Albert awoke habitually early feeling exhausted. The previous evening he’d connected with a group of lawless fixed-gear cyclists and spent the bulk of the night “mashing it up” with the crew in the Mission district, China Town, North Beach (with it's legendary City Lights bookstore), and beyond. These fixie purists were the equivalent of two-wheeled anarchist, running amuck in “The City”. Extremely skilled and versatile on their minimalist, brake-less bikes, they pulled crazy tricks, and ascended and descended some of the steepest grade hills Albert had ever ridden.
Through morning showers, Albert departed San Francisco by way of Mission Street, which soon became the El Camino Real. Reaching the outskirts of the city, Albert found his way to Juniper Sierra Blvd., where he found himself being swooped up by a large group of cyclists heading in the same direction as himself. Albert realized that he’d stumbled upon a well organized event and asked one of the riders as to who, what, and where they were all heading? He learnt that there were more than two-thousand, three hundred cyclist, all on a seven-day ride, over five-hundred miles from San Francisco to Los Angeles. They were all part of a fully-supported and sponsored ride called AIDS/LifeCycle, and each rider had raised a minimum of $3,000 that went to one of two non-profit organizations that helped in bringing public awareness to the AIDS/HIV pandemic. Albert, chatting with Julian, a young rider from Los Angeles, was informed that the ride was annual, that this was the ninth year (in its current format), and that this year’s crop of riders had raised over ten million dollars for the cause.
Albert was amazed and enthralled at the sight of so many cyclists at one time. Riding in single file, with the appearance of a multi-colored snake, the line of riders stretched out ahead as far as the eye could see. Past Crystal Springs Reservoir and up Half Moon Bay Road they traversed, and upon reaching the summit, Albert bade farewell to Julian, parted ways with the pack, and headed south along the rolling and twisting Skyline Road. At the crossroads of Skyline and route 84, at a small motorcycle gathering spot, Albert swung west and via the hamlets of La Honda and San Gregorio, sped down to the Pacific Coast Highway. Here Albert found himself reunited with the AIDS/LifeCycle riders and quietly slotted himself back into the long and colorful line. Albert had never ridden with a large group of cyclists before, but welcomed the experience as they swept along at a steady pace. Albert imagined that he was riding in a brake-away on one of the European grand tours.
With an on-shore fog bank, the weather along the Pacific coast was seasonally cool, damp, and gray. The road rolled up and over coastal bluffs, lined by grassy headlands and near-empty beaches. For most of the ride the ever present ocean was calm and the limited surf ritualistically peeled and broke along the remote shoreline. Traffic on Highway-1 was light and Albert rode with the large group of riders past the town of Davenport and shortly after into the city of Santa Cruz where the gray skies had departed leaving the area drenched in late afternoon sunshine.
It was on the west side of downtown that the AIDS/LifeCycle riders were spending the night at the local county fairgrounds, and as Albert’s yarn was about to run out, it was the right time for him to find a location to pull-up for the evening. Exploring around, he was able to secure an out of the way spot at the base of the Santa Cruz Mountains, on the grounds of the Tannery Arts Center.
Before calling it a night, Albert took a curious stroll back to the fairgrounds where the AIDS/LifeCycle riders were camped out. Here, around a hub of alphabetized rows of closely placed little blue and green tents, was an incredible buzz of activity as thousands of people came and went, visiting food, medical, and technical tents, as well as utilizing shower-trucks and port-a-toilets. Like a nomadic tribe, this was a well-organized, three-thousand strong, portable community. Heading back to the Tannery for the night, Albert witnessed a beautiful visual. As the sun dropped beyond the western horizon, he came across a flood-lite field that was a temporary home to thousands of gleaming bicycles, all neatly corralled side-by-side, row after row. It appeared, that they, like their riders, were ready to snuggle-up the night after an eighty-five mile day on the road.
No comments:
Post a Comment