ALC wrap-up
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layout: post
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title: "545 miles in slow motion"
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tags:
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- alc
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- cycling
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---
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San Francisco, Santa Cruz, King City, Paso Robles, Santa Maria, Lompoc,
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Ventura, Los Angeles. For the better part of seven days, I sat on a bicycle
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with over 2,200 cyclists and 650 volunteers riding from one part of California
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to another to raise money for HIV/AIDS services as part of
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[AIDS/LifeCycle](https://www.aidslifecycle.org). In perspective, 545 miles is
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further than the distance from Boston to Washington D.C., further than Brussels
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to Berlin, further than Tokyo to Hiroshima. It is countless hills, steep
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descents, farm fields, supportive on-lookers, packets of chamois butter,
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potholes, water bottles, and sliced bananas. Based on this, my first year's
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experience, it is also six inner tubes, one bike tire, and an entire bike frame
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long. It is all worth it.
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Along the way I tried to capture as much of the experience [via
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Twitter](https://twitter.com/search?l=&q=%23aidslifecycle%20from%3Aagentdero%20since%3A2019-06-01%20until%3A2019-06-14&src=typd)
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for the numerous people who helped me raise **$6,000** for HIV/AIDS services in
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California. I am incredibly grateful for all of the support and hope that my
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snapshots of the ride proved to be enjoyable for others as the ride itself was
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for me.
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<center>
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<img src="/images/post-images/alc-2019/alc-2019-halfway.jpg" title="Halfway to
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LA"/>
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<br/>
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<em>Halfway to Los Angeles</em>
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</center>
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## Day Zero (0 miles)
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My journey to Los Angeles started a bit further north in Santa Rosa. Day zero
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required me to grab everything I would need, [load it into a
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car](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1134852334389829632), and drive down
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to Cow Palace in San Francisco for orientation the day before the ride was set
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to begin. Since the departure on day one is effectively at _dawn_ I decided
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that it would be best to stay the night in San Francisco, rather than attempt
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the 60-ish mile drive that morning.
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Orientation mostly covered legalese, rules, and guidance for the ride. Some of
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it conveyed from the ride director Tracy at the lectern, some of it conveyed in
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various video clips, but all of it made the level of professionalism and
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production support for the ride abundantly clear. After all the chatting was
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done, _everybody_ got their [wrist bands for the
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week](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1134898127050162176). The wrist
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bands were to remain on you the entire week and help denote what food line you
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should be in, whether you were a cyclist, etc. I took the unsolicited advice
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from my neighbor "put it on the hand you don't wipe with."
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Between the end of orientation and when I finally went to sleep, I probably
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[consumed 2-3,000
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calories](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1134941844171706368) which I was
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sure to need the following day; a habit which continued for the next six
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nights.
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## Day One, Santa Cruz (82 miles)
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My alarm went off sometime between 3:30 and 4:00 am. First day, and the bus
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from the hotel was leaving at 4:30. Not sure what to expect, I pack all my gear
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up, and walk into the lobby where I'm greeted with a dozen or so cyclists
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already in their bike shorts and wind breakers.
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Oops, guess we're not changing at the Cow Palace.
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I pop into a bathroom and grab my clothes from my "day one" ziploc baggie and
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try to bundle up as much as I can. It's chilly and I haven't eaten yet.
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The mood on the bus is a mixture of excitement and grogginess. Some of the boys
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behind me are joking about Chamois Butter, the anti-chafing cream that will
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become a fixture of our everyday, sounds like a drag name. They laugh and
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imagine her sisters Cocoa and Almond. The thoughts of the Butter Sisters drag
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super group melt away when we pull into the parking lot where 10+ big rented
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moving trucks are lined up for [thousands of chilly cyclists to drop their gear
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off](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135157391295565824).
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The opening ceremonies were an emotional introduction to both the importance of
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the ride and the impact of HIV/AIDS on the gay community in California.
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The emotional roller coaster of ALC was just beginning.
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[The ride out](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135179064333889536) was a
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dramatic swing in the other direction, my nervous energy offset by my focus on
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not running into anybody and keeping one foot clipped out to avoid toppling
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over at low speeds. Once we got onto the streets of San Francisco, everything
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would improve, I figured. Sort of. While SFPD had closed down some
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intersections along the route out of the city, they hadn't closed them all, so
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the first few miles were spent in stop-and-go cyclist traffic as we hit
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stop-light after stop-light. I imagine this is what rush hour in Copenhagen
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feels like, with far less shouting and cowbell.
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The road started to open up as we made it to the western edge of the city, just
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in time for a bitter cold fog to envelop us. Those first few miles were spent
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anxiously staying in line, shivering, and wondering if the rest of the day
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would feel this easy.
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With the [first fifteen miles
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done](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135204374152531969) by rest stop
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one, I was in good spirits and began the rest stop system I would follow the
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rest of the week: eat food while waiting in line for the bathrooms, grab more
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food for my bag, refill one bottle with powerade, the other with water,
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stretch, and then back on the road.
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The morning remained fairly overcast as I continued on to [rest stop
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two](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135235912076484608), where I
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followed the system once again.
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As the day progressed however, we started hitting very unpleasant headwinds. I
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don't ride with a bike computer or using a tracking app on my phone, but the
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headwinds were clearly slowing _everybody_ down. Somewhere before [lunch
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time](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135316089821323264) the sun came
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out, making the coast look absolutely stunning as we pushed along it.
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Unfortunately however, I missed some spots with my sunscreen coverage. The
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inside portions of my upper thighs, and the gap between my long sleeves and the
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gloves. The burns on my thighs would make for some unpleasant riding the rest
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of the week, and then take a couple weeks to heal properly.
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By early afternoon, my butt started to hurt. To be somewhat expected, having
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spent most of the day in a bike seat.
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With the sun high in the sky, I rolled into camp in Santa Cruz sometime in
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the afternoon. Not having had any other indication of how close to the front or
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rear of the pack I was, the [sea of tents already
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assembled](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135333158528770048) gave me a
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pretty good hint.
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My tent-mate Mike was "princessing" every night, so he had already gone to his
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hotel. He was kind enough to set up the tent and grab my "green military
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bag" from the gear truck. When I arrived at the tent, I discovered that Mike
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and I might have different ideas of what "green military bag" means, so I
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hurriedly lugged the camouflage roller bag _back_ to the gear truck and grabbed
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my olive green duffel (standard issue).
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After showering in the mobile shower trucks, which I didn't know were going to
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be our shower options, I trundled off to the food tent and discovered one
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benefit to eating vegetarian: the shortest food line.
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I ate as much as I could and stuck around for the camp announcements, until the
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volume started to bug me and then I went off to my tent. Ear plugs in, I tried
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to sleep.
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82 miles was the longest I had ridden to date.
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## Day Two, King City (109 miles)
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Century day. I woke to my first alarm around 5 in the morning to hear hushed
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voices and zippers already bustling around me. My first morning in camp was
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just as educational as my first evening was. Struggling to my knees to get
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dressed in a tent which wouldn't accommodate me standing, I fiddled my way into
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my bike gear, and then shivered out of the tent into the misty Santa Cruz
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morning. Everything I had eaten and drank the night prior was ready to come
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out; the bank of toilets by the tents had a line longer than my patience so I
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snuck off to another bank over by bike parking which turned out to be mostly
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empty. The days following I would make a mental note of which toilets were
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likely to be underutilized in the evening and the morning, even if it required
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a little bit more walking.
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I have some difficulty eating _right_ when I wake up, but I forced some oatmeal
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and a banana down my gullet, dropped my gear off at the gear trucks, and went
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to [bike parking](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135545078590533632)
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which was **packed** with people trying to leave. Topping off the tire pressure
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in my front and rear wheels, I got in line, stretching along the way to the
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exit.
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My teeth were probably clattering by the time I started pedaling. I don't have
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a lot of natural insulation, so the chilly morning air blowing into my bike
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clothing made for an uncomfortable departure from Santa Cruz. The city was
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mostly flat with one short but incredibly steep hill. While some cyclists
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walked up it, I dropped gears and powered up it. My endurance leaves something
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to be desired, but I can climb with the best of them.
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The chilly clouds accompanied us to [rest stop
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one](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135576061599670273) on the border
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between urban and rural. More food, bathroom, refill the bottles, apply chamois
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(butt) butter, stretch, and off I was again.
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Entering farmland the roads were **abysmal**. Gravel, potholes, uneven patches.
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The types of roads you would worry were wearing out the suspension on your car
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were rattling all of our spines. A few miles outside of rest stop one I could
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hear sirens in the distance. Eventually an oncoming fire truck would pass by me
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and continue down the column of cyclists to whatever mishap had occurred
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further back. I would hear later that a friend of a friend needed to go to the
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hospital and required surgery on their leg, there's no telling whether that
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fire truck was linked to the same incident.
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Rattling along, I pass the "fried artichoke stop." An unofficial stop where
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hundreds of cyclists stop by and probably make this restaurant's entire year. I
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passed right by. I'm not a fan of artichoke, but I'm even less of a fan of
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lines. Onward to lunch.
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A gentle downward sloping descent with a left turn at the end which was
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_covered_ with sand and gravel caught a cyclists just ahead of me. The bike
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slid out from under her and she lied there on her back with a couple other
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cyclists around her. I slow while "moto", a motorcycle-powered
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volunteer who helps mark the route, starts to wave people to slow down. She
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is communicative and seems more annoyed than anything else; what's a little
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road rash? I continue on to lunch, reminding myself that gravel doesn't give
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much traction to my narrow road tires.
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I don't recognize anybody from my team at lunch, so I find a nice shady spot to
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eat and stretch. My butt still hurts. There's a television camera crew, and
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somebody is giving an interview about ALC. The sun is out, and shirts are
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coming off. The park seems like it's right in the middle of town, which makes
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me wonder what these people think about the gays coming to their town.
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At my friend Harley's urging, I stop by the medical tent to ask somebody to
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take a look at my aching hindquarters. I know that they're pressure ulcers, but
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I'm hoping for some relief. Nurse Sarah directs me to a tent like those we
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slept in, and has me bend forward on a chair so she can inspect my bottom. My
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feelings of vulnerability are eclipsed by my desire to get this problem fixed
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so I can finish the ride.
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She's concerned that one of the pressure ulcers looks close to opening this
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early in the ride. The applies some patches, mentions "night cream" for later
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at camp, gives me some advice, and sends me on my way.
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I decide that medical would have to take my bike away to stop me from
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continuing the ride. In the meantime, I would just have to be more attentive
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than usual to my rear-end to ensure nothing got worse.
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Between lunch and rest stop three, the tailwinds continued to impress. I found
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myself riding separate from the pack with this one woman who I had seen
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earlier. Cranking over farm roads with a strong tailwinds, especially after
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that brutal day one, was a blast.
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When we approached the "Otter Pop Stop", another unofficial stop, my riding
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buddy and I didn't even hesitate to keep on pushing. My heavy steel-frame road
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bike notwithstanding, I was probably pushing 30+ miles an hour rattling over
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those roads as we pushed deeper towards King City.
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I developed a couple more habits which I would continue for the remainder of the ride:
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* Whenever you see somebody else drink, you drink. Usually I would get so
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focused that I might otherwise forget. You don't want to be drinking when
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you're thirsty, since that means you're already getting dehydrated, not a good
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place to be when you're riding all day.
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* Whenever you see the "Rest Stop 1 Mile Ahead" sign, drain the water bottles.
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There's no downside to putting more fluids in at this point, the bathrooms
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are just up ahead!
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Before rest stop four, there's a bridge over a river. The opportunity for a
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cool down on a hot day makes the river another unofficial stop, with plenty of
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skinny-dipping. Hot and uncomfortable, I considered taking a dip in the miles
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approaching the river. Then, as I generally did during the ride, my thoughts
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came back to my butt. I figured that if I was close to opening up skin
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_yesterday_, today I'm probably in sorry shape too. Considering whatever lovely
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bacteria floats around in a river, and then sitting on that bacteria for the
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remainder of the day, helped me decide to pass on by. It sure sounded fun
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though.
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Having stopped at every official rest and water stop, by six I was rolling into
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camp. A campground hidden away from the road, which was accessible to us by a
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foot path of gravel and sand; my 100+ miles of riding were concluded with a
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little off-road walking.
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## Day Three, Paso Robles (63 miles)
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Only sixty three miles? No problem! My butt was feeling better after the night
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cream and I had just ridden my longest ride ever at 109 miles, 63 was nothing!
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Except for the mountain known as "quadbuster" on the ride, which we would be
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climbing after about 8 miles of flat road.
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[Leaving King City](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1135912414761836545)
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took at least an hour, that same gravel and sand track we came in on, was
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packed with a solid line of cyclists walking the mile from camp to the road.
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Once we found asphalt I was delighted to learn that it was real road, not the
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combination of tar and craters we had been riding the day prior.
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At the base of "quadbuster" I stop into rest stop one for the usual. When I
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returned to my bike, a bike parking volunteer said that they heard a pop and I
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might want to take my bike to "bike tech" to get checked out. Taking a look
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revealed that both the front and rear inner tubes had exploded in the warm
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morning sun.
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A delay of this nature was not what I expected, but better now than in between
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rest stops I remind myself. 45 minutes and $14 dollars later, I've got two new
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tubes and I'm cranking up the hill. While I passed people, some walking and
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some pedaling, all of us huffing and puffing up the hill, multiple lunatics in
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bike shorts sped down the hill in the opposite lane. Not satisfied with one
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mega-climb, these nutters were doing _multiples_.
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Somewhere after that climb, and another little climb that followed I ambled
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into rest stop two. I don't remember much about it other than the little church
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and that it was hot. Too hot for mid-morning. I reloaded on fluids and snacks
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and got back out onto the road. Perhaps 300ft out of the rest stop exit, I
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noticed that my rear tire pressure is way too low. A few expletives and a little
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walk later, and I'm visiting bike tech again.
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They checked the tire for debris, found nothing, and then replaced the rear tube
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and sent me out on my way once again.
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Hot.
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I unzipped my bike jersey to get more of the cooling wind against my skin.
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On a stretch of road by myself a bee flew into my shirt, stung my on my side,
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and exited out the back, hopefully to die a miserable death. "FUCK" I shouted,
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sitting up to see the welt already developing on the tender skin underneath my
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rib cage. The day was clearly going well.
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So hot.
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At rest stop three, I stopped by the medical tent where they gave me a little
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cream to make my bee sting less obnoxious and made yet another stop to bike
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tech for another inner tube due to the low tire pressure. Another bike tech
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cleared the tire, installed another tube, and once again sent me on my way.
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ALC has stopped in a little town called Bradley for years. At some point the
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locals stopped leering at the gays on their bicycles and started to use the
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influx of people as a fundraiser for the kids at their little school. They sell
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burgers and sodas with a special "$100 club" wherein the kids will serve riders
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their lunch in an air-conditioned room in their little school. I heard that
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this year we helped them raise $20,000 which the school uses to sent kids from
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this little town to science camp, disneyland, and college.
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My face was too flush at the time to appreciate all of this, between the sun
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bearing down on us, another trip to bike tech, and copious amounts of
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sunscreen, I felt like shit. My bottom lip was a bit blistered from all the
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exposure, so I probably looked like shit too. With two little girls
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alternating between shouting "welcome to Bradley!" and "thanks for coming to
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Bradley!" in their bullhorn, I grumbled back onto the road angry at nothing in
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particular.
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By rest stop four my anger had turned into focus on myself. I had started to
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develop a headache, which for me is usually the first indication of either
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dehydration or overheating. I didn't have to pee either, which was concerning.
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I developed another one of the habits I would carry through the rest of the
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ride: do not leave a rest stop until you've peed. I hung out in the shade for
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probably 30 minutes, watching the ALC medical volunteers check in on how
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various people were doing, to make sure that everybody was remaining healthy.
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At rest stop four on ALC, the roadies running the rest stop perform a different
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show each day. I think they do the show every 30 or 45 minutes. I was there
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long enough to see the show, in triple digit temperatures, and then to watch
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one of those roadies get back to work. To go from dancing around in the heat,
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to breaking up bags of ice and refilling water coolers, all in heels, was
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impressive.
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The entrance to rest stop four was up this short but steep little hill, which
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was a nice start for me. As I was leaving, another group of cyclists rounded
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the corner heading for four, and when one of them saw that hill he let out an
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exasperated "oh fuck you!"
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Indeed.
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I hated each of the ten or so miles from rest stop four to [camp in Paso Robles](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136070722021814272).
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I hated each of the steps from the gear truck, carrying my tent and duffel, to
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my tent site. I was so tired I just dropped all my shit, grabbed what I needed
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for a shower and left. I was in a better mood after a shower, so I put the tent
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up then, and headed off to schedule a massage which I had been saving for day
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three, knowing I was going to feel like garbage.
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After the massage I went over to bike tech to figure out why I kept getting
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flats. It took us a _lot_ of searching to ultimately find the needle-sized
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puncture but we couldn't find what had been causing it. We opted for a new tire
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and tube, bringing my daily total up to _five_ inner tubes. While the tech
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installed the new tire, I helped some other bike techs set up their tent, as
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they were not staying in a hotel that evening like the others were. At this
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point, I was a pro.
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Somewhere between first and second dinner, somebody reminded me that we did
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quadbuster that morning.
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With the brutal heat, the sun cooking my brain, I had forgotten all about it.
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## Day Four, Santa Maria (91 miles)
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I am become bicycle, pedaller of worlds. By the beginning of day four,
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everybody had more or less gotten into a groove myself included. As Harley put
|
||||
it "you become a cycling machine." The kind of machine that says things like
|
||||
"on your left" when passing somebody in the chow line.
|
||||
|
||||
[Leaving Paso Robles](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136273329864634368)
|
||||
was _another_ epic long journey from bike parking to the starting line.
|
||||
Interrupted by one of the stubbled gear roadies standing atop his truck by bike
|
||||
parking and singing along with show tunes in his long white dress.
|
||||
|
||||
The conversion to cycling-machine caused me not to remember much of the day,
|
||||
except for the arrival at the official half-way point where the photo above was
|
||||
taken. Atop a mountain with an absolutely stunning view to the west, hundreds
|
||||
of cyclists waited in line to stand at the edge, hoist their bicycle above
|
||||
their heads, and pose for a picture. I didn't think twice about hoisting my
|
||||
steel giant of a bicycle above my head. It's overweight and I've got weak arms,
|
||||
recipe for disaster, or at least a bad picture.
|
||||
|
||||
After having sped down the mountain into the cool coastal breeze, we rode along
|
||||
more busy highways as we plugged on into San Luis Obispo (SLO). At one of the
|
||||
stop signs, a local volunteer was rapidly throwing rubber bracelets on
|
||||
anybody's wrist who would stick them out, thanking us for riding and welcoming
|
||||
us to their city. "That's SLO Gay"
|
||||
|
||||
Another fundraising lunch awaited us at some college campus, whereby a veggie
|
||||
sausage helped fund local STI testing and treatment services.
|
||||
|
||||
Despite Mama Harley telling me that the grass was full of sticker-burrs, I took
|
||||
my shoes off anyway. My butt wasn't hurting, which meant something good or
|
||||
something bad, but I was in a positive mood, so I went with it.
|
||||
|
||||
Atop one of the hills we crossed a big chalk line which had "norcal" and
|
||||
"socal" written on opposing sides. Five or six women sat and stood with
|
||||
decorations, cow bells, and streamers to welcome us to socal and thank us for
|
||||
riding. I later learned from Mike that they had never decorated for ALC before.
|
||||
All along the route people would come out, cheer, and thank us for riding.
|
||||
|
||||
After a couple hundred miles, that sort of thing really does help.
|
||||
|
||||
Eventually I found my way into rest stop four and decided to wait long enough
|
||||
to see a show. A wonderful Wizard of Oz musical number, the plot of which I
|
||||
missed, but the costumes were fabulous as per usual.
|
||||
|
||||
Shortly after leaving rest stop four, I was [at camp
|
||||
again](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136433922877808640) for my new
|
||||
evening routine of grabbing gear, dumping it in the field, showering, setting
|
||||
up the tent, eating, stretching, eating, and then going to sleep.
|
||||
|
||||
Any troubles I had about falling asleep lying on the ground with earplugs in my
|
||||
ear, had all but disappeared.
|
||||
|
||||
## Day Five, Lompoc (43 miles)
|
||||
|
||||
The fifth day of the ride, also known as "Red Dress Day" was certainly a
|
||||
highlight. The overall ride is shorter, but _everybody_ is dressed up. With the
|
||||
Carmen Sandiegos, flight attendants, waldos, mechanics, and other themed
|
||||
customs abound, we certainly were catching some looks along the way. My
|
||||
favorite however were [these two absolutely fabulous
|
||||
ladies](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136842924254097410) who I ran
|
||||
into at rest stop one.
|
||||
|
||||
The jovial nature of red dress day was a good distraction from the two
|
||||
steepest climbs along the way.
|
||||
|
||||
I found my pace buddy from earlier in the week and we set off from rest stop
|
||||
two towards the climbs. Winding our way along narrow roads we gradually
|
||||
climbed, passing others along the way, until finally I pulled away from her to
|
||||
really aggressively climb the last part of the first hill. Throwing both my
|
||||
weight and strength into the hill, nearing the top I heard a ***clank*** which
|
||||
I assumed was my chain bunching or picking up something like a rock or twig.
|
||||
|
||||
I continued on to the top where I waited for my buddy.
|
||||
|
||||
As she summited our first hill of the day, we continued on.
|
||||
|
||||
After the downhill when I could resume serious pedaling, I noticed that under
|
||||
tension I was hearing the clanking noise again. It didn't happen on every pedal
|
||||
stroke, but was audible when I was pushing strong into my right foot. I spent a
|
||||
mile or two looking at the sprockets by my feet, trying to see what was stuck
|
||||
in my chain. Looking from behind, my buddy didn't see anything amiss either. As
|
||||
we approached the hairpin curve into the second big climb, back onto the
|
||||
highway, I pulled over: I _had_ to know what this was.
|
||||
|
||||
The steel giant flipped over, I started rotating the pedals studying each cycle
|
||||
of the sprocket. Not seeing anything I followed the chain back to the rear
|
||||
hub and spotted the problem. I had [sheared my bike frame at a weld
|
||||
point](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136705051676700673).
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
I let out an exasperated "fuck."
|
||||
|
||||
"What is it?"
|
||||
|
||||
"I broke the frame, I'm done."
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
Explaining what had happened my buddy was more astonished by the situation than
|
||||
I was.
|
||||
|
||||
I flagged down one of the sweep vehicles, loaded my broken bike, and was taken
|
||||
to lunch. Along the way the two sweep roadies, from San Francisco and Atlanta
|
||||
respectively, were great company. I got a chance to figure out why the sweep
|
||||
vans are so cautious and slow riding up and down the line of cyclists; turns
|
||||
out they're checking all the boys out!
|
||||
|
||||
At lunch I made _another_ visit to bike tech where I hung my bike on the rack
|
||||
and explained that I broke my frame. "Fuck, another one?" was the lead tech's
|
||||
response before returning to his work.
|
||||
|
||||
I later learned that by this point in the ride, I was the third cyclist to
|
||||
break a frame.
|
||||
|
||||
I didn't even know "breaking a bike frame" was a thing.
|
||||
|
||||
As luck would have it, [InCycle](https://www.incycle.com/) the bike shop that
|
||||
travels along with ALC also brings along **40** extra bikes to rent to people
|
||||
along the way. While they didn't have exactly my size, 61cm, they did have a
|
||||
58cm which I was willing to make work.
|
||||
|
||||
My number transferred to a new bike and the steel giant hanging on a rack, I
|
||||
was able to ride the few remaining miles from lunch to camp to finish out the
|
||||
day.
|
||||
|
||||
<center>
|
||||
<img src="/images/post-images/alc-2019/red-dress.jpg" title="Red dress day"/>
|
||||
<br/>
|
||||
<em>Feeling pretty in my red dress</em>
|
||||
</center>
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
My teammates were as shocked as my pace buddy was: "you **broke** your frame?"
|
||||
When I was explaining what happened to them earlier, I stumbled into a theory:
|
||||
the brutal roads on day two could have caused a stress fracture, or it could
|
||||
have been the five or six times the rear wheel was removed and reattached on
|
||||
day three, but either way the excessive torque I put into my climbing [finished
|
||||
the job](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1136733463262814208).
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
## Day Six, Ventura (88 miles)
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
The thought of "less than ninety miles, this should be easy" crossed my mind
|
||||
when I stepped into the extremely brisk morning air in Lompoc.
|
||||
|
||||
What kind of weirdo thinks things like that?
|
||||
|
||||
On the agenda for day six was the most dangerous descent of the entire ride.
|
||||
Hugging the highway, we would climb up to the peak of a mountain, and then drop
|
||||
down all the way to sea level. People have been seriously injured on this
|
||||
descent and safety was top of mind after all of the other shenanigans I had
|
||||
been through this week. With a lighter bike, accompanied by disc brakes, I made
|
||||
it safely down the mountain to the gorgeous coastline north of Santa
|
||||
Barbara.
|
||||
|
||||
As I made my way down the coastline, I came across two of my teammates. One
|
||||
dancing and giving the thumbs up to passing cyclists, to let them know things
|
||||
were handled, and the other changing somebody's tire. A third teammate emerged
|
||||
from the brush, I assume after taking a leak as she was wont to do. Chatting
|
||||
with them I learned that the woods-pisser had helped change the guy's tube, but
|
||||
done it wrong and it had almost immediately been popped, likely pinched against
|
||||
the rim. Fortunately the other two were close behind and offered to do a proper
|
||||
job! I was of no help, but stashed their trash in my bike bag and headed off to
|
||||
lunch in [Goleta](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137073346170908672).
|
||||
|
||||
Calories ingested, butter applied, water bottles filled, and I was off again.
|
||||
Like with most other towns we rode through, Goleta was plenty of stop lights
|
||||
that prevented us from getting a good rhythm going. Before I got to the city
|
||||
limits I approached three boys on the side of the road who asked "do you know
|
||||
how to change a tire?"
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
So I pulled over.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
I thought _everybody_ on the ride would know how to change a tire, but i was
|
||||
wrong in that assumption. These three were riding together, and one of them had
|
||||
found some staples, and while he had all the equipment necessary, he wasn't
|
||||
adept at using them. Fortunately he had some CO2 cartridges which turned out to
|
||||
be quite handy; pumping a tire up to 100psi with a little hand pump is a pain
|
||||
in the ass on a good day, even less so when you've got better things to do with
|
||||
your calories.
|
||||
|
||||
Once I had them sorted, I sent them on their way and followed shortly
|
||||
thereafter.
|
||||
|
||||
Less than five miles later I was lucky enough to also find some staples and for
|
||||
the first time in the entire ride, had to change my own tire. Well, not _my_
|
||||
tire, but the rental bike's. It took me a little bit to figure out how to get
|
||||
the rear wheel off, between the disc brakes and a different frame attachment
|
||||
point, it took a little bit of poking. Unfortunately this time around I didn't
|
||||
have anybody with a CO2 cartridge handy, and had to hand-pump that sucker up
|
||||
enough to carry me to [rest stop
|
||||
three](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137105118778671105), where I could
|
||||
use a real pump.
|
||||
|
||||
Between rest stop three and rest stop four, there was the (unofficial) [ice cream
|
||||
stop](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137111782810480640) put on by some
|
||||
local LGBTQ groups. Unfortunately there wasn't much space to sit down and rest,
|
||||
so I scarfed some cookies and cream down, and got back on the road.
|
||||
|
||||
Following further along the coast, my previous thoughts of "this should be
|
||||
easy" were wiped away by more headwinds. By the time I rolled into [rest stop
|
||||
four](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137135333349347328) I was pretty
|
||||
fed up with the wind, not that I could do anything about it. Since the rest
|
||||
stop was squeezed tightly between the road and the coastline, rather than put
|
||||
on the show, this time it was a "dance party" complete with a DJ. Throngs of
|
||||
mostly shirtless men danced around, to my amazement because I not only didn't
|
||||
feel like dancing _at all_, I couldn't imagine dancing in bike shoes. As I
|
||||
waddled by, the DJ asked the people that had been there for an hour or two to
|
||||
move along to camp because bike parking was full.
|
||||
|
||||
Incredible.
|
||||
|
||||
Pushing against the wind for another 10-15 miles took what felt like hours but
|
||||
eventually I found my way to camp in Ventura, [right along the
|
||||
beach](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137179567116865537).
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
At dinner that evening, the ride director shared with us that there had been
|
||||
**no** incidents on the descent, and to send our thanks to CalTrans for street
|
||||
sweeping all the gravel and debris from the shoulder.
|
||||
|
||||
Following dinner there was a candlelight vigil along the beach, which took me a
|
||||
little while to understand, since I had assumed there was going to be a bit
|
||||
more structure, and that one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were going
|
||||
to speak.
|
||||
|
||||
Before returning to my tent, I sat in some grass, stretched and marvelled at
|
||||
this, the last night in camp.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
## Day Seven, Los Angeles (70 miles)
|
||||
|
||||
The [last morning in
|
||||
camp](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137345806585831428) was somehow
|
||||
cold again. It was always cold. Waking up and putting on cycling gear doesn't
|
||||
do much to defend against those chilly coastal breezes. There were news cameras
|
||||
at camp, I assume interviewing somebody for their morning show that day. The
|
||||
arrival of ALC coincided with LA's Pride weekend, not to mention there were a
|
||||
few thousand of us, which did tend to draw the eye.
|
||||
|
||||
At [rest stop one](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137370497035800581) I
|
||||
met up with my pace buddy and a few other people. We rode out together, our
|
||||
nerdy biker gang, and pushed towards Malibu.
|
||||
|
||||
It was during this stretch that I realized that I have explosive speed, and I
|
||||
can climb, but I cannot maintain a strong speed for very long; no endurance.
|
||||
|
||||
By the time we got to [rest stop
|
||||
two](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137379066359627776), I decided to go
|
||||
my own pace. Partially because they were wearing me out, but more importantly,
|
||||
my team was going to meet up before the finish line so we could cross together.
|
||||
But we were going to meet up at **3 pm**, I probably had more than four hours
|
||||
to cover 30 miles.
|
||||
|
||||
Separating from that group probably didn't matter for my pace, because once we
|
||||
entered Malibu, the entire road dynamic changed. Stop lights, hills, close
|
||||
quarters, and bad drivers. More so than anywhere else we rode through, Malibu
|
||||
drivers _consistently_ drove like assholes. They did not slow down, they did
|
||||
not give any space, and they definitely did not care. On one occasion I had to
|
||||
brake sharply because somebody had parked too far into the shoulder and
|
||||
on-coming traffic from behind me did not give me any space. The descents,
|
||||
gravely farm roads, and stretches alongside US 101 did not even compare to how
|
||||
unsafe I felt riding through parts of Malibu.
|
||||
|
||||
I managed to survive and arrive at
|
||||
[lunch](https://twitter.com/agentdero/status/1137415873344368640) _very_ early.
|
||||
Although, when you wake up at 5, lunch at 10:30 doesn't seem as unreasonable.
|
||||
With time to kill, I kicked off my shoes, sat in the sand, sat in the shade,
|
||||
and tried to waste as much time as I possibly could.
|
||||
|
||||
One of the teams, the wackos who rode fixed/single-speed bikes the whole way,
|
||||
stood by the side of the road and lunch and shouted "FUCK YEAH RIDER!" to
|
||||
cyclists making their way to lunch. Like the dancing boys from the day prior, I
|
||||
marveled at how these people had so much surplus energy.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
Harley, his friend Jens, and myself rode off from lunch into Los Angeles for
|
||||
the last 15 miles of ALC 2019. Taking our time, running down the clock until
|
||||
3pm, we still showed up in the designated meeting area with a couple hours to
|
||||
spare.
|
||||
|
||||
Harley grabbed drinks from the store, Jens smoked a cigarette.
|
||||
|
||||
While we waited for more of our team to trickle in, other teams also stood
|
||||
around waiting for their peers to arrive, all of us shouting and clapping at
|
||||
the cyclists passing us by. At one point a cyclist locked wheels with somebody
|
||||
in front of him and went over his handlebars. He stood up, shaken but fine. I
|
||||
made mental notes to ride as carefully as possible to the finish line, since I
|
||||
didn't want to eat pavement in the 544th mile.
|
||||
|
||||
Once the whole crew was assembled we disembarked for the exciting last mile of
|
||||
our entire journey.
|
||||
|
||||
It turned out to be one of the most boring of miles, slowly meandering through
|
||||
a neighborhood before ending at the finish line. The finish line itself was
|
||||
exciting, throngs of people, an announcer, noise, the whole atmosphere was
|
||||
electric. I was however too focused on the speed bumps, other cyclists, and not
|
||||
crashing, to really take it all in.
|
||||
|
||||
On the _other_ side of the finish line, we all crammed into a big bullpen to
|
||||
either park our bikes, or line up for bike shipping. I dropped my rental bike
|
||||
off and by the time I had found my broken bike in the parking area, I was able
|
||||
to join my team who had made it almost 20 yards in the shipping line! The
|
||||
"after the finish line" process took over an hour, standing on a asphalt in the
|
||||
hot sun. Combined with the waiting in the parking lot for my team to show up,
|
||||
I ended up far more grumpy and drained than I would have liked.
|
||||
|
||||
A $75 taxi ride to my hotel by the airport and a shower later, and I found
|
||||
myself slowly drinking a beer and eating _again_ to recuperate from the day. I
|
||||
fell asleep by 8:30 and woke early to catch my 6am flight, _first class_ back
|
||||
to San Francisco and a day where I wouldn't eat many thousands of calories,
|
||||
drink gallons of water, or cycling dozens of miles.
|
||||
|
||||
The flight back lasted 90 minutes, backtracking the route which I spent the
|
||||
previous 7 days riding.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
---
|
||||
|
||||
It would be incorrect to say that I remember every mile from San Francisco to
|
||||
Los Angeles. I do remember most of them however. I can recall how my body felt or
|
||||
imagine the vistas seen along the way. I joked once or twice how it all
|
||||
felt like summer camp for grown-up drama kids. A collection of mostly gay men,
|
||||
with a smattering of everybody else thrown in.
|
||||
|
||||
My people.
|
||||
|
||||
The effect referred to as the "love bubble" takes hold by day two. Embraced by
|
||||
the collective positivity and bound together by a challenging shared
|
||||
experience, everybody seems to get comfortable with one another almost
|
||||
immediately. I don't know if that's because of the type of people who
|
||||
participate in ALC or a result of the ride itself. It's infectious and makes it
|
||||
impossible not to have a good experience, regardless of how your body parts are
|
||||
feeling.
|
||||
|
||||
The sun blistering in my lip slowly healed over the next couple weeks, around
|
||||
the same time it took my scorched upper thighs to peel and fade through various
|
||||
shades of red before leaving me with a distinctive cyclist's tan.
|
||||
|
||||
My broken bike frame ended up being covered by a warranty, providing what I
|
||||
would call a "security deposit" on a newer endurance road bike. One which will
|
||||
hopefully survive a few more miles than the previous one.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
I catch myself pining for the roads again. With the typical fantastic summer
|
||||
weather in Sonoma county, I yearn to get out there and ride _somewhere_,
|
||||
without having any particular destination in mind. The thought of riding fifty
|
||||
or a hundred miles doesn't phase me. Aside from missing a road bike at the
|
||||
moment, I start to imagine what foods I would pack in my bag and which
|
||||
direction I would ride but the thought of "can I?" no longer exists.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
I have not yet signed up for [AIDS/LifeCycle
|
||||
2020](https://www.aidslifecycle.org/). I need to wait until closer to the end
|
||||
of the year to make sure it would work in my schedule, but the thought is
|
||||
already in my mind.
|
||||
|
||||
This year's ride raised a total of 16.7 million dollars, of which my supporters
|
||||
contributed **$6,000**. Along the way, I tore through six inner tubes, replaced
|
||||
one tire, schmeared countless packets of chamois (butt) butter, and wrecked one
|
||||
bicycle frame.
|
||||
|
||||
Whenever I am able to ride next, it will be a challenge to top this, my inaugural
|
||||
AIDS/LifeCycle.
|
||||
|
||||
|
||||
I can't wait.
|
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