Yep, I really have bicycled from San Francisco to Los Angeles. That’s roughly 550 miles! I didn’t tackle this on my own though, but rather joined the California AIDS Ride in 2001. Following is the thank you note I wrote to everyone who sponsored me on this wild adventure, to the tune of nearly $8,000!

I entered into this project unsure of what to really expect, from the event, or even from myself. Just 4 months before the ride we finally found a road bike that was a good fit for me. From then till June it was training rides most weekends, plus short rides a couple times during the week too. Mike was wonderfully supportive of my endeavors and tolerant of my many hours away. During this time I learned a lot about bikes, riding in general, and about safety (and only fell off the bike once, when I forgot to unclip my feet after coming to a stop - it could have been a lot worse!). While you are ultimately the one responsible for your safety, everyone looks out for each other too. AIDS Ride courtesy dictates calling out to other riders potential hazards such as “car up”, “car right”, “slowing/ stopping”, etc. It was often stressed to us that this was a ride, not a race.    

My sense of perspective changed along the way. Suddenly, a quick ride before work to Davenport for a cinnamon roll seemed like the easiest thing. Somewhere during this process I also lost over 20 pounds and 2” off my waist (I guess the riding counteracted the cinnamon rolls).

Training rides took me through 7 Monterey and San Francisco Bay area counties. I’ve lived in this area since 1969, yet many of the roads traversed were first time experiences. I loved seeing everything at the slower, quieter pace of atop a bicycle. The hardest training ride took us from Palo Alto, up King’s Mountain and over the coast mountains to San Gregorio, south to Pescadero, then back over the mountains via Alpine Road and back to Palo Alto - about 80 miles total. Another ride took us over the Golden Gate Bridge and through some beautiful back country of Marin County. It was here that I first heard the warning call of “road kill up”! I also rode one training “century” (100 plus miles) before the big ride.

By Saturday, June 2nd I was as ready as I would ever be. I’d logged over 1400 miles in the saddle, and bought more spandex / synthetic fiber clothing than I ever imagined owning. I’d learned how to change a flat (although never actually had to do it), and even developed a taste for Gatorade. Enroute to San Francisco ride check-in with Mike that first day, with my bike on the back of the car, we were passed by a car on the road with a VERY excited woman waving at me and waving her own rider check-in booklet. I forgot my nervousness and was swept up in the excitement of what I was doing from that point on.

After meeting up with my tent-mate, Michael Hart, an acquaintance (and now a good friend) who lives in L.A., and his friends Maryanne and Carol, who would be tenting next to us, we began the adventure. The day involved watching a safety video, verifying our fund raising minimums had been met, completing medical forms, getting tent assignments, and finally tagging our bikes and helmets with identifying numbers. Today was our first exposure to long lines, and our last exposure to flushing toilets, for the week.

4:30am Sunday, June 3, found us all back at Fort Mason in San Francisco - stretching, trying to keep warm, eating breakfast, doing a last minute double check of our bikes, and generally wondering what the hell we had gotten ourselves into. The previous day we had all be given buttons to wear that said which AIDS Ride event this was for us. I was of course a “1”, as was my tent mate. Those with higher numbers kept telling all us new riders that it would be great, really, and that it was perfectly normal to be anxious. I’m not really sure if those buttons were more so we knew who to ask questions of, or so the old timers knew who to watch out for!

Now for the hard part - how can I describe an event so empowering - so inspirational. It was probably the most physically and emotionally challenging thing I have ever undertaken. Many people asked me before the ride why I was doing it. I could never give a concise answer. I would say something about being 42 now, and if I was ever going to do it, it should be now. It was something about the physical challenge - I’ve never exactly been a jock after all. I was doing it for all the friends we had lost. And I was doing it for all the friends who were fighting this disease. I was doing it because I wanted this to all be over. I was doing it to make a stand, and make a statement. I was doing it to spread awareness. And, yes, I was doing it because it sounded like fun.

Following opening ceremonies the Positive Peddlers, riders who are fighting HIV and AIDS, led us off on our adventure. Those riders would continue to be an amazing source of inspiration whenever I saw them on the roads over the next 7 days.

It was clear this was going to be a very emotional time. Departing San Francisco there were thousands of people, friends and family of riders, and other well-wishers, lining the route cheering us on. There were signs along the road encouraging us. There were cars passing by tooting their horns and waving. By the time we escaped the city, the crowds were thinning. Still, you would come to a street corner or stop at a light, and there would be 2 or 3 people waiting for the light that would applaud you.

During those 7 days we rode 575 miles, from San Francisco’s Fort Mason, to the L.A. Coliseum. 

Along the way we would camp in Santa Cruz, King City, Paso Robles, Oceano, Lompoc & Ventura. Ours was a moving city, with trucks that carried our gear (one bag each, at a maximum of 70 pounds), portable kitchens, semi trailers that were portable showers, medical, chiropractic and massage tents, bike tech, and a general store. There would be a great wall of porta-potties erected at each of our camps. We were all assigned tents, and told where to pitch them. In addition to all this, there would be a huge dining pavilion and stage, plus a quiet remembrance pavilion, and other camp services.

On that first day, at the top of the climb up Hwy 92 we first encountered “Chicken Lady” - a cheering institution on the AIDS rides; a former rider himself, he now cheers the riders on and wishes us well each day - reminding us to hydrate, perspirate and urinate - and always wearing some smashing chicken outfit. Each day there would be a lunch stop, plus 3 or 4 themed pit stops where we could refill water bottles and stock up on Gatorade, fresh fruit and snacks. Any diets that riders were on went out the window as we snacked our way south - had to keep up our energy after all. Our route was well marked. Also, at tricky intersections or dangerous areas there would be some of the motorcycle crew directing us, or traffic. I made it into Santa Cruz that first day just in time to catch the end of Mike’s first showing of his photography. I couldn’t stay long though - it was time to go set up our tent for the first time!  

On Day 2, both of my highlights happened here in Soquel. At the Montessori pre-school all the kids were out along the road chanting “go riders” and holding out their hands to give each rider a “high 5” as you rode past. Just past the school, and before I had fully regained my composure, I came upon Mike, with Joantha and Kaitlin, cheering on the riders and waiting for me. There was a wonderful sign on the road wishing “Uncle Mark” well on the ride. By the time I reached Aptos, Julie and Debbie from work had been forced to abandon their cheering station to go to the office. I stopped in the office for a quick “Hi” though, as the detour only added about 4 blocks to my total mileage for the day. This was our highest mileage day, at 102 miles. I also concluded that I didn't really have to sample every snack at each pit stop, despite all the goodies offered (including mountains of fresh fruit, Cliff Bars, pretzels, trail mix, chips, fruit bars, etc, etc.).  

On Day 3, we rode through near 100 degree heat, and battled fierce cross winds. We climbed “quad buster”, and lunched in Bradley, in the only shade available: under semi trucks. I overcame my worries about changing my first flat. I came upon a lone rider with a flat tire, and even less experience than I (little did I know that was possible), and no pump or tools - I had her back on the road in less than 10 minutes!. Day 3 (June 5) was also the 20th anniversary of the first reported case of AIDS in the U.S. - we had an evening program on the history of the disease, plus some time to reflect and remember why we were riding. To date, over 22 million people have died from AIDS worldwide.  

The heat continued on Day 4 as we climbed “the Evil Twins”. Desperate for variety, we discovered that Punch and Orange flavors of Gatorade actually mix pretty well. Afternoon brought some relief from the heat as we once again reached the coast. Our overnight was at the Oceano Airport, where our city was set up on the runway, and we did battle for tent space with the gophers on the grassy sides. Somewhere around this point, the catch phrase “it’s not a race, it’s a ride” was transformed to “it’s not a race, it’s a fashion show”! Day 5 was our shortest mileage day, at just 55 miles. However the day held 4 hills we would surmount. We countered by becoming rebels and stopping at a 7-11 for ice cream (at 10am at that - it was still pretty hot), and later discovered that a McDonald's Big Mac and fries can actually be pretty darn tasty in the middle of a long ride.  

And most importantly, each day I relearned how wonderful people can really be. 

Everyone took care of each other, and encouraged each other, and were there for each other. Whether this meant early arrivals in camp pitching tents for the tired late arrivals, or getting off your bike at the top of a hill to cheer on riders coming up behind you, or helping at a pit stop by filling other’s water bottles. At night there would be a cheering section composed of riders, crew and friends, waiting at the gates to welcome home the last arrivals (the route closed each night at 7pm). Small kindnesses meant so much, and were so readily given. We really became one huge, caring, happy, sore, family. Everyone asked each other how they were doing, and offered encouragement. There was lots of commiserating about bike seats, having to put on sun screen at 6am (and 9am, and 11am...), sore muscles, and the virtues of "butt butter" (a lotion-like salve you smear on the chamois padding of your bike shorts to prevent chafing - a substance I thankfully never needed). Many new friendships were forged. Each day held new stories, of triumphs, or of losses. There was much laughter, and many tears.

Everywhere we went, there were people cheering us on in their own unique ways. In the farming country of central California I passed two laborers (in another setting they could have been taken for gang members by their age and dress) - their response to seeing me was "way to go, amigo". In Salinas there were 3 kids, all probably under 4, flinging paper confetti at us and screaming wildly as we went by (they were so short that the confetti hit our spinning wheels and flew everywhere - much to their, and our, delight!) In numerous small towns the schools would have the students out, skipping classes, cheering us on and waiving signs. While riding through the University in Santa Barbara a woman walking between classes stopped and thanked me for riding. After arriving in L.A., while traversing a poor section of the city, we passed someone's shrunken little grandmother, doing her very own version of moonwalking and waving us on, with the biggest smile you can imagine. To all of this add the numerous signs and banners that people had placed along the route giving us encouragement, thanking us, and wishing us well. Even neighborhood stores, churches and schools changed their reader boards and marquees to give us words of welcome, thanks and encouragement. The outpouring was amazing!

For 7 days I bicycled down beautiful country roads, and busy sections of freeway. I cycled with parents who’ve lost children to this horrible disease. With others who’ve lost parents and siblings. With partners who’ve lost lovers. We cycled so others might be spared the horror of this disease. We cycled to protect those we love living with HIV and to honor and bear witness to those we have lost.

I can't exactly call the trip "vacation" but I can say that it was worth every mile I trained, and drop of sweat or tear I shed. It was truly a great week - a life changing experience - being a part of something so much bigger than any one person. So good in fact, that I have already signed up to do it again next year. And, Mike is even planning on joining me this next time!

I would go on to join the ride 6 times in total, from 2001 to 2011. Twice Mike joined me! The experience was always amazing, and hard, and worth it!

travel journal text and photography by Mark Grantham