Home.

Day 7:
61.5 miles

So. This is it.

I’ve been taking my time on the Day 7 post. Honestly, I took no notes on Day 7 – so this will be what I can remember of the moments and I suppose some pretty heavy reflection.

I remember wanting to be home.

I specifically remember not wanting to ever ride my bike ever again.

I remember planning out how to sell my bike and pay off the debt I incurred from taking on this little project (which all said and done cost me just over $2000.)

I remember my knees hurting and dreading every hill I could see in the distance.

Oh, and I remember that I had to pee so bad between ride out and the Rest Stop 1 that I SRSLY considered pissing myself. I mean, bad. And when you have to pee there is literally ONE position you can ride in that doesn’t make you want to cry. And it’s upright. So if you want to get low and use the power of your (now disastrously sexy) ass to go fast, you have to pee a little to do it. It was a debate that lasted two hours.

At this point, say mile 500 or so, I’d given up on unicorns and looking sexy.

I’ve given up on being witty.

I’ve given up on making friends.

I’ve given up on trying to think positive.

I’ve given up on just about everything except one little rule.

Keep pedaling.

Keep.

Pedaling.

Just.

Keep.

Pedaling.

And thus, with absolutely nothing left, no mental toughness, no energy, and no strength, I am proud to report that I was able to give up on absolutely everything except the one thing that mattered: succeeding.

I am even more proud to report that I did not consume one single milligram of Advil on the entire trip.

Yeah.

Okay, I digress.

Once I was able to relive myself at Rest Stop 1 I was only 40 miles from home. This feeling, which I will ironically describe as indescribable, was largely indescribable. I don’t even think I had energy to feel at this point. So the only thought is, “40 miles? Pshaw. That’s absolutely nothing.”

What a difference a week makes I guess.

And just like that, I was riding along PCH in familiar territory.

At Rest Stop 2 I took a decent stretch break to try and fix my knees.

I also met a Roadie who plays the accordion and, after riding two years ago on this ride, sold her house in Texas, quit her corporate job, and moved to Nor Cal to work part time at a winery and as she put it “live the dream.”

Noted.

Here I am at the rest stop.

Not too long thereafter, I was in Malibu on the bluffs overlooking a beautiful ocean, eating my last bagged lunch. My view from lunch.

And here is where I got brilliant. I ate next to the sports med tent and decided to sign up for some help stretching.
Enter – Tiny Russian lady who made everything okay by throwing herself in between my legs and doing things to open up my hips that I did not know were humanly possible. Oh. Yes. I’ve never moaned so hard in my whole life. Why did I wait for this experience? Never mind – whatever magic the physical therapist fairy had worked wonders and I road out of lunch feeling better than I’d felt in days.

Not before my last butt butter though.

Okay, and here’s the thing about the last day . . . supplies are starting to run low . . . not as much butter to go around . . . everyone had to cut back. And here’s the thing about being brilliant . . . I packed a whole damn tube of it so I had a little zip lock of extra supply in my bike bag for this very situation. I was BUTTERED or I was DAMNED.

HOLD THE PHONE. I totally forgot to mention on the DAY 6 post that I brought a little ultimate theory to the ride. My ultimate life got SO MUCH better when I started playing in two pairs of socks. Socks rub on socks and not skin and all of a sudden, no more blisters. So why not apply this theory to shorts too? Shorts rub on shorts and wa-la . . . less friction on the old open ass sores. So, Day 6 and 7 I wore under armour shorts under my bike shorts and I am not kidding you . . . this was the best idea I have ever had ever. Even better than the idea I had to run from the cops when they caught me skinny dipping in an open construction zone when I was 16 . . . Plus, two pairs of dirty shorts are way better than one when you’re trying to look sexy. OKAY PUT DOWN THE PHONE NOW.

I promise I’m getting to the point and not just going to take you aimlessly along my stream of conscious memory slide . . .

Somewhere, winding through a neighborhood in Southern California . . . we passed a row of cars parked at an angle along the side of the road. Simple California houses to the right. Kids playing in yards. Normal Saturday traffic. Summer smells . . . sprinklers, flowers, barbeques, et cetera.
Nestled in between two average Japanese vehicles was a green pickup truck with some miles on it. Sitting in the bed of a truck was a man. I would call him a man’s man. Wearing a t-shirt full of holes and jeans that were dirty and torn. Surrounded by well loved power tools, coolers, fishing rods and other man stuff. Very quietly and calmly just hanging out on his truck bed, feed hanging over the edge, hands folded in his lap.

You keep your eyes in front of you so as not to wreck so I noticed him probably ten seconds before I actually got to him. And the instinct is to veer left to avoid coming too close to his legs . . . so I was doing that as I approached.

As I passed, without saying a word, without any grand gesture or cheering, this man simply unfolded his hands – enough motion to catch my eye. In his hands was a well loved worn out picture of a handsome young man.

And that was that. I was beyond him, on my way to LA and he was there.

I don’t know any more of this man or his story, but somehow I made myself believe very fully that this man gay but not out. He had a lover sometime in the 70s and 80s. And that lover died of AIDS. And this man has lived all alone with that secret and that pain. And this ride is his chance to be who he really is and to live in the memory of his lover. The people on this ride are the only people on the planet who know his secret.

Regardless, the back story is irrelevant. It could be any story and the impact is the same.

This was a very simple and quite moment and yet, this is the moment I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I have crossed paths with thousands and thousands of strangers in my life and I have never felt the human experience quite as strongly as I did in this one moment.
This man, without saying a word, said to me “What you’re doing means something.” And I, without saying a word, just by riding my bicycle past him, said to him, “I care.”

And we can live forever in that place where people who suffer do not have to suffer alone. We can live in our little Utopian society of riders, roadies and roadside supporters free from the absolutely absurd and useless hate and fear and prejudice that comes from people who have not yet discovered in themselves the capacity to love human beings.

We can live in this moment where souls are free to connect and love and flow freely without any pretense, expectations or selfishness.

So. Guy out there. Thank you.

And, to all of you out there who donated to ALC 9 and the LAGLC on my behalf, thank you. For whatever it is worth, your donation is going directly into the hands of the most kind and loving people I have ever met in my entire life. And when you make these donations, helping to raise over 10 million dollars this year alone, you are not just saving someone’s life. You are sending a message of love and acceptance that means more to people than being alive does.

I have now, officially, had that the moment that everyone told me I would have at some point on the ride . . . I am now officially changed – irreversibly – from someone who was unaware of the impact I could have on the world to someone who was well aware of the impact I was having on the world.

I can’t cure AIDS and I can’t end human suffering.

But I have in my heart the capacity to love human beings and I hold in my hand the ability to look people in the eye and love them for who they are and what they have been through.
I don’t have to ask myself who I am or wonder if what I am doing with my life is the “right thing” . . . I don’t have to lament for hours over how much I dislike my job or if I chose the right path for myself or why I didn’t stick with this or learn to do that. I can sleep at night, in peace, knowing that no matter what I do or where I do it, I’m going to naturally find good, loving people to surround myself with. And at the end of my days on this planet, regardless of the path that gets me there, I’m going to die happy and proud of the life I have lived.

SHA. ZAM!

And just like that, I was 10 miles out of the VA Center and our final destination, riding alongside San Vincente Blvd with the Bean, trying not to have a complete and total emotional breakdown.

And just like that, I was off my bike, standing next to Sunny.

And just like that, I was on the phone with my father who was filling me in on the USC sanctions (which I had NO idea about, note the USC Jersey in the pic).

And just like that, I was sitting on the side of the road sobbing – unable to take in any more.

And just like that, I was home.

Ice Cream Makes Everything Better.

Day 6

85.5 miles. For the love of god, only 85.5 miles.

I woke up (late) on Day 6 to what everyone thought was some hard core domestic violence. I mean, it was bad - sometime around 5am a couple of women started screaming things like "you don't love me" and "why the fuck would you fucking that something and so and so" and so on. People in the tents were a bit concerned . . that is until we heard the line "You never take me to KFC anymore, all you want to do is drink Bud Light and to cow tipping" Ah yes, it was Jerry Springer Day at the Gear Trucks.


And a little of this for good measure - and well, good back muscles . . .


This is the true magic of the roadies. Everyone, literally everyone, was pretty grumpy and tired and kittified on Day 6, residual discomfort from Day 5. So the Roadies got together and decided to stage a little red neck play to make everyone laugh and break some of the tension. Heart them.

Side note: I'll be stealing this idea to carry my own babies some day.

Anyway:

Elaine was gone by the time I woke up and I was stuck taking down the tent which added a good 20 minutes to my morning. I was maybe dreading this morning a little because I knew my tire was slowly leaking at the end of the Day 5 . . . yes, I rode the end of the most miserable day on a slightly less than full tire . . . yes, I'm stupid.

Anyway, I was totally flat when I got to my bike in the morning . . . which means I got to have one more awkward moment of a man trying to "fill me up" after watching me struggle (although I was doing just fine thank you.)

So yeah, someone else pumped it up and I decided to try and get some distance behind me before I had to change the tire. The good news is that right out of the gate was a giant hill, so I got to work extra hard pumping up the hill on low tires . . . fail.

I was beyond delighted when I made it to Rest Stop 1. I ate first, then sun screened, then buttered, then went about changing my tire. Which was going great until I realized I was allergic to the hay I was sitting in AND that it was full of spiders . . .



I stayed calm, took my time, worked with confidence - you know, so no one would offer to help me. And that part was totally successful. Of course when I tired to pump it up . . . I failed . . . and the man next to me tired to help me but he also failed. And this dance went on for a bit until I realized that my late running morning meant that I was about 10 minutes away from getting swept to the next rest stop. Fuck.

I quickly took my bike over to the Cannondale Tent to have the yummy techs take a look at it. Had to buy a new tube from them and they also noticed a broken derailleur cap which needed fixin' so I bought a new one of those too . . . 2 minutes prior to the rest stop closing and I was back on the road.

My bike at the bike doctors.

Interestingly enough, this ended up being the best thing that could have happened. I was so hell bent on not getting swept or sagged (and let's be honest, I had no desire to be the last person into camp either) that I mustered up a lot more energy that i was willing to admit I had when I got out of bed. I rocked through the knee discomfort and managed to hold a respectable pace for the majority of the day . . .

Rest stop 2 was a much happier experience.

Look how happy I look.


It's because I have rider crack in my hand.

And Butter on my ass.

And I got to call Rooster to leave a message before dropping my phone into the middle of the bushes behind me.


And this flower has a happy face on it, so how could I not be happy?

And, I was 20 more miles closer to home.

So back on my bike again . . . As I have said, the biking gets really tedious. At least we have had some coastal views and stuff, but really, when you're riding on freeways, you don't get to enjoy the view. At this point I am no longer able to muster up thoughts if wind, and internal psychological struggles. Instead, I spend all of my time playing "ID that road kill" and "Count to 8 as many times as you can in a row."

One thing that I will admit is kind of fun is the "What's this rider going to say to me game."

When you come up to a rider, you have to say "On your left" before you can pass. It's pretty much a law because it can cause major accidents if some one doesn't know you're passing and moves left, moving you into oncoming traffic. BNB.

So most riders just say "Left" or "On your left" or "Passing Left" etc. But then there are some riders that take advantage of the 4 second passing window to have little interactions . . . lots of people will say "good morning" some people will say "how about those little ponies" and my favorites will always try and use their four seconds to come up with something totally witty to say.

I always tried to be witty -so as soon as I passed someone I would go about deciding on the next most intelligent thing I could say . . . my favorite was when I was headed up a hill and told a man "Well, this beats the hell out of my day job" and he replied "I like my day job."

Anyway, this and the road kill game, that's all that happens on the road.

Lunch was unmemorable. Srsly. I can't even remember where we ate lunch, let alone what I ate or who I met in the line for the port a potty.

The rest of the day is pretty rides along the beach paths of Santa Barbara.

We had another Alice in Wonderland themed rest stop - where I saw this little scene.


And after this we come to yet another amazing unofficial rest stop . . .

PARADISE PIT.

Now, you may have an idea of your own as to what you would find in a paradise pit . . . but this paradise pit pretty much hit my idea on the nose . . .

All the free ice cream you want with all the free toppings you want.



All the free cookies you want.


All the free massages you want.

And the hottest biker you have seen today with his biker package on display in a really impressive way for you to creeper take a picture of which didn't come out for you to send to Diva sorry Diva.



And this guy.

Who is standing in front of a quilt ice cream cone.


And well, Ginger dressed up as a Hersey's kiss is pretty classic too.



Srsly. LOOK HOW HAPPY I WAS.


Srsly - paradise pit is put on by a local high school's LGBT club. Thank you to everyone in the community who made this stop possible. You all made my life.

At this point - my notes again digress to things like

"Water Stop = pain pain pain pain pain"

I think that means my knees were hurting pretty bad by mile 70.

Rounding out Santa Barbara on the way to Ventura for our last night at camp, I came around a corner and there was a BEAN standing there. I pretty much just cried. There was actually a human being there to see ME and give ME a hug. Someone I know and love. A familiar face. A friend. It was the first hug I'd had since I left San Fran and really, the first human touch of any kind save my day with the Chiro. I was totally overwhelmed with emotions and joy and everything else.

It was great.

Thanks BEAN!!!!

So with some new energy and fighting a flood of random emotions I had no way of controlling . . . I rolled into camp - well ahead of the sweep - in a lot of pain - and thrilled to be home for the night.

I made it into camp just a few short minutes prior to Tony, the oldest man on the ride at a glorious 85 years . . . yeah . . .

And I got to park my bike in Colorado parking which can only be a good sign.


And here is a picture of the port a potties which I was SUPER GLAD to find right next to bike parking.


Camp that night was a little somber. We heard a speech from the gentleman who wrecked in San Fran on Day 1 last year - he had a lot of brain damage and was in the hospital for months - but was able to come back and talk to us about his journey and share some love on the safety.

Then we had the candle light vigil which I considered not attending because I wasn't sure I belonged . . . it's actually a very pretty march from just outside the food tent to the beach where everyone silently forms a large circle and it's all very organic, no one talks, no one takes pictures. So, I decide to go to pay my respects to all the people I didn't get a chance to meet on the ride. I get my candle and I'm walking along and right about when I get into the middle of the circle I realize that my wax containment cup is on fire. Fuck. Right. So now, I'm on the ground in the middle of the circle burying my candle, the symbolic light of hope and love in the sand - with everyone watching. Great Sarah, way to be respectful.

Back in tent city I called Sunny to arrange for our reuniting on Day 7 and went to bed.

Thank you for riding for me.

DAY 5

Red.

Dress.

Day.

Day five is something a little special. Easy mileage, plus 2500 people all dressed to kill. Urban legend tells us that red dress day started out as dress red day – in theory, the thousands of cyclists, all dressed in red would look like a red ribbon as they rode along. However, this community quickly translated dress red day into red dress day and now we have this magical event in which there are lots and lots of cross dressing cyclists, looking fancy and distracting traffic as they ride along.

FACT – there are more car + cyclist = pain accidents on Red Dress Day than any other day.

Red dress day is supposed to be easy. A few decent climbs in the morning, all the rest stops are at wineries, low mileage, there is a talent show at camp in the evening . . . lots to look forward to.

I'm also supposed to be retired and living on an island somewhere by now . . .

The day started off at about 3am when I woke up from two very different and distinct dreams in which someone or something was kicking my ass.

There goes my subconscious again, trying to find ways for my brain to understand the pain that my body is feeling in its sleep.

Anyway, I got up and got my red on . . . here is a lovely picture of my face, which quite frankly, looks like it got its ass kicked.

I should note that it was balls cold in the mornings. So despite it being red dress day, I had to have a jacked and under armour (Registered Trademark or something) on.

You know, I'd always want to wake up and be just a bit cranky and such . . . but one of the amazing things about this event is that cranky was pretty short lived. As soon as I stepped out of my tent, this was what I saw:



If you can't tell, that's two beautiful unicorns in red dresses having their makeup done by a loving and supportive female of the species. I would give so much to wake up to something like this everyday.

Now, I'm happy. I actually delight in the subzero temperatures of the butter.

At the G String - we start to see some more shining examples of people creativity and desire to get all dressed up.


and my personal favorite photo:


It kind of goes without saying but regardless, I love all of these men so much. It takes real men to be able to work these outfits and I have a lot of respect for those who put sexuality aside in the name of having a little fun and supporting such a moving concept.

I don't have a picture of this so you'll have to trust me, one amazing man actually altered some boots that look exactly like these to include clips for his pedals and rode the entire day in them . . . for serious, I don't even think Superman himself is that impressive.

Image from:
http://www.mistressxwholesale.co.uk/images/red131.jpg




Needless to say, Red Dress Day was full of balls out AWESOME.





Example #1:



Example #2:

Let's get real here people. THE BIKE SHORTS HAVE PADDING. AMAZING WONDERFUL NECESSARY PADDING. Everywhere you see a brave soldier in something like a SPEEDO you have to understand that that man went ALL DAY with nothing to support his posterior, nothing to lessen the blow if you will, nothing to protect from blisters, heat rash, and pressure sores.

You must due the ride for yourself to understand what this really means . . . suffice it to say that I have more respect for the men pictured above than I do for Bruce Lee getting a kitten out of a tree for a blind grandma. Look it up.

Example #3:

One man was so dedicated to cockatoo up do that he altered his helmet to include a tremendous amount of plumage. He refused to take it off, even after a vulture followed him for over two miles, dive bombed him several times, eventually made contact, knocked him off his bike, and sent him to the hospital. Don't worry, he's fine.

Example #4:

There were for bears dressed up as cowgirls who ran up to a fence at a little pony farm and caused pandemonium when 30 little ponies thought that these cowgirls were trying to attack their little pony babies. Please, read that again and really try and imagine in your mind four large gentlemen in cowboy hats, boots and tutus running up to a Shetland pony mom trying to protect its foal. Not my pictures but you need something for reference:

http://s-tiger.photovillage.org/photosDir/2363/thumb/800-Shetland_Pony_With_Foal.jpg

VS

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3136/2706628130_94846f9389.jpg

And Example #5 is one of my top three favorite moments on the entire journey . . . all bears and ponies and blisters and delicious looking cross dressing fellas aside . . . .

Coming to the bottom of a small hill somewhere in wine country there was a woman, in her mid forties maybe, looking quite frail, sitting under a blanket, next to a truck, in an old school lawn chair. On approach she looked to be just one of many hundreds of thousands of amazing people who dotted the roads to cheer us on. But as I passed her instead of saying "You're looking great" like everyone else, this woman said "Thank you for riding for me.” This woman, sat there for 12 hours and said "Thank you for riding for me" to every single rider who passed her.

WOAH.

Now, when you're riding and you pass people you get like a 2 second window to hear what they've said and process that information before they are behind you. So I was probably 50 yards down the road before I realized what she had said and the implications of such a simple sentence. It was the first time I cried while riding from the sheer emotion of it all. It was the catalyst to opening the emotional weight of this adventure, which if you'll recall from the very first post, started as a way for me to pick up guys.

WOAH.

At camp were were informed that this woman has been thanking riders for three years now. She is HIV positive and she has been given three months to live because her body has rejected all treatments that currently exists for HIV - except for whatever relief can come from the power of love and community and friendship - which is why she sits out there all day. The small town she lives in does not have a treatment center like the SFAF or the LAGLC. All she has is this day, when the community comes to her to offer her some TLC and to bring to her hugs from people that don't judge, people that know what she's going through, people that simply love her.

WOAH.

I'm crying right now just thinking about her.

And if ever there existed a need for some motivation to continue to ride my bike, it was Red Dress Day because the rest of RDD was basically a shit storm of hate and misery . . . and by that I mean, mile after mile after mile of horrible headwinds.

I want to elaborate on how terrible it was, but honestly, it's not even worth remembering. SLASH it's hard to remember. I cried a lot along the route out of frustration and out of pain. My muscles were cramping with was causing my knee caps to pull slightly out of alignment which meant that ever single down stroke on the pedals was excruciating. The wind kept everything cold so that there was no relief and of course, since it's a headwind, I had to pedal ten times as hard as I did any other time on the ride to go 10% as fast. Nature FAIL.

The important things to remember are this.

1) I pedaled it to camp when I really really really really really wanted to quit.
2) A man who has competed in 15 iron mans and placed in several told us that this day's ride above all others was the most difficult thing he has ever done in his life.
3) The route next year has already been changed, so you don't have any excuse not to sign up.
I called my family from camp that night because I was angry and sad and homesick. I also texted an extraordinarily high number of curse words to people who normally don't get to experience me broken down and slightly defeated.

I remember very little else from camp because I was a zombie with no energy, just going through the motions. I tried to attend the talent show, but it didn't start until 9pm and I couldn't sacrifice the much needed sleep.

I went to bed feeling equal amounts of pride and shame.