Seven Days In June

As you may know, I've been working on some magazine articles about my experience with AIDS/LifeCycle. The first of these has been published and I wanted to share it here. I haven't yet picked up an actual copy of the magazine but here's my submission, prior to any editing the pub may have done. If you happen to see one when you're out & about, pick one up!

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My legs are stiff from climbing hill after hill. Three fingertips are numb from spending a week hunched over the handlebars. My right knee aches from pushing down on the pedals more than 200,000 times. And I have never felt better.


Yes, you read that right. I feel amazing. Accomplished. Strong. Because I just spent a week riding my bicycle 545 miles in AIDS/LifeCycle to raise money to support the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the LA Gay & Lesbian Center.

Each year, more than 2,000 riders along with hundreds of volunteers trek from San Francisco to Los Angeles to take part in the world’s largest fundraiser of its kind. I’ve known about this event since its inception. Actually I’ve known about the ride since cyclists in its predecessor, the California AIDS Ride, first put foot to pedal in 1994 to raise monies for much needed HIV/AIDS programs and services. But I never made the commitment to participate. Through the years, I had all the excuses; not enough time, money, discipline, courage or experience. 

Then last summer, as I disembarked from a cruise ship after a relaxing week touring Alaska, I felt it was time for something different. For a vacation that was not only life-changing but gave back in some way. And AIDS/LifeCycle was the answer. I registered, pulled my dusty bike off its hook in the garage, cleaned it, and rode eight miles. Only eight? That’s when I realized I didn’t know what I was in for. Or how I would accomplish it. 

But I tried. And my training miles increased. As I spent more time on the road, I began to have more time to think about the reasons I chose to ride. As a young gay man in the early 1990s, I dealt with my share of loss from the disease. From the moment I registered, I knew I was riding for Paul. And Steve. And Bob, Micah, Kerry, Pedro, J.R. Shawn, Ken, Deidre, Barry and many, many others I’ve known who’ve died from AIDS. But that was just scratching the surface. I began to think about all those friends who’ve seroconverted in the years since. Friends who are still here today. Soon, words of gratitude came in from friends who are clients of SFAF and LAGLC. These are the faces behind the ride. The real people who benefit from the funds raised by the ride. These are the lives I was working to save. So I trained harder. Rode faster. And that’s when I found even more unexpected miracles on my journey.

As I rode more, I reached out and discovered a community I didn’t know existed. A seemingly impossible community of giving and support and experience. And, especially, of love. A community of cyclists, volunteers and staff ready, willing and able to make sure no rider is left behind. One that included the Positive Pedalers - a group of people with HIV who participate in AIDS rides around the country. I was welcomed into this community. Became one of them. They inspired, motivated and taught me. The community stretched far beyond the borders of California. Spanned from coast to coast. And across the oceans. London. Hong Kong. Paris. Zurich. And even if I didn't meet them until we shared the road, they were there for me. And I for them.

One way I stepped up was when a friend called to ask if I’d help lead his newly formed team and I agreed. Our team, Manning Up Allstars, was founded on the ideal that by creating active means for taking back your life, you can prove to yourself that you can accomplish not only the physically impossible but also overcome all types of adversity. As team captain, I watched this group of first year riders achieve individual greatness in every way imaginable and blow past our team goals as we dusted our expectation to raise $50,000 by finishing with a total of nearly $75,000.

Then came the ride itself. Beauty on a bike. Fog and sun and clouds and breezes. Green fields speckled with ripe strawberries and blue coasts crested by white waves. Scents of lavender and jasmine rushing past us. Townsfolk cheering us on. Neighbors ringing bells. Lunching under trees, dancing in the desert and camping under stars. But most of all, riding. And again remembering the reasons we ride. On our last night in camp we held a candlelight vigil on Ventura Beach. I looked around at the faces framed by flickering light. Men and women from all walks of life. Brought together by one common goal. I was struck most by the young faces. Those too young to have experienced the darkest days of this pandemic. Those who weren’t old enough to remember the time when HIV was taking our brothers and sisters in droves. Those who, hopefully, will never experience that kind of loss.

And it was in that moment I realized we did make a difference. Those of us on the ride this year and in previous years. Those who’ve promised to keep riding until HIV/AIDS are a thing of the past. We helped make that change. We saved lives. No, we’re not done yet. But there’s no doubt we’re getting closer to our goal.

And that was when I decided to ride again in 2014.

Ride with me.