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.

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.