DAY 4
97.7 miles to go.

All of the days start to blur together. Even as I look over my journal and notes trying to type up these posts, I'm doubting that the things I wrote actually happened on the days that I wrote them. I no longer believe in the concept of time.

So - apparently, although there are no witnesses, I woke up early on Day 4 so I could to go Chiro and have my shoulders taped up to help me maintain posture and avoid the whole pinched nerve thing I was dealing with on Day 3.

I rode out at 7:18am.

Day 4 is a loooong day because it's almost a hundred miles and because there are some extra special stops along the route. It was a warm morning and I felt great getting on my bike.

It was like 20 miles to Rest Stop 1, which was at an old ranchy type place. Please enjoy this picture of me with some farm equipment.
After this stop come the "Evil Twins"which are two hills - so yous climb 2000 feet and then coast down 1000 feet and then climb back up to 2000 feet. Again, because I'm pretty bad ass, I didn't feel that these hills were very tough. Just hills.

Plus . . . at the crest of the second hill you come to the most magical sign in the entire world and the best view of the entire ride.

And if being halfway home isn't good enough, you might get stuck in the sign line (waiting to take your picture) with a fairly attractive fellow from San Fransisco who you think is perfect for Sunny.

And if talking to unicorns isn't good enough, at the top of the hill there were also Flamingos.


And if Flamingos are not enough, there is also Brownie Lady. I Love Brownie Lady.


And if Brownie Lady isn't enough to make you happy, there is a condom man interviewing a biker.

And if condom man isn't enough there is a 7 mile downhill after this stop.

Honest to Pete.

On the downhill, my line unicorn got a flat tire. I tried to stop and help him but I almost caused a major accident so I didn't stop. After that he wouldn't talk to me. So basically, I'm sorry Sunny. I should have fallen over to find you love and I failed.

Blah blah blah . . . more rest stops . . . blah blah blah . . . here is me looking a bit tired at lunch . . . . but I more like this picture because of the positioning of the people in the background . . . hehehe. (yup, I'm 12.)


At this point all my notes say is:

Post lunch: Hell & Love. Heartburn & Fatigue.

:)

I can only assume I was starting to get a little tired.

OF course who cares about riding anyway - my purpose in life was fulfilled when I made it here:


to eat this:


with Julie, a kind kind kind woman who wanted to share.

I shit you not, if you are EVER in your life in Pismo Beach, go here. Eat one of these. You can get them any way you want. I'm not saying my life is complete or anything . . . okay, yes I am. I'm literally saying that if some horrible illness or tragedy were to end my life tomorrow, I would die happy having had the opportunity to eat this cinnamon roll. It was that good.

So . . . maybe it was the sugar crash or maybe it was the fact that I'd already been on my bike for over 9 hours . . . or maybe it was the heartburn or the bike seat heat blisters . . . but after the roll stop, I was an unhappy camper. And I knew it. For several miles, I would try and think of things to post on Twitter when I got into camp and everything I came up with was just negative. This hurts, that's sore, this sucks, I hate wind, and so on and so forth. I rolled into rest stop 4 feeling dizzy and sad and I wanted to quit.

Of course, FAIL is not an option. So the next logical thing to do was realize that there was no one around to listen to me bitch and no one on Twitter wanted to hear it either . . . so I should change my attitude.

I literally spend the last 20 miles of the ride repeating to myself "I refuse to believe that my mental toughness has limits" in rhythm with my pedaling. Just one positive phrase, over and over and over and over for almost two hours. And. Shocker. I made it to camp, no problem. I didn't have to give up. I didn't faint. I didn't get blown over by the crosswinds.

Stupid mind, always trying to bring me down. Silly, negative thought patterns. You are so profoundly useless.

Camp was thus a much happier place.

See how happy my tent looks?


And check out all these people making inappropriate use of a Frolf hole.


I called Granny B, who was having a lonely day. I pretty much lied to my grandmother and told her that I was road tripping down the coast with some friends. It's okay though, when I finally confessed after I was home safe and showed her all the pictures she told me she was glad she didn't know I was biking at the time :)

The back half of Day 4 was really when everything turned. I was having a blast riding up until then but I could tell that my body was simply running out of energy. I was exhausted and my muscles were not recovering as easily. I was losing speed and starting to lose mental focus. The notes get hazy and at some point after the cinnamon rolls, I just wanted to go home. It was now about getting home.

Planet Unicorn is a Happy Place

DAY 3
One of the little oddities of this ride is that we don’t actually get a printed route sheet for each day until the morning as we’re riding out. However, there are a few well known, widely discussed sections of the route and Day 3 contains the first . . . QUADBUSTER. It’s a hill, named as such to sound scary and painful. Newbies always fear it (except me obviously) and returners are always trying to say that it’s easy and they rocked it last year. Regardless, it’s a big day and upon waking up at 5am I immediately started delighting in the human experiment that is the Quadbuster.

The cyclists don’t even mention it – like it doesn’t matter to them at all.

The returning riders either say it’s a breeze or spread rumors of misery.

The newbies take on one of two approaches. The most common is fear - lamentations of doubt and visions of failure. Quadbuster has already beaten them. The less common approach (and obviously the one I adopted) was to pretend that Quadbuster is NBD - that a hill is a hill is a hill and if I don’t stop pedaling, I’ll eventually get to the top.

It was fascinating to eavesdrop on people’s varying degrees of terror, excitement, and perceived personal abilities.
But before I could get there . . . UNICORNS.

No. Not those unicorns.

These unicorns.

Oh wait. I didn't get a picture of them. Why? Because it would have been awkward. And we can't have that.

Somewhere between butt butter and sunscreen at rest stop 1 I was hanging out at bike parking trying unsuccessfully to tweet when I overhear something along the lines of “I’m constantly getting hit on by men and checking out lesbians, I can’t win.” My straight-dar (yes, that’s a thing) is freaking out.

It goes like this:

Sarah’s Brain (SB): Look up slowly, you don’t want to startle it.

Unicorn 1 (U1)to Unicorn 2 (U2): Hey, if you’re going to wear the jersey, you can’t wear the jacket.

U2: I know, but I’m cold and my chest hair sticks out of the jersey.

U1: Yeah, I know you’re chest hair is like a mane.

SB: Okay, maybe my straight-dar is broken.

U1: It’s like a unicorn or something.

SB: YOU IDIOT, you just made eye contact. Crap, he’s still looking at you. Crap say something witty.

Sarah’s Mouth (SM): It’s nice chest hair.

SB: Fucking christ.

SM: I mean, those are sweet jerseys. Did you custom make them? I like unicorns.
SB: Do you think they know that’s code for, I’m straight?

U1: I’m [Unicorn 1], so you’re from LA? (editor’s note: every rider has to wear a wristband identifying which foundation, San Fran or LA was the beneficiary of their raised funds so you can identify one’s origin on sight).

SM: Yes! U1: We can’t talk to you then.

U2: He doesn’t mean that. Are you doing this ride alone?

SB: Not anymore. Please be my friends 20 something straight guys, for the love of god, please be my friends.

SM: Yes.

U2: Cool. Good luck on Quadbuster.

SM: Thanks, I’ve heard it’s no big deal so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

SB: Sarah, you are so cool.

U1: Yea. See ya.

Now. I was going to get up Quadbuster either way. But there is a small (99%) chance I got up faster because I was trying to catch up to the unicorns. Immediately out of rest stop 1 you start Quadbuster – 1500 feet of climbing over 1 mile. I’m not going to say it was easy, but it was nothing to fear.

Enter meaningful life metaphor.

People who told themselves they were never going to make it to the top of quadbuster because they were not in shape, had busted up gears, misc. random excuse #342, failed.

Fail.

People who decided not to fear the hill but instead focused on how sexy their ass would look to the unicorns on the other side, found this to be one of the easiest hills of the ride so far.

Win.

Also, I would formally like to rename quadbuster assbuster, because my ass hurt a heck of a lot more than my quads did by the end. And, if you’re wondering, I got up using a phrase that’s popular with the kids today: “Apple bottom jeans, jeans, boots with the fur, fur. She hit the floor. Next think you know, know the whole club was lookin’ at hur.” Or some iteration thereof.

(Are you starting to understand how great you think your butt is going to look after you do this ride?)

There were no unicorns at rest stop 2. But there was this guy dressed up as the Red Queen carrying around a walkie talkie.

And me, sporting my Lakers jersey . . . oft getting snide comments from east coasters . . . and just once someone asking to take my picture because he was so proud that I would think to support my team at a time like this:

But lunch . . .

Lunch today was something extra special. Bradley Elementary School actually partners with ALC and sells BBQ lunch to riders. Apparently they have been doing this for years and they make great money for their school. As a veggie, I wasn’t into the BBQ but I did buy some home made buttons. A “GO AIDS RIDER” button for me and a beautiful drawn Picasso-esque french girl for Rooster.

It was, of course, at the port-a-potties where I ran into Unicorn 2.

It went like this.

SB: Minding my own business. . . . do to do . . . washing butter off my hands . . . no big deal . . . can’t wait to give rooster his button . . .omg, I unicorn just walked out of that stall and he’s coming over here. Are you singing out loud to yourself? No. good.

SM: How’d it go?

U2: In the bathroom?

SB: Fuck. SM: Ha. Ha. Ha. No, quadbuster. I mean you can tell me how it went in the bathroom if you really want but . . .

SB: Shut up.

U2: Quadbuster was easy.

SB: Thank you god.

SM: Yeah, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. I trained on way worse.

SB: Yea, keep telling him stuff that makes you sound like you know what you’re talking about . . . great idea.

U2’s Girl Friend: You ready baby (to U2, not to me).

SB: FAIL.

So, more riding . . . the actual riding of the bike is the most boring part of this story.

Rest Stop 4, however, extra special, because today features a performance. The theme was Price is Right. Some boys make attractive women. I’ll admit, it was a bit of a turn on.

Some don’t.

I rolled into camp at 1:45pm and it was like a total dream to have that much time. And by total dream, I mean I had time to wash my bike shorts, my one pair of very dirty, very buttery bike shorts – they take a long time to dry so if you get in early you can hang them in the sun and be golden. As luck would have it, U1 was also washing the butter out of his underthings when I walked up.

He didn’t recognize me.

I’m awkward so I don’t say anything.

Then, after doing laundry another straight boy talked to me for the 10 minute walk back to tent city. He was strange, so I left it at that.

Then outside the port-a-potties, a really hot guy tried to talk to me about the need for a slip-n-slide. He was too hot though, so I got uncomfortable and awkward-ed my way somewhere else.

Since I had so much time, I figured I’d get my free chiro session in. Might as well feel good for the rest of the days right, why save it? As I walked up, I heard angels singing.

Seriously – “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

Chiro and Sports Med = the mecca of straight young men. I forget what school it is, but some California Sports Med college takes students enrolled in summer class and brings them out to the ride to support all the riders. They get tons of hands on experience and a teacher is always near by supervising. It’s totally awesome. It’s a tent full of 20-24 year old college guys who are into sports. Hoooooott. I srsly contemplated faking a more serious injury just so I could lay there longer. I had my neck adjusted and I feel this was the best decision I made on the entire trip. I felt like a million dollars once all the tension in my shoulders was released. Even my ass felt better. Thank you Chiro. Srsly.

Post best moment of my life, I went to medical to ask them if they had any tips and/or tricks for keeping my ass as happy as it felt right then. Basically, all they said was “come to the butt clinic at 6am and we’ll check you out.” I can’t get my face to look good at 6am, like hell I’m going to let you look at the blisters on my ass. Like. Hell.

Moving right along . . . I then decided it was time to call Rooster . . . and 6 hours later, I actually got a signal and was able to use my phone. In the meantime, while wandering, I ate my first dinner and then meandered off of the campsite and into the happening town of Paso Robles to find a post office, the Lakers game and Starbucks. I found no Lakers game, but did sit and observe locals faces who were trying to have dinner in restaurants taken over by hundreds of homosexual individuals.

Small towns don't exactly see this every day.

Back at camp, I found this spot which had a cell signal strong enough to call the Rooster.
I also found this flower.

I was missing Rooster and it was awesome to talk to someone I knew, even if it was only for four minutes.

I ate dinner one more time and proceeded to sit and write in my journal and watch the roadies get ready for their fashion show . . .

I didn't go the fashion show though, because I found power and was charging my cell phone and talking to Melissa (hi Melissa!) who is the one person I knew going into the ride . . . '

All in all, a really good, happy day.

More Bears! More Bears! More Bears!

DAY 2 107.6 miles to go.

Waking up is by far the hardest part of this adventure. It’s cold. Everything is stiff.

The morning routine:

1. Wake up when your neighbors alarm goes of at 4:30am.
2. Listen to people who think they are alone in tent city make out.
3. Mental pep talk about why it's wrong to punch your neighbors.
4. Mental pep talk about why you have to get out of bed.
5. Get out of bed.
6. Get dressed in usually still moist and cold bike shorts (ew) and fresh jersey.
7. Read encouraging note from Rooster.
8. Pack up gear bag and take to truck.
9. Pee.
10. Eat.
11. Find Bike.
12. Inflate tires.
13, Ride out between 6:30am – 7:15am.
Breakfasts are terrible. Oatmeal and scrambled eggs, every day. I have to force myself to eat that early in the morning. Most of the time I can't eat much, so I look forward to rest stop 1.
I left at 7am on Day 2 after waiting about 30 minutes for a bike pump.
The first leg of the ride is always about warming up and getting all the muscles and joints working. I tended to start sluggish and heaving and tired.
Rest Stop 1 becomes critical for stretching and hydrating and, as I mentioned, eating again. Bananas and Goldfish at 8am, why yes, yes I will. Oreo cookies for breakfast? Don't mind if I do. AND rider crack for good measure. Srsly, this is awesome.

Here I am at Rest Stop 1 . . . having ridden 20 miles before most people I know are out of bed.


I only look happy because I took three pictures before this and realized that I wasn’t smiling in any of them so, for the record, this is forced. Honestly, this is exhausting, and it's only Day 2.

I also fixed my hair.

The ride on Day 2 was absolutely beautiful. All day through farm country. We passed the strawberry fields first and for miles before and miles after the air smelled of fresh cut strawberries. Then we passed cilantro and lettuce fields so if you closed your eyes (which you would never do because it’s really dangerous) you could imagine yourself living in a giant and delicious salad, instead of riding your bike for over a hundred miles. Mmmmm. Salad life.

At one point we passed a cactus farm, which I told myself was harvesting agave, even though I know that’s not true.

Because we were on back roads in relatively flat country, we ended up with miles and miles of very bumpy terrain and howling winds. The bumps were by far the most uncomfortable experience of the day because your whole body is impacted – your hands end up hurting the most from trying to maintain grip. Your lady parts also end up, well, angry and full of hate and black and blue. I strongly dislike it when my eyeballs jiggle independently of the rest of my head, it’s disorienting. And we had over 80 miles of this. Elaine (she's the tentmate) ended up with a broken hand from the vibrations. In another context, I'd applaud that effort.

The howling winds brought about my favorite single moment on the bike though . . . that is, I was all by myself by about a minute on either side riding in between miles and miles of farms on either side of the road. The wind was blowing in such a way that it was actually making noise – like a howling cat. At one moment, I was coming up on a farm and the wind quieted. It was almost silent save the sound of my tires on the pavement. And then I started to hear a very faint low “whooooooooooooooooo” which got louder as I approached the farm. As I passed the farm I realized that the wind was catching an open mental mailbox and much like you can blow over an open coke bottle to create a tone, the mailbox and the wind were singing. I could have lived in this moment forever, it was so cool.

I spent the next several hours in deep contemplation of all the unintended side effects of human interaction and natural phenomenon, wondering how many amazing moments like this one go unnoticed, unappreciated by anyone, if any other riders would have heard this and if any of them would have cared at all.

At some point, we crossed a river which is a popular photo op. I was feeling ahead of my pace so I took the time to stop and take a few pictures of the seals.

Seals:
















Where I came from pre seals:




















Where I was headed post seals:
















Exciting right? All this before 11am.

Lunch was a much needed stop, somewhere around mile 55. I was tired.

Did I mention that Day 2 was 110 miles?

After lunch I expanded my knowledge of my gears and shifting techniques and was super proud when a rider told me I was pacing very well. Until I found out this was code for 'thanks for letting me draft you for the last hour'. Jerk.

At rest stop 3 I ate some Gu which I credited with making me fly for many miles. I mean, I was making great time at about 19 MPH. I eventually figured out that the Gu was not so impactful as the tailwinds were. I was actually having fun though, that’s the important thing. I was enjoying riding my bike . . . fast.






The highlight of Day 2 was the water stop between rest stops 3 & 4.

Bears. Cowboy Hats. Otter Pops. I don't think I need to tell you how in love with this I was.


I know, right? And then, oh and then, someone would just scream "MORE BEARS!" and out of nowhere like 30 of these bears in tutus would start running in circles and dancing with riders. It was pretty much the best ever.

More bears:



I could have stayed here forever too. Except that I have heard rumors of skinny dipping and someone named “Cookie Lady” prior to rest stop 4, and of course, we all know how I feel about rest stop 4.

A little ways down the road we come to a bridge that crosses a river in which many participants choose to shed clothing in order to swim in. I opted to keep going. This has been happening for years and I am told that this is the first year that someone has complained about the hundreds of naked bodies below the bridge. Just because you’re driving a school bus full of kids over the bridge and it gets stopped for an extra 20 minutes as riders pass . . . ha!

Past the bridge is a fairly annoying hill, except that “cookie lady” is at the top of it. Cookie Lady, as it turns out, is just a good person who likes to make thousands of cookies the week before the ride and feed them to hungry riders.

Cookie Lady.


Look how happy that rider is. This might be the best vacation ever because every where you go there is free, delicious, fattening food. The average rider will burn about 3500 calories on the bike, on top of the 1400 or so burned off the bike so we’re told to eat as close to 5000 calorie a day as we can get. Guilt free. Awesome.

Rest Stop 4 was themed Extreme Home Makeover: Recession Edition but ended up looking more like Bob the Builder and friends.

I felt a little discriminated against because every time a boy got up there to have his picture taken they posed very inappropriately. Of course for me they were like – here hold the sign. Haha. I was jealous. Please note the Hellions love and the purple fanny pack.

The first 5 miles out of rest stop 4 were all 30 mph crosswinds and this was by far the least fun thing I’d done so far. I actually had to use my right hand to push the right handle bars forward while pulling with my left hand to go kind of straight. Big gusts of wind would relocate me a good 7 inches to the right, without my permission. This was frightening. However, I was feeling on top of the world because I was mentally in the zone, kicking that wind’s ass. I was literally yelling at the wind, and telling it that it would not defeat me or blow me off the road like it was doing to other little girls. AND what’s even better is that once you break the wind and turn the corner, you get 10 miles of tailwind over rolling hills, which is by far the most fun 10 miles of the ride. Reaching a top speed of 40 mph, I was actually still enjoying riding my bike, after 90+ miles. Silly.

I parked my bike for the night at 5:30pm.

Ride bike 100 miles in a day. Done. Take that bucket list.

People are always cheering you in as you ride into camp. There is one guy that is always saying “smile” as you ride past. I wanted to punch him. I'm starting to feel like I want to punch people a lot. I'm non violent, really. I felt incredibly accomplished and equally exhausted. My body was completely spent. And, I was dirty. Not tan, dirty.



I ate dinner that night with a Moto and his Roadie Wife. Moto actually apologized because he was grumpy from being low on calories. He said that the day was successful and no one was badly injured. His proud moment was going on a rescue mission for 9 riders who got about 9 miles off course when the accidentally followed a recreational bike rider from the city instead of the ALC rider in front of them. Suckers!

For camp news I sat next to a gentleman, who when asked about his day spent a good 10 minutes telling me all about his diarrhea . . . we’re not friends.

Unfortunately bowel movements became a hot topic in camp because a strain of gastrointestinal something was going around . . . most likely cause is not properly disinfecting hands after using the restroom . . . challenging since there is no running water anywhere and everyone is applying butt butter all day long . . . starts with dizziness, vomiting and ends with really unfortunate stuff. I didn’t catch it. I also didn’t touch anyone.

Some final thoughts from Day 2.

Don’t stop pedaling – as a rule, was a good idea. I repeated this phrase to myself countless time throughout the day when I would get tired, feel stiff, or want to take a break. It’s a very easy rule to translate to everything you want to accomplish in life. Just keep moving forward and you’re going to get where you want to be . . . the route changes, there are fun surprises and seemingly insurmountable challenges, none of which matter if you just keep trying.

No two things can hurt at the same time. When you have little aches and pains, it’s a good thing. You figure, your butt wants to hurt the most so when your wrists and hands start to throb because of crappy roads, you actually welcome it because it means that you ass wont hurt for the next twenty minutes. In fact, as long as you don’t focus on the pain, you ass eventually goes numb.

I learned after 70 miles, it’s actually more comfortable to be on the bike than off simply because you lose feeling in your ass.

I ran over a caterpillar. I felt really bad about it. Sorry Caterpillar. I’m sorry.

Mama Mia got me over all the hills today. Specifically “Mama Mia, here we go again, my my just how much we missed you.” Chances are these lyrics aren’t even accurate, but they were all I could remember and I sang them out loud to myself for over four hours.

Who wants to find the Pie Barn?

DAY 1

4:00am wake up call. Boo. Hiss. Vomit.
4:30am departure for the COW PALACE.
5:00am check in time.

We drop off my gear where I am welcomed by Peter with an enthusiastic “Welcome to the G-String.” I’ll be sticking with Peter and the boys of Gear Truck and Tent Grid (a.k.a. the G Spot) G all week.
So begins the reoccurring theme of me finding my bike and looking so awkward trying to put air in my tires that some kind soul nearby just has to help me, not because I need help but because he is actually being made that uncomfortable trying to watch me pump up my own tires. Even Sunny has taken over for me pumping because it was too painful for her to watch me try and do it myself. Just because I managed to deflate both my tires in the process of attempting to pump them up does not mean I need help. Is that sentence grammatically correct? Doesn’t feel like it. Hm.

I am feeling nervous.

At 6:00am, doors open for Opening Ceremonies. Diva and Sunny were with me as we walked onto the floor of the Cow Palace. Little did they know, they were actually joining a 6:00am jazzercise dance party which was effectively the rider’s warm up and stretching session. There was something wrong and magical and hilarious about 2000 people dancing around at 6:00am to some kind of electro pop – and Diva and Sunny moving only when they had to to avoid getting run into by other riders. The amigos:

Opening Ceremonies offered some fine motivational speaking and lots of "WOO HOO"ing. I'll admit, I teared up a bit when a riderless cycle was marched down the center of the C.Palace in honor of all those who have died and can no longer ride.

At 6:30am the amigos were gone and I was on my own, literally shaking with nerves. The first official FAIL of the ride came for me when I tried to put on my (Sunny’s) riding gloves and realized that I had two lefts and no rights. Awesome. It’s cool though, I wore them both anyway and just strategically avoided talking to everyone, keeping my right hand in my pocket at all times when not actually riding my bike. Fail.

Here is how it works.

Ride out is every day between 6:30am – 8:30am. You have to leave before 8:30am or you will get sagged. There are 3 – 4 official rest stops on the road, sometimes a water stop or port-a-potty stop and almost always an unofficial stop to look forward to. Each official stop has a time that it opens and a time that it closes. If you don’t leave the rest stop before it closes you will get swept to the next rest stop. During the day there are sweep and sag vehicles driving along the route. If you break down (physically, emotionally or mechanically) or fall down, a vehicle will pick you up and take you to the nearest mechanic or medic, or camp, if you want/need to quit. The most common problem is dehydration. If you see a medic and they determine it is unsafe for you to ride, you don’t ride. The route closes every day at 7pm, so if you’re not in camp by 7, you get sagged.

My strategy was simple. I only had one rule: Don’t stop pedaling.

I had two goals. 1) Don’t fall over and 2) Do not get sagged.

Just before ride out, Moto reminded us that the most serious injury to ever happen on the ride happened a mile away from the Cow Palace last year and landed a man in the hospital for 6 months. VOMIT.

We were in thick fog and rain all morning which limited visibility and made the road slick. I took it slow and easy and tried to stay focused. And all things considered, did fine. The upside to the rain and fog is that the air, for the better part of the day, smelled of Eucalyptus a.k.a wonderful.

I skipped rest stop 1 which was only 7 miles away from the C.Palace and stopped for the first time at Rest Stop 2, just as the sun came out.

Here is the scene from behind some bears at Rest Stop 2:


Here is me.
Fight On!

I took a lot of pictures of myself in places. This is one area in which having a buddy would have been helpful, or you know, not being afraid to talk to other people.

Out of Rest Stop 2 we came to what were the worst hills of the entire journey. We never climb more than 2000 feet and I actually decide at this point that I kind of like hills. I was feeling good and strong and learning to use my gears effectively, which meant that I felt like I was flying up hills. My meaty ass finally has a purpose. PLUS and probably the most amazing part of the hills, there are so many more cheerleaders on the hills. Usually, it’s a group of kids there playing music and passing out red vines. Music helps far more than sugar.

I consistently had one bar of some random song stuck in my head while going up hills simply to have something to keep the rhythm. Slowing down on hills is so hard to recover from and stopping is not an option because it’s impossible to start back up again.

I had been on the bike maybe four hours before I found someone I wanted to marry. Granted, it was a chick . . . but seriously, SHOUT OUT to the girls of Half Moon Bay who had the brilliant idea to pass out donut holes. I love you.

Lunch, as it is every day, was in some random park somewhere between SF and LA. Lunch is always the same: Misc. Vegetarian (for me) sandwich or wrap, pasta salad, piece of fruit, string cheese which I never ate because it was always warm, ew, salty chips and a cookie. Plus all the powerade in the world.
Lunch was always a routine involving: park bike, pee, eat, sunscreen, pee again, butter up, check tire pressure, ride. I only varied from this routine a couple times, first on Day 1, when I had to visit medical because of the hives I contracted while seating in the grass, eating.

The Scene at Lunch.

At some point after lunch I got my first flat tire, going up a hill. I stopped to add air just to see if that would get me anywhere . . . and it was maybe 3 minutes of pumping before a gentleman stopped and offered to pump for me. Srsly.

Back on the road for about five minutes before I resigned to just changing the tire. I was doing great, save forgetting the part about downshifting prior to tire removal, and by doing great I mean struggling. So, to my rescue, to his dismay was, Randy.

Randy pulled off the road to drink some water, not to offer to help but as per usual, once he watched me for more than a minute decided I needed assistance. Randy was not thrilled to be helping me but he was very nice nonetheless. Randy also put my tire in incorrectly the first time and we never did get it right because the next leg of the ride was met with lots and lots of squeaking from various parts of my bike.

Enter, Rest Stop 3. The rest stop routine varies, depending on what’s most important. But it always involves peeing, eating, refilling water bottles a photo and a tweet, signal permitting. On days like this, it also involves stopping off at the bike mechanic tent for a quick check up and (since this is one place unicorns are known to live) a quick check out.
So, Ben, my bike tech fixed my back tire and deleted the squeal and I admired the view, on now clear day.


No, silly, not those views. These views.
The Paramedic Team, god bless them, manage to have cute butts without the help of Spandex. So, Sunny, this picture is for you. I also waived at, smiled at and thanked every paramedic I passed, you know, for you. I kept my distance though, because unlike some of us, I prefer not to ride with these boys in the back of their van.

It’s probably also worth noting that each rest stop is themed something different every day. These Roadies of Vegas plastered the inside of all the port-a-potties with porn.

After rest stop 3 I simply powered through until camp, taking a quick bike ride into and out of rest stop 4 to check out the “scenery” (everyone knows the boys of rest stop 4 are the hottest and they almost never wear more than a speedo, unless they are in costume).

The route highlights for day were were srsly, THE PIE BARN. Srsly. I don’t know where it is, all I know is that somewhere between SF and Santa Cruz exists a barn with a small parking lot that says “Welcome to the Pie Barn” and has hand painted pictures of pie everywhere. I didn’t stop. I will regret this maybe until I die.

CAMP.

Camp is more or less a Utopian society. 2500 residents. Everyone has a job, a tent, plenty of food. No locks on anything. No crime. Just lots of people who love each other very much.

Camp works like this: A Roadie Crew travels one day ahead of the riders to set up food, medical and staff tents to house general operational things. They also deliver about 60 port-a-potties and a few semi trucks that are our mobile showing units. The day the riders come, the Gear Trucks will get to camp no later than 1pm to unload everyone’s gear and tents. Riders show up starting between 11am and 1pm each day. The only scheduled item is camp news and announcements at 7:30pm.

The routine changes depending on what time you get to camp and what your most pressing needs are, but I pretty much stuck to: Park bike, pee, get gear, set up tent, shower, eat, journal, stretch, watch camp program, eat again, drink some water, pee, sleep, pee, sleep etc. until wake up call between 4:30pm – 5:30am.
So, some random photos to introduce you to camp . . .

Tent city: I’m in G39, can you find me?

No. Neither could I half the time.

Home: Note the clothes drying out . . .

I only have one pair of shorts, so I have to hang them to dry in the sun for the morning. Everything else is hanging so it won’t sit wet in my gear bag for the next 6 days.

Random Totem Pole I found:


Spider web on Totem Pole:

MOTO Parking:

Dinner on Day 1 was salty. I remember no other specifics. I ended up sitting next to two really hot guys – both with wives on the ride – both bruins. So basically, FAIL.
Bed time was 8:30pm.

Side Note: 3 people today told me they like the color of my bike. Jerks.

Yes, I have a transgender bicycle.

And without (much) further delay, the story of AIDS LifeCycle 9.

Some quick terminology to help you get through the next few pages of text:

Bear =Large, hairy, yummy, homosexual man.

Butter = Chamois Butter or Butt Butter – used to lube up everything between your belly button and your knees, yes everything, to prevent (or rather lessen) the impact of chaffing.

Chiro = Practors

Cyclist = Those riders who actually like to and know how to ride bikes, the "Pro-Team", if you will.

Fuck = A highly versatile and most appropriate curse word that my parent’s didn’t realize I was so fond of until they started following my twitter account.

Love = The profound feelings of understanding and respect that come when two people share just one moment of time together, a small blip on the radar of existence, that just happens to be a moment of shared meaning and importance, often unspoken and always unrehearsed.

Moto = Motorcycle patrol responsible for safety on the route.

Princess = A bit of a diva who is too good for camping and thus would reserve hotel rooms near the campsites to sleep in each night.

Rest Stop = A pre-determined, pre-set stop along the route with port-a-potties, food tents, bike mechanics, water, and medical services.

Rider Crack = Peanut Butter and Jelly deliciousness sandwiched between the most amazing gram crackers ever.

Riders = The novice bicycle riders of the ride, a.k.a. me.

Roadies = Some of the most amazing humans I have ever met. Volunteer who have taken a week of vacation to come to ALC and work back breaking 12 hours days taking care of logistics like trash, food service, route marking, gear lifting, etc. You name it, a Roadie was responsible for making it happen.

Rooster = The boy I like back home.

Toesac = Sacramento

Unicorns = Straight men. (We know in our hearts they exist, but few have ever seen one.)
Pre Ride Preparations

I believe I mentioned in my previous post how nervous I was for this ride. There were a few contributing factors . . .

1. I cannot remember a time in my life when I have spent 7 consecutive days without being around someone in my monkey sphere, whom I know and love.The reality of spending this much time not just alone, but surrounded by 2500 total strangers was nauseating, literally.
2. If you’re in the Criqet (that’s me) know, you know that I am a vehicular conservative. I don’t like to drive, I don’t like to be on freeways, and I certainly don’t like to go fast on them. This is do, in large part, to my over active imagination constantly coming up with new and graphic ways for me to die in car accidents. As you can imagine, the prospect of riding a bike on 500 miles of back country highways and major freeways felt more or less like a death sentence.
3. Believe it or not, I’m totally shy. I suck at meeting new people and making friends in short term situations. I’m totally awkward and a social recluse until I have some time to get to know you and figure out of you are prepared to handle the particular brand of humor, love and bat-shit crazy that I bring to the table.

1+2+3 = a terrible lack of sleeping prior to the ride, waking up at night to vomit from sheer
nerves, and more or less turning into a short tempered, bitchy terror.

Special thanks to Rooster, Sunbeam, Diva Thin Muffin (DTM) and everyone at work for putting up with me during the days leading up to my ride.

T-MINUS 3 Days

Packing. Extensive packing lists and tips and tricks float around the ALC community in the days prior to the ride.

I spent a few days gathering the last minute things – spare tire, tubes, CO2 cartridges, zip lock backs, dryer sheets, binder clips, alarm clock, etc. Riders get 1 gear bag, up to 70 lbs, that has to hold everything you need for 7 days, including your sleeping bag and sleeping pad. Organizational nerds like me, absolutely love this challenge.

Step One: Make sure you have everything on the list. See it, put your hands on it. The layout.

STEP 2: Organize by day, function and frequency of access.

STEP 3: Systematically stuff in to gear bag.

STEP 4: Fly to Toesac with Sunbeam and hug DTM.

T-MINUS 2 DAYS

Friday DTM and Sunbeam both had to work. Because they are champions of my universe, they let me sleep in and Sunny took Diva to work so I could use his car to run two critical errands.

I needed a red dress. Red Dress Day (Day 5) of the route is no small matter. 2500 people all don red outfits of some kind, mostly dresses or costumes, to symbolically represent the AIDS Ribbon as we ride along the roads. Rooster had taken me dress shopping in LA but quickly learned, as many have before him, that I am no fun to shop with where this is something I actually need.

I also needed power. 7 days fending for myself was bad enough but on top of that, the IPhone that I am more or less addicted to, runs on electrical power which none of the camp sites have. Most people carry solar charges with them. Unfortunately for me, the IPhone 3G is not compatible with any of the solar chargers on the market unless you have a special adapter that no one sells. I’m already going without internet for 7 days, but I need some juice to be able to post to twitter and call my loved ones on the days that I decide to have mental breakdowns.

Enter Marshalls and REI.

I didn’t find a red dress, but I found a red one piece shorts coverall thing (yes, that’s the fashion industry term) which I knew was perfect the moment I saw it.

REI just so happened to have an $80 Iphone case that holds a full charge AND more importantly, the best return policy of any company out there. I.E. they let me buy it, use it for the week, break it, and still return it for a full refund. I HEART REI.

Friday night was our night on the town so the three amigos (two pictured) went here:

Srsly, what kind of creeper stand is this. Diva and Sunny were too scared to in . . . with good reason . . . now let’s not talk about it.

This might be my new favorite picture of all time. Sunny is likely doing work. Diva is well, doing that. Enter the Toesac sushi dinner.

T-MINUS 1 Day

Saturday, the three amigos arose around, I don’t know what time o’clock and went to SBUX and a bagel place for breakfast before making the 2 hour ish drive into San Fransisco. I’m pretty sure I napped in the backseat waking up only to bitch about how much I wanted to throw up. I’m sure Diva and Sunny talked about “fooooooootbaaaaalllll” player’s chests, butts, thighs, abs, and otherwise terribly attractive endowments for the majority of the car ride.

Until we got here:

So began a 7 day journey of smelling stale cow and livestock.

Orientation and check in was painless. There was a 30 minute long safety video that did nothing more than make me feel like my life was in danger. There was meeting Elaine, my tent mate, a wonderfully sweet woman from Key West. There was a slew of “FUCK BP RIDE A BIKE” tshirts. AND there was my bike, fresh of the truck from Los Angeles, hiding in the haystack that was bike parking.
I
’m rider # 5751, BTW.

My bike is sexy. I can admit it now much like Kobe can admit that he was totally caught up in the hype about beating Boston. I tried to discriminate against her because she’s light blue (FUCLA), but it’s pretty obvious that she’s the most attractive one in the bunch.

This is the sign is on the bike parked next to mine.

Perhaps now it is appropriate to mention that I have never lost someone close to me because of AIDS/HIV. I have mixed feelings about my presence on this ride when confronted with images like this one. Part of me feels like I don’t belong here and that I am somehow insulting these people who have loved and lost and suffered for 30 years. I simply cannot understand what this ride means to someone like this who has lost dozens of loved ones. I feel like an impostor. Of course, that’s ludicrous because the bottom line is that I’m helping raise money to stop this suffering and save lives. I guess what I’m trying to say is that every where I looked there was a reminder of why this ride is bigger than me wanting a challenge, more important than me wanting to prove to myself what I am capable of, more meaningful than I will ever understand. I was constantly tearing up, humbled, and thankful for how lucky I am to not have a card like this on my bike.

Post Check In, back with DTM and Sunbeam, I realize that I have left my sweatshirt under Diva’s bathroom sink. I can live with this mistake. The three amigos head to Haight Street to meet up with Notre Dame Sucks (NDS) who is graciously (especially considering how badly his football team has been beaten the last few years) offers to put us up for the night and we go on an adventure to find a replacement sweatshirt. Eventually we land at Old Navy, but only after we go to SBUX thinking that maybe caffeine will help me want to throw up less. I try to order a grande soy latte but end up saying what I say 99% of the time, grande soy chai latte. Of course, I have to pee so bad from the several days of proper hydration that I completely overlook this fact and dump 2 sugar packets into my chai latte, thinking it’s just coffee, and rendering it both useless and disgusting.

Focus Criqet, Focus.

There is nothing more depressing than throwing your 5$ SBUX away. Okay, just about everything is more depressing than that. But I was upset nonetheless.

Back on Haight, new warm threads in tow, we send NDS out for Thai food and then watch Indian Jones. This is fitting because my bicycles drag name is Indiana. I’m not sure if anyone knows that yet or not, but I decided it was appropriate per her handing of pot holes on one of my training rides months and months ago.

One more sleepless night.

It is time.

I woke up at 5:30am to throw up.

Is it nerves?

No.

Bad sushi.

Either way, it's a great way to start the day before the first day of the ride!

I've been in Sacramento since Thursday night with David and Sunny . . . figuring out cell phone power solutions, red dress day outfits and of course, packing a new gear bag that actually zips up.

In a few minutes, we're headed to Starbucks, Noahs Bagels and San Francisco for Orientation day. All I really have to do is get my eyes on my bike, find a tent mate for the week, watch a 30 minute safety video, and check in. Everything else is taken care of.

Beyond that, we're staying with a buddy of mine in San Fran . . . we'll call him Notre Dame Sucks . . . who has generously agreed to put the three of us up for the night.

I'm one 4am wake up call away from actually being on this ride :)

The quick rundown is this:
Day 1: San Fran to Santa Cruz - 79.4 miles
Day 2: Santa Cruz to King City - 107.6 miles
Day 3: King City to Paso Robles - 66.7 miles
Day 4: Paso Robles to Santa Maria - 97.7 miles (half way point is on this ride)
Day 5: Santa Maria to Lompoc - 67.7 miles (also red dress day!)
Day 6: Lompoc to Ventura - 85.5 miles
Day 7: Ventura to Los Angeles - 61.5 miles (PCH through Malibu if you want to say hi. I'll either be wearing a USC Jersey or a purple jersey with a dragon fly on it. depends on which smells better come day 7!)

I love you all. thanks for the love and support.

I'll tweet from the road and post the full story when I get back to Los angles.

With love,

Sarah Criqet