me right now, my wallet was looking forward to the week long break. Still, it adds to my general sense of failure, and a bit to my sense of isolation as it highlights my seemingly unique position.

Finally 2:30 rolls around and we board the bus to head to camp. The man seated behind me is a doctor riding for his first year. He is sagging because his pedal keeps coming off his bike. That's a pretty amazing thing, and we joke a bit as he sits there with the pedal in his lap.

We make a quick stop at lunch to pick up more riders, and to grab bagged lunches for those of us already on the bus. Today's sandwich is turkey with cranberry sauce. I pick mine apart in an attempt to eat just the turkey, and not the disgusting gelatinous goo they've made out of the cranberries. I am only partly successful.

The landscape the rest of the way to camp is dry and brooding




but I am still sad when we pass clusters of riders, and I wish I were one of them.

There is slight speculation from those around me as to whether the scrubby trees we are passing are Joshua trees. They don't quite look like it, but its hard to tell from a moving bus. Eventually I drop off to sleep for a few moments.

I am awakened after we pull into the parking lot to cries of "Welcome home to Paso Robles riders!". I stumble off the bus and go to retrieve my gear and tent from the truck.

After setting up the tent I head over to the sports med tent. They send me in to see a chiropractor. She is good enough to work on my shoulder a bit, and do some spinal adjustments. My shoulder loosens and feels much better. My ankle however, proves more difficult. She also massages my ankle a bit, and it crackles and pops a couple times when she moves it, but it seems I've managed to strain the tendon pretty bad and my ankle is swelling a bit. This is not a good sign.

The chiropractors tape me up, and strap large dramatic ice packs to my shoulder and ankle. Everyone makes quite a fuss as I wander back toward the tents. I shouldn't wonder, it looks like I have been nearly crippled.

I dawdle on the way back to the tents, stopping to check my messages, and to play with a bunny and some kittens. Yes, that's right. Some kind lady, possibly with the idea of getting them adopted, has brought two kittens and two bunnies in a baby stroller type contraption and the critters are being passed around an ever changing group of excited cyclists. I cuddle one bunny and one kitten before I start to feel a little guilty about cheating on Lord Fancypants (the immense kitty lord of my heart and home).

All the messages of support I've received do much to elevate my mood. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to send me a quick note. It was really monumental to get your little notes of love after a lousy day like this one.

I head back to our tent to laze around a bit before heading to dinner. By now most riders are in, and camp is looking more populated:



Best comment overheard: "Dang housing developments, everything looks the same!"

Anna comes in, having completed the mileage for the day, and its time for dinner and a shower. I make it to bed early tonight to make up for lost time the night before, and this time manage to sleep through the night.

Five AM. Well, 5:09 by my watch, I sit up in a panic, the alarm didn't go off! "Hey Anna, its 5!"

and then it does. Apparently my watch is a bit fast. I hadn't realized. We fumble with the clock trying to silence the beeping while groans and shouts of "Turn it off!" come from surrounding fast riders.

Everything is wet. Its also cold. Inside the tent condensation drips off the sagging walls. Outside the tent dew covers everything. It doesn't sparkle, not yet, sunrise isn't until 6 something. The dew just waits, soaking exposed toes and pant cuffs as I drag myself to the potty; or, more precisely, the morning porta-potty line. I've slept through the night, much to my surprise. Last year I was so hydrated I was up every couple hours. Fears of dehydration return.

After the porta-potty line comes the hot drink line and the breakfast line. Breakfast burritos with an enormous chunk of kielbasa. Sweet. Over breakfast I stare groggily at "The Daily Spin", ALC's one sheet news paper. I'm trying to work out the mileage between each rest stop. Its only 5:30 and I don't drink coffee so it takes a little while.

Today's route is a whopping 105.4 miles. It will be my first full century (and then some). Luckily, the route sheet looks like ( this ), mostly flat. First year riders are elated. I remember my half day last year barely making it in in time thanks to strong head winds.

I shiver back to the tent and pull on my longest pair of shorts, and my calf-high socks. I only have one pair of knee highs and I'm saving them for day 5. No leg warmers here. I pull on my windbreaker and my cycling gloves and try to cram everything back into my luggage. I seem to have accumulated more stuff overnight. Or my stuff got bigger. Or the suitcase got smaller. Some industrious squashing, and I finally manage to get the darn thing closed.

Since Anna put the tent up, I offer to break it down myself. She agrees and is off on the road. I remember that there's an easy way to get the tent down and in the bag, but I can't remember what it is. I fold and roll it twice before I think to ask someone standing next to a neatly packed tent.

After finally getting the darn thing in the bag I discover the strap on my luggage isn't quite long enough to hold either the tent bag or my sleeping bag. So tucking both under one arm I struggle over to the gear truck. This is the closest the gear trucks will be to my tent all week. Its also the only time I was stubborn enough not to make two trips.

Seven AM and I finally get on the road. Day 2, while long and difficult, is also one of my favorites. It boasts the most unofficial stops, and the most fun. Leaving camp we passed a cheering section promising that there would again be Otter pops (freezer pops to you east coasters) at Mission La Soledad. We barely have time to rejoice at this news before

its time for free coffee, tea and smoothies. The little coffee shop just outside of camp has made it a tradition almost since the beginning to provide a free morning boost to riders leaving Santa Cruz. Not only drinks, but happy cute scenester girls and a sound system set up blasting the best of... well, maybe not the best, I heard both that awful "My Humps" song by the Black Eyed Peas (hate) and "Total Eclipse of the Heart" (love).

In any case I get my delicious real fruit smoothie from a girl wearing a clever t-shirt. That's a pretty great way to start a morning.

It takes quite a bit of time to clear Santa Cruz. Wending through the morning traffic and hitting every light on the way it takes somewhere around an hour to get free of the town. Today we ride through "the salad bowl of the world". Verdant farm land, and a popular stop for fried artichokes. As the fog lifts and country spreads out around us, the headwinds kick up. Not enough to be impossible, just enough to ensure that me and my hybrid are soon left behind.

Up ahead you can see the sweep vehicles, and those tiny dots are road bikes that have zoomed past. The thing I say most on this ride is "Thank you left." as I'm passed. On the plus side, I get to see every one's bikes, outfits, and tight foxy buns.

Finally I make it to rest stop 1, where we are expertly ministered to by Sister Mary Juanita High of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (who come out in full force at day 7's first rest stop).

I grab a granola bar, a cereal bar, and a trail mix bar, shout "All food in bar form!" and wander back over toward my bike to talk with Uncle Mel.

Uncle Mel is a different Mel than the one who helped me change my tire yesterday. He is not feeling well, and I commiserate with him a bit and offer hugs before riding out.

It is 23 miles to the next rest stop. The artichoke stop is somewhere in the middle, but as I draw close the estimable Ginger Brewlay shouts that the caboose is only 10 minutes behind. If I'm still there at that time, I will be swept to camp. I decide to push on. I'm not missing otter pops and naked swimming for a vegetable. Not even a fried one.

So I continue on. Fields of weeds, flowers and pollen start to make my eyes a little itchy

and in some places the morning fog lingers over unseeded fields
.
I grit my teeth. "Just get to skinny dipping," I tell myself "and then you can sag from there. It won't matter."

The second rest stop does much to raise my spirits. Its Sesame Street! Today's porta-potties are brought to you by the letters H, E, I, and A, and the number 3

I get my picture taken with my favorite on Sesame Street:

Oscar the Grouch! (though that smile doesn't seem at all grouchy ;)) and as I get back on the bike to head to lunch Big Bird helps direct traffic.


Its a little less than 10 miles from rest stop 2 to lunch, and I make it in just under an hour. Lunch is at Central Park in Salinas. I find a spot in the shade to lay my bicycle (bike parking is full) and wade through a sea of brightly colored jerseys to the lunch line. Today one of the sides is string cheese. Considering how excited I get its surprising that I don't buy string cheese on my regular trips to the grocery store. Its also surprising that I can ignore the fact that I haven't washed my hands with soap and running water for 2 days now (we get wet naps and hand sanitizer at the porta-potties), and there's a pretty impressive layer of grime under my stubby short fingernails.

I find a seat at the lone picnic table, eating upright rather than hunched over on the ground for nearly the only time this week. Another rider whose name might be Gregory joins us. Lunch time discussion turns to why each of us is riding, and I-think-it-was-Gregory tells us that this is the only fundraiser he really believes in because over 70% of the money raised actually goes to services, rather than "administrative costs" as in so many other charities.

I am astonished to find that I've been at lunch for a little over half an hour now, but reflect on the fact that I've also managed to eat a sandwich, two string cheese lumps, a small pack of baby carrots, three small bags of chips and a large cookie, plus drink 2 cans of Gatorade. I guess maybe half an hour isn't so long. I try to pick the most promising looking potty line and get ready to get back on the road. 60.4 miles left 'til camp.

The next stop is just a potty stop, a new addition this year in a desperate attempt to keep us manically hydrated riders from widdling on the road side. Its a relatively easy ten miles through more farm land. As we make our way down CA route 68 I start to notice some really bizarre... art? Set up in the fields are gargantuan sort of cutouts resembling farmers and field hands at various tasks related to their jobs. They completely surreal. And they're everywhere. It looks like we've stumbled into a land populated by giants.

As we take the exit onto River Rd. there waiting for me is my favorite. Apparently it takes big balls to be a farmer. How big?

Like the size of a head of lettuce.

As I'm taking photos, other riders are pulling to a stop in astonishment. There are a lot of jokes about salad. One rider with a fox tail on his helmet offers to take my picture with this beautiful thing. So here because its hilarious, and so you can get an idea of how big these things are:


I take Mr. Fox tail's picture with the farmer as well, and somehow this earns me the nickname "lettuce balls" from him for the rest of the ride. Every day at least once I hear a cheery "On your left. How's it going Lettuce Balls?"

Its nice. It reminds me to laugh when I'm struggling.

The miles to rest stop three fly by. We've got a seriously excellent tail wind and I'm averaging close to 22 mph on the little rolling hills. Rest stop three is staffed by super heroes

and I'm terribly pleased with myself for choosing my Wolverine shirt to wear today.

Tailwinds are great on the road, but when you stop moving and are just wandering around the sandy parking lot of the Pessagno Winery, they're a bit pesky. I grab some water and a quick snack, take one look at the potty line, and opt to skip on to the next stop. After all, its only 10 miles away, and its the Otter pop stop!

On our route sheets the stop is simply marked as a water stop. ALC provides water and potties at this restored historic mission. A wonderful and dedicated group of supporters have come together to make this stop something special.

Under a tent are cooler after cooler of delicious frozen treats. And nearby the Otter pop fairies dance to catchy tunes.


I get my tube of frozen mush (orange, my favorite!) and jump in the potty line. Several enterprising ice cream vendors have also set up shop, in case a single taste of something cold was enough to send us over the edge into a chocolate ice cream, strawberry shortcake, rocket pop buying frenzy. They seem to be doing pretty well. I decide to save myself for the M&M crew at the entrance, and their "cookie in mouth" service they're supplying. (Open your mouth for Famous Amos and one of the crew will pop in a cookie. I wish I could get that at home.)

Business completed, and Otter pop contentedly ingested I head back to my bike. As I'm about to mount another rider asks if I've checked out the mission. I confess I haven't. Despite my protests that I really want to get to naked swimming, he insists that I should go look, just for a moment because its really cool.

He's right.

Inside the chapel a few riders and roadies are sitting in pews in silent contemplation. As I walk up the aisle I notice a note posted by the priests. All ALC riders, roadies and supporters are invited to leave a message or memory on the altar cloth. The cloth will be used in next Sunday's mass and a special prayer of remembrance and thanks will be offered. The cloth already looks like a t-shirt on the last day of summer camp, but still riders pour in and gather round.



I am deeply moved, and reflect on the scope of this disease. The sheer amount of loss it has caused in such a short period is nearly incomprehensible. I step back into the sun and make a quick tour around the rest of the building.
Despite the dry, hot, windy conditions the mission manages a respectable garden.


There's also a sign listing when the mission was started, and when it was restored.


After a summer in England, and an extensive tour of Westminster Abbey, I smile a bit and remember the old joke: "To an American 100 years is a long time. To a European 100 miles is a long way."

40.1 of 105.4 miles to go.

I race along another twelve miles or so until I cross a bridge. There are bikes everywhere, and less adventurous cyclists taking pictures of the river below.

Finally. I have made it to the skinny dipping site.

In deference to new found friends, no pictures from me. I dropped my bike at the next available spot, and raced past small knots of people trying to strike the "I'll go in if you go in" bargain. Its a steep descent, but far less treacherous than Black's Beach, and nowhere near as long. I strip off my grubby sweaty clothes, and as I peel off my socks, a great cloud of dust rises. As I head toward the water one girl calls out "I don't want you to think I'm checking you out, but I really like your tattoo."

Dang. NO ONE is checking me out on this ride!

The men are downstream a bit, laughing and joking with one another. The women (more afraid of being photographed perhaps?) are tucked closer to the bridge. The water is cold, but in an invigorating way rather than an unpleasant make your feet numb sort of way. I splash around for a bit while a nearby older lesbian comments on how weird it is to "see dick again".

All good things must come to an end. Incoming riders warn us that the caboose is close behind, so I scramble out of the water and back into my clothes. There are 20 miles to go, though someone insists its only 2 to the next rest stop and 17 to camp. They are wrong. Five miles to the next stop, and 20 to camp, but in my exuberant, optimistic frame of mind I see the tail winds continuing unabated, the landscape remaining flat, and myself in camp in a little over an hour.

The winds do indeed continue unabated.

Unfortunately shortly after the swimming hole the road takes a sharp turn and we are now being battered by crosswinds so strong I am literally pushed off the road more than once. I have to drop my left shoulder and ride half twisted in the saddle, eyes screwed up against flying sand and grit. The only relief is when sweep vehicles pass, shielding us from the wind for a couple of seconds. The wind is roaring in my ears and I can barely hear the rider shouting behind me. He claims that somehow we are (according to his bike computer) still doing about 14 mph.

Still, we only get to the last rest stop about 15 minutes before it closes. The theme is DMV, but I don't have time to get my license


I can, however, see how much the junk in my eyes has affected my vision while waiting for my chance to pee


I'm in and out of the rest stop in record time. It is ten minutes to close as I ride back into the punishing crosswinds. We are promised a return to tail winds in three miles. It is now nearly 6 PM. The route officially closes at 7. There are approximately 15 miles left to go. It doesn't look like I'm going to make it. I'm disappointed, but fervently hope to at least finish 100 miles today. I don't want to be robbed of my first full century.

A turn delivers tailwinds as promised, but in exchange we are faced with a long winding hill. Slowly I make my way up, one eye on my watch. When I reach the top its so late I figure since there's no way on Earth I'm making it to camp before the route closes, I might as well stop for some pictures. Besides, the road hugs the hill to the left, but to the right drops away to an amazing view of the farmland we'd toiled through that day.




An immensely helpful rider offered to take my picture looking back


You can see the road behind coming more or less out of my left ear. The tiny tiny dots are other riders.

Pictures duly taken, back on the bike, and hurrying down the road, trying to at least make it to the turn marked 103.1 miles on the route sheet. Then I'd know for sure I'd done over 100 miles, even if I did get swept the last two miles into camp.

Luckily its a pretty straight shot to the last few turns, so I get to keep the aid both of the tailwinds, and a nice downhill after the unexpected climb. I make the turn with 15 minutes to spare. I just might make it. Its only just over 2 miles. Only we've turned, and we're once again riding cross winds. Its only a mile and a half I tell myself. True, but the last half mile is headwinds. Even worse.

Still, I struggle through and surprise myself when I pull into the bike parking line. It is 6:57 PM. Three minutes to spare.

King City is one of the windiest places I've ever been. Second only to Blackpool in recent memory. When I get to my tent, its nearly sideways. Anna is stretched across the inside vainly trying to provide enough weight to anchor the tent against the wind. I add in my luggage and we manage to get the tent more or less upright.

I hurry through my shower, but its still nearly 8:30 by the time I get out. They stop serving dinner at 9. Anna has lost track of time and had thought it was still only 6-ish. We both hurry to the dining hall, and end up getting to bed a bit later than ideal.

Still, I made the 105.4 mile trek and got to make nearly every stop. I am well pleased with myself.

Tomorrow is Quadbuster.

I have no idea how the day dawns. It is 3:45 AM when my alarm goes off. I grumble out of bed, somehow manage to get into my clothes, and finish packing all the little last minute things... all by flashlight since there are 2 other people asleep in the room, and only one is coming with me. Everything squared away, I turn my energies to waking Ralf, who was kind enough to make the trip up with me, if not crazy enough to bike back down. He is supposed to come with me to the Cow Palace, listen to opening ceremonies, and see me off on the first of seven days of riding.

I manage to get him up, and we stumble down into the drizzly dark cold of an early San Francisco morning. My main thought at this point is "Oh, what the hell." I'm decked out in all the cycling gear I own... my helmet, my gloves, and the incentive jacket I got for turning 40 lbs of fudge into $1000 this winter. Everything else is street clothes. Underneath the windbreaker is a regular t-shirt, not a jersey. I don't have bike shorts, instead I wear stretch pants from my time at Lip Service clothing; black with white skulls and daggers on them. My socks are not moisture wicking technologically advanced super socks. My shoes are not clips, nor even cycle shoes, they are a battered pair of Vans, and my pedals are flat. I am the street clothes mafia. It is around this time I realize I've forgotten my "woolies"... the regular pair of gloves I put over my fingerless padded cycling gloves to actually keep my hands warm. Oh well. Things could be worse. I think.

On the way back to the Cow Palace I gobble down two muffins, while the ALC advice mantras repeat in my head: "Drink before you're thirsty. Eat before you're hungry." "Drink, pee, no IV." "Hydrate! Lubricate!". My mind is reaching a frantic pitch going back over everything I've packed, everything I might have forgotten. We stop for batteries at a gas station so I can actually use my camera this year. My suitcase now has 8 AA batteries, some watch batteries, 4 AAA batteries, and two batteries for my cell phone, as well as the hand-crank charger. I want to be SURE the three flashlights I brought don't all spontaneously die leaving me to the mercy of dark porta-potty seats in the middle of the night, my camera will not want for power, and nor will my phone, even though I intend to leave it off most of the time. I like to indulge my little neuroses when I can. I've also unnecessarily packed three bottles of sunscreen in case my surface area suddenly increases exponentially, two long books, in case I get into camp early and/or have trouble sleeping (hardly touched either one), and some fudge in case I have a bad day, and need a fancy chocolate pick me up. I feel better with the candy stashed away. With chocolate, anything is possible.

Ralf manages to stay awake on the drive over, but just barely:
. When we get to the Cow Palace, there's a drop off area set up, and Ralf decides to drop me and push on back to LA instead of attending the opening ceremonies and ride out. I am disappointed, but there's not a lot of time to dwell.

Its now 5 AM, and still not yet early morning light. I drop my small suitcase and sleeping bag at the gear truck

My measly flash isn't enough to lighten the pre-dawn gloom. Its still drizzling a bit. I think to myself that I honestly don't know how these NoCal people can do it. I mean here it is June already, and its in the low 40's and drizzly. Though, I suppose on further reflection, most people don't spend their 4 and 5 AM up and about.

To escape the cold I head back to the stinky relative warmth of bike parking. There are two rooms packed with bicycles:

Each bicycle also has a helmet cover. This is a new tradition started last year where each cyclist is issued a red helmet cover to be worn to the first rest stop. Supposedly our uniformity helps to make a stronger statement than the sheer force of our numbers. My helmet isn't the usual aerodynamic bike helmet shape, so its difficult for me to get the cover on. This year I took special pains to paint my bike so it stands out a bit. This is what has earned her her new name, Pinky. Though for some reason, she is difficult to photograph clearly in this setting.
. Assuring myself that Pinky is still ok, and no crazy bandits have made off with her in the night, I go back to the main room to see who's about and what's going on.

There's a little snack table set up, so I grab some orange slices and a granola bar. The only drinks provided are kiwi-strawberry vitamin water, and while I highly doubt there's any actual kiwi in it, I'm not feeling brave enough to test that theory. Besides, being rushed to the hospital in anaphylactic shock would be a lousy way to start the ride. While mouching I run into Ed again, and decide to grab the pic we should have gotten last year when we were tent mates, so here's Ed from Chicago and me making a stupid face with an orange:


I also run into other Team 100 members in their spiffy Team 100 jerseys. One of them asks where mine is, and I have to admit that after I signed up for the team I was never contacted by anyone. I didn't know who or how to get a hold of, so I guess I just kind of fell by the way side. I hope no one thinks I was being lazy or ungrateful, I truly am sorry that I missed my chance to ride with everyone and be part of the team.

As we wait for Opening Ceremonies to start I run into some buddies from training rides. This is their first ride, and they are very excited!

Opening ceremonies begin with some group stretching to get us loose and limber. Then its time for moving speeches, the recognition of the Positive Pedalers (the photo on their home page is from last year's ride out), and some number dropping to let us know how we've done. This year is record breaking on all fronts. We have 2,333 cyclists, over 450 roadies, and together we have raised $11 million. A great achievement even before we set out.

Unfortunately, my body is starting to wake up, and I miss most of the speeches thanks to waiting in the lengthy bathroom line as everyone tries to get in one last flush session before a week of porta-potties.

Opening ceremonies over, we shuffle to bike parking, all 2,333 of us, to get ready for ride out. Riders pack the hall.

There is the murmur of conversation, and somewhat more noticeably, mooing and the sounds of cow bells.

As we enter bike parking we are handed our route sheets for the day. They look like ( This )
Notice the unfortunate monstrous hill on the elevation map. What fun! The total mileage is 89.9, as opposed to 79.3 miles last year, thanks to a detour around construction. No worries, onwards and upwards, a Fflam is always valiant sort of thing. So its on the bikes and away!

Except that all 2,333 of us are trying to leave through a limited number of doors all at the same time. Add to that the fact that we have to be safe and legal and ride in single file, and it looks more like this:

There's always traffic in the city. Here we're trying to work our way around the building.
We'll then have a short side, and another long side to cover before we can actually get out of the drive way. Its still cold. We do the best we can with wisecracks and stretching. Eventually our turn comes and we're really and truly off!

Except that about half a mile out I notice my front tire is a little low. So I stop to put in some more air with my trusty frame pump... only to find that some time in the hard knock life of my bicycle the bit that fastens around the tire valve has become cracked and will not fasten. Wonderful Mel, one of the training ride leaders in my area stops to help. We get the tire inflated, but as he goes to remove his pump, the entire valve rips out of the tire with it. Poor kind Mel is dismayed, and I can only laugh in amazement. I've never seen that happen. We dig out my spare tube and tire irons and change my new flat. As we're working we see everyone go by. Mel tells me that he had promised himself he wasn't going to be the last rider out of the Cow Palace this year, but clearly that didn't work out. I try to gently remind him we're nearly a half mile out, so *technically* he's in the clear. I do feel bad though.

Tire fixed! Mel shoots forward on his legs of steel. I plod along praying I can get to the first rest stop before it closes and I'm automatically sagged into camp on the bus. I pass several other knots of riders with flats. I offer help, but am waved on through each time, much to my secret shameful relief.

Rest stop one is at a mere 6.8 miles from our starting point. I make it in time, shedding my helmet cover, and heading in for a snack. The stop is at some sort of stables. There are lovely fields all around, which we're supposed to stay out of, but the bright yellow flowers are a nice contrast to the gloomy day around us.


This one I just wanted a picture of the horses, I'm not actually sure who the person is, sorry rider!


As I enter the rest stop I can see a wall of riders ahead of me, and a steady stream returning to the route
. I don't yet have to pee, and I am gripped with a panic that I am already becoming dehydrated. I start chugging my water a little more heartily.

Leaving the rest stop we begin to climb. These hills are not named, and not as steep as others we'll encounter. Still, they are first, seemingly unending, and so choked with fog that we can barely see 30 feet ahead. All us bike commuters put on our flashing lights and feel smug as we creep our way up the hills.

And suddenly the climb is over. We have crested the first little range, and broken through the fog and as we race down the other side, the beauty of California spreads out around us.

Mountains still swathed in fog stand sentry over sparkling lakes and golden fields.


Mel is behind me also taking pictures, and we joke about how my tire is now holding up and nothing else can possibly go wrong. I continue on, approaching the 10 mile climb that is Skyline Blvd. (that nasty bump on the route sheet's elevation map. Alas, as I take the turn on Larkspur Dr. to cross under I-280 my chain grinds, my pedals swing wildly. I stop, something is wrong. I figure I've just dropped the chain, and it will be a momentary fix to set it back on the gear wheels and I'll be off.

When I get down to check it out it turns out that the small wheel in my derailer (the bit that moves the chain when you change gears) has fallen off. A search of the area clarifies that apparently it has actually manifested its self into another dimension. I am left with no option but to flag down a sweep vehicle and hope the bike techs at the next rest stop can fix it for me. The first two don't have space, but Disney Sweep comes to the rescue, and with Little Nemo happily blowing bubbles on the dashboard we head off to rest stop 2.

The water catches up to me, and I am in some serious discomfort as the van makes its way to the top of the Skyline Dr. climb. I am thankful I missed the 10 mile ordeal, but even more thankful for a chance to rush off into the bushes. Wet leaves and spotty mud tell me I'm not the only one. I pee twice before we make it to the rest stop. I'm sharing the sweep with a Pos Peds rider from the mid-west. He fell and chipped a tooth, and needs medical to clean him up before he can go on. He tells me that the town he works in has 13 HIV cases, and almost all of them are under the age of 20. He also tells me that when he applied for medical assistance (he has no insurance) the state told him that since he was a University student he obviously had money he could be putting towards HIV medication if he so chose. This is the choice we are giving people: life now in exchange for your hopes for the future.

We arrive at the second rest stop. The line for bike tech is long. The long steep climb has wreaked havoc on many bikes. When my turn comes, the tech looks worried. You see, I ride a hybrid which is a cross between a road bike and a mountain bike. Its bigger, bulkier and heavier, but a little hardier too. However, since the majority of riders are on road bikes, that's what they brought repair pieces for. He doesn't have any gear wheels my size. He tells me I might have to sag into camp, and they'll see if they can buy a part from a local shop. My dismay must have been evident (I'd only ridden 16 miles so far that day!). He promised to see if he could rig something up with the parts he did have. Pinky goes up on the rack

and the amazing ninja bike tech manages to rebuild the derailer with smaller wheels. I am able to ride on! Though I have to do so in a hurry, as it is 10 minutes to rest stop close. If you're still there when a rest stop or lunch stop closes, you will be put on a bus to camp and your bike will follow in a truck. I flee before the megaphone shouts of the rest stop closing manager.

Lunch is a mere 22 something miles away. I get full benefit of the downhill coast without having done the climb. I am gleeful. The rest of the route for the day levels out a bit. The worst hazard we face before lunch is becoming entangled with the Sequoia Century riders who share part of our route. I am careful to follow my sheet, and not riders who might lead me on a wild 100 mile ride out of my way. Tomorrow there is time enough for my first century.

Lunch is at the beautiful San Gregorio Sate Beach. I arrive to find many fellow cyclists already sprawled in the sun, and some already getting ready to depart.


Some of the sweep vehicles have pulled in for lunch as well. Now we ride on public roads, so you may be wondering how we distinguish the sweeps from just another van or SUV. Well, its really quite simple really.

Its that little yellow tag that lets you know.

Lunch all seven days will be more or less the same. A sandwich, usually turkey and cheese, assorted flavours of potato chips, a cookie, apple or pear, and a rotating side, either pasta salad, string cheese, or carrots. There's vegetarian options at all meals, but you have to register as a vegetarian, and I still remember Outward Bound. I go a little crazy without meat.

So I'm enjoying my lunch in the sun. Stretching and feeling the cool sea breeze. Content in the knowledge that the elevation map we received this morning is entirely flat from lunch on into camp. So what if its 38 more miles? Its flat!

And then I look on down the road.

And I see

this thing hulking in the distance.


Yeah, that's what awaits us just after lunch. Now it looks a little impressive in the pictures, but please remember that its an exceptionally clear day here by the beach. Those people are pretty close, and we're on top of a slight rise of our own. Plus, its steep!. Quite unfair. My only consolation is that the Sequoia Century riders are still on our trail so they have to face the same climb... but without our delicious lunch.

To be fair, the rest of the afternoon was pretty relaxed. We follow Highway 1/ PCH down the coast. I saw an honest to goodness light house

I continue on with that "I Want To Marry A Lighthouse Keeper" song stuck in my head.

We wind along the coast. The sky is so blue its almost purple. The water is a color I've rarely seen outside of Hawaii.




Since I'm so busy photographing instead of pedaling I reach rest stop three only moments before close. I cram some food in my mouth chipmunk style and head for the porta-potty line. Its one of the magical things about the ride. Grown men and women get excited about a chance to pee in a bucket.

I do the next 13 miles to the final rest stop in about an hour. I remember what's so great about tail winds. Now, all the rest stops have themes, but rest stop 4 consistently went above and beyond with not only costumes, but also fun little interactive stations. Day 1's theme? Wizard of Oz! You could be the Wicked Witch:

There was a yellow brick road leading to the snacks, where

a flying money awaited to hand you cut bananas!

From rest stop 4 its only a little over 5 miles into camp. I get out of the stop around 6, and as its starting to get later its starting to get chillier as well. I stop briefly to help another rider change a flat tire (well, by help, I mostly held the small pieces and held up a thumbs up so people passing would know we were ok), accidentally blow past the pie stop and get to camp about half an hour before the route officially closes for the day. Lucky for me, Anna got in before me and has already gotten our tent set up. I track down the gear truck and go to get in line for showers. At dinner Anna and I chat with a couple of guys across the table. One of them is very cute and complains about being checked out in the shower... is that a good sign? Its so hard to tell sometimes. It all turns out to be irrelevant any way, as I don't manage to catch sight of him again this week.

Today is June 2, 2007. It is orientation day for ALC 6. After a grueling overnight drive, and not enough sleep it is time to head over to the Cow Palace in Daly City to check in, drop off my bike, and meet my tent mate for the first time in person. On the way over I reflect on my preparations so far. I am eager to be on the road. I registered back in September, and have been fundraising ever since. With the help of my family and friends I've raised nearly $3,000.

Thank you so very much Sebastiano, George, Patrick H, Rick, James, Joe, Matt, Capiz, Patrick C., Goose, Lesley, Beth, Mom, Julie, Kirsten, Stefanie, Monique, Linda, Alexandra, Anthony, Rachel, Julie, Gwyn, Kristy, Lynn, Rebecca, and everyone on Team 100. I am so deeply honoured by your generosity, and you are all very much in my thoughts as I begin the final step in this long journey.

I get to the Cow Palace around 10 AM, park the rental, and re-assemble my bike. I had to take both the front and rear wheels off to get it in the Aveo, and I say a quick and silent thanks for quick release :).

The Cow Palace is so called because for decades it was housing for various cattle auctions. When the circus was in town they'd use the enormous facility to house the various exotic animals as well. Upon entering we are greeted by a pungent odor nearly impossible to describe, and never encountered in my ramblings before or since. Suffice it to say the smell made quite sure that the numerous little coffee and sandwich stands set up for our convenience would remain unvisited by me. The stench of thousands of frightened urinating cows and countless angry defecating lions has a way of dulling one's hunger.

Odor aside, I made my way inside and got in the first of the many lines I'd encounter this week. I left my bike to bike parking, and stepped back outside to make a quick call to my tent mate, Anna. She tells me she's just setting out, and probably won't be here until about 12 pm. Fair enough. We work out a meeting place, and I go to the other side of the building to get in the check in line that winds through the main corridor and out the doors, spilling into the parking lot and back around the building. There is sort of a miserable misty drizzle coming down, but everyone is excited, and I even recognize some of the people either in line, or wandering about. The line moves faster than you'd think, and between chatting with other LA riders, petting puppies that accompanied brave moms and dads to check in, and singing along with the Monkees songs coming from an inadequate speaker against the wall I somehow find myself at the front.

The check in process is a bit anti-climactic after the lengthy wait. Sign here and here, get your wristband slapped on, and collect your goody bag. We have to sign two waivers stating we promise not to sue if we get injured doing something stupid, and also that we're sure we're in good enough shape not to keel over from the exertion... well, pretty sure anyway. The wristbands have our rider numbers on them, an emergency phone number in case anything should happen while on the road, and a space to be hole punched to keep count of our massages over the week. They also allow us access to the chiropractors and sports med folks traveling with us, and all the hot food we can stomach at breakfast and dinner. The gift bags contain various goodies from sponsors, including lip balm from Vitamin Water, a water bottle from Gilead, Biofreeze gel, and my personal favorite, rainbow socks from Subaru.

I can't get my tent assignment without having seen the safety video, nor without my tent mate, so I go to drop off the goody bag in the car, and stick my little number stickers on my helmet and bike. I am now a number. No longer Joanna, I am 1690. Easily identifiable to all who pass me or glance at my wrist. The bike is no longer Pinky, she is also 1690. An extension of my legs, to carry me over the impending miles. On the way out to the car I run into Ed, my tent mate from last year. We chat a bit and he introduces me to his posse, one of whom turns out to be the rider I'm supposed to be hosting when we all get back to LA. It seems a million years away, but I'm glad to meet him.

Returning from the car, I meet up with this year's tent mate at last. We've emailed a couple times, spoken on the phone maybe twice, and now meet face to face. She seems a little nervous, as am I. She drops off her bike and we get in line for the safety video. While we wait we chat with a lovely lady who also rode last year. She tells us about all the butt butter she's brought this year. Butt Butter is something of an obsession with the ALC crowd. Its Anna's first ride, and she doesn't seem quite sure how to react to this revelation. We watch the video, get a different wristband, and I go to stand in line with Anna so she can check in and we can get our tent spot. Every pair gets a spot on the grid, identified by a letter and a number. Your gear is transported by a truck with the same letter, and you get dog tags for yourself and your luggage with your tent square on it. Our address for the next week will be I-39. We are allowed one bag which must weigh less than 70 lbs. and a sleeping bag. Tents, food, porta-potties, and even showers are provided.

Tent assignment completed, everyone checked in and oriented, our tasks for the day are nearly through. It is now just after 4:00 PM. I say good bye to Anna, check on my bike one final time, and head out to grab some dinner, and find a grocery store to pick up something for breakfast on Sunday. We're supposed to report at 5 AM and I doubt much will be open. That evening I nervously try to fall asleep. I'm hoping that this ride goes well, that I make friends, that I am in fact strong enough to conquer Quadbuster, the Evil Twins, and Ant Hill (which doesn't sound so bad, until my cycle buddy explained that its so named because when you get towards the top, you can look back and the cyclists at the bottom look like ants.), that I manage to make it through this better than alive, ideally uninjured, that I live up to my expectations for myself, and those of the people I care about. Time is ticking. I drift off around 9:00.