August, 1997
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AIDSRide Creates a Moving Family, Raising Millions for AIDS Services

by Sarah Hendershot

For three months I prepared for this. I had a lot of information from reading and talking to people, but I also knew there were many things I couldn't predict. I knew I would ride the bicycle I bought in April more than 470 miles for six days in July. I knew I hadn't been on a bike for four years, and that I would have three months to train and condition my very lazy body. I knew I would have to raise $2,300 before July 6, when I would fly to Minneapolis and ride my bike back to Chicago with about 1,700 others. I knew I would sleep in a tent and not enjoy the pleasures of privacy or plumbing. I knew that the money I raised would go to six AIDS services organizations in Chicago. I had expectations also. I expected to be very emotional, physically uncomfortable, and bombarded with heat and crowds of people; two things I don't like at all.

I hadn't prepared for the immediate sense of family and community that I felt from the first day. I hadn't realized how beautiful Minnesota and Wisconsin are, or how lucky I would be to see them in such a unique way. Most unexpected was the unceasing goodness of every person I encountered. People that I expected to be uncaring, narrow minded, and unsympathetic weren't. People in tiny towns gathered on corners to cheer us on and children in front yards with little card tables sold rice crispy treats for 25¢ and gave free lemonade to riders. Riders who after a long hard day of hill climbing set up my tent just because they knew I was still out there struggling up those same hills. Beautiful people everywhere.

The Twin Cities>Chicago AIDS Ride 2 presented by Tanqueray totally destroyed my carefully cultivated pessimism regarding the goodness of human kind.

Last year my faculty advisor at school did the Ride after losing a close friend to AIDS. It was September when he first told me about the Ride, and I played with the idea of riding until February. The Ride sounded so huge and impossible and intimidating. First there was the fundraising. How would I raise $2,300, I wondered. Then there was the Ride itself. I had heard that the Ride included a 100-mile day and a couple 90-mile days. I don't have an athletic bone in my body, I like to sleep a lot, and I hate to sweat. If I decided to do the Ride I would have to change all my habits and discipline myself in a way I had never done before. I couldn't resist it. In April I registered and became Rider 1055C.

The Twin Cities>Chicago AIDS Ride 2, which was July 7-12, included 1,631 riders, 430 volunteer crew members, 24 paid staff members, full medical, massage, and chiropractic support, and a self-sufficient moveable tent city. At last count (and the money's still coming in), riders have raised $5.4 million to go to five AIDS service organizations in the Twin Cities and to six in Chicago: Howard Brown Health Center, AIDSCare, Inc., Canticle Place, Chicago House, Sinai Family Health Centers, and Community Response.

AIDSCare is a not-for-profit organization providing subsidized and supervised communal housing, food, clothing, social services, counseling and education for women and men with advanced AIDS. Canticle Place is a residential facility in Wheaton with 12 independent living units. Chicago House offers community-based housing, case management, and support services for individuals and families living with HIV/AIDS. Sinai Family Health Centers provides HIV/AIDS education, prevention, and comprehensive primary care services to the economically disadvantaged and medically under-served population. Community Response is an HIV/AIDS social service agency offering support services to the West Side of Chicago and west suburban Cook County. Howard Brown Health Center is the Midwest's oldest healthcare organization focusing on the lesbian, gay, and bisexual community.

The AIDS Rides were born when in 1994 Californian Dan Palotta rounded up 478 people to ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles over seven days. That ride raised $1.6 million. By 1996, the American AIDS Rides had expanded to include five rides, and riders raised $25 million. Since 1994, 15,000 riders have raised $40 million, and this year 10,000 riders will raise an additional $25 million.

The morning before the Ride began I walked the cool streets of downtown Minneapolis, totally empty except for AIDS Riders. I began to notice the sense of family that was already developing. Riders laughed in the streets, ran into old friends, and greeted strangers. Except that Riders clearly did not perceive other Riders as strangers. Similarly, at 4:30 the next morning, Day One, I made my way to the Convention Center, slowed by my heavy rucksack. The streets were cool, empty, and dark. I felt an incredible sense of anticipation and camaraderie as I saw AIDS Riders hauling huge backpacks to the convention center. The streets were so dark and quiet, I felt like I was on some very important mission that only a select few are in on. I suppose in a way that's exactly what it is. Two hours later, I walked my bicycle out of the convention center into the brightening morning as crewmembers stood on either side cheering and applauding. At 6:30 a.m., I turned onto the main drag, and music flooded my ears. The crowd overwhelmed me; the streets were lined for blocks and blocks. People cheered, applauded, and held up signs wishing us good luck. The Ride had begun.

The first day was 100 miles and it felt surprisingly easy. It is difficult to feel physically tired or in pain while other riders crack jokes, chat, and sing. Crewmembers drove by constantly, leaning out of vans decorated with tinsel, plastic pink flamingos and brooms to cheer wildly. They slowed down or stopped for riders who pulled off the road. Sometimes they soaked riders with pump guns. The crew, in preparing the route ahead of time, spray painted on the pavement or posted on signs warnings about the terrain, notes on the location of upcoming pit stops (every 15 miles), and words of inspiration. During one monotonous stretch I came upon a sign telling the beginning of a joke. One quarter of a mile down the road another sign gave the punch line. Another time, on a particularly draining stretch of highway, I came across a message spray painted on the pavement. It read, "Gee your hair smells terrific." That message alone kept me going until the next pit stop.

Each day flowed like the first. As the riding began to take its toll on my body, I was distracted and cheered by the people around me. One rider appeared to have an entire swan on his head. Fluffy white feathers bounced around his helmet in the wind. Another rider converted himself and his bicycle into a teddy bear. His teddy bear helmet was nothing compared to the job he did on his bike. Every part of it was wrapped in teddy bear fur. Riders decorated their bikes and helmets in rainbow stickers and flags.

Most memorable was riding through tiny, pristine towns and seeing little crowds of people here and there cheering. Often they gathered on street corners holding up signs, calling out their support. Larger towns had larger groups of well wishers on the corners, but the sentiment was the same. Children reaching their hands out for riders to slap as they passed and signs reading "Thank you" and "Go riders! Go!" were common sights. Early one day, one woman in her garden said "good morning" to every rider who passed. Many towns looked like the Main Street, U.S.A. of a Hollywood set in their pristine beauty, and much of the scenery in Wisconsin was breathtaking. Tranquil little lakes surrounded by dense forest made me abandon my bike to sit by them for five minutes here, 20 minutes there.

Scenic beauty and the fun of exploring three states aside, the Ride is special mostly because of the people involved. AIDS Riders participated in the Ride for many different reasons. Some rode in the memory of friends or loved ones that had been lost to AIDS. Others wanted to get involved in a good cause. Still others welcomed the physical challenge. Riders came from all backgrounds and abilities. Susan Silberman, 29, of Wilmette, was training for last year's Ride when a drunk driver hit her and, as a result, had to have her leg amputated from the knee down. She rode this year with a prosthetic leg that fit into her cycling shoe. On Day Three of the Ride she was given a standing ovation for her bravery. She inspired all riders with her spirit and determination. Another heroic rider was Scott Dombrowski, 34, of Mt. Prospect. He lost the use of his legs after a car accident 16 years ago, and rode a recumbent bicycle designed to be pedaled with his hands. Since I rode at a similar pace as Dombrowski, I saw him many times as I struggled up steep hills, depending heavily on my leg muscles, while he made his way up the hills using his arm strength.

Another group of remarkable riders were all those who were HIV+. Some wore jerseys and others had flags on their bikes identifying their status. As I rode, every now and then, I would see on a sign or spray painted on the highway: "HIV+ Riders are Amazing!" I heard the word "hero" thrown around constantly throughout the week. To me, these are the people this word accurately describes.

Riders were split evenly between women and men, and, according to an informal survey given by the Chicken Lady at the talent show on Day Three, split evenly between gays and straights as well. Most riders were white and in their 20s and 30s, with the youngest rider at 17 and the oldest a 70-year-old from the Twin Cities and a 69-year-old from Chicago. Riders came from 28 states and Canada. The Chicken Lady is the notorious rider who lounges at camp and cycles covered in tributes to the chicken. One stuffed animal chicken roosts on his bicycle's handlebars and another chicken nests atop his helmet. This came about when his friends told him he was too chicken to do the Ride. One day I spied him riding in cycling shoes, hot pink lace socks, a pink pleated tennis skirt over his cycling shorts, and a riding jersey with the infamous stuffed chicken bag slung across his back. On the back of his bike, where most riders keep discreet cycling bags for riding necessities like spare inner tubes and tire levers, the Chicken Lady had a rack with a bright yellow plastic basket filled with a stuffed animal chicken, candy bars, potato chips, and Clinique products. One evening he clucked around camp in a vintage women's bathing suit. The Chicken Lady is Ken Thomason of California and a Spokebuster, which is a group of 14 riders who do all five AIDS Rides each year. Each Spokebuster makes an incredible time commitment to do each ride, train, and fundraise. Each is responsible for raising $9,500 every year. Some are HIV+. Others have lost countless loved ones to AIDS.

Four months ago this adventure seemed so far out of my reach. I felt that the Ride was almost elitist: best for people in perfect, Herculean condition. Once I made the decision to go through with it, I wouldn't let myself entertain the idea that I was in over my head. I just decided that I wasn't. Now that I've done the Ride, and seen riders of all ages and abilities ride into camp at the end of each day, and seen photographs of dead lovers taped to too many handlebars, and felt the incredible exhilaration of not only using, but pushing my body all day long for six days, I no longer think of AIDS Ride as an event for heroes of incredible proportions. Anyone can do this.

[For information on next year's Twin Cities>Chicago Ride 3, call 773-880-8812.]

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Reporter's Notebook:

AIDSRide Creates a Moving Family, Raising Millions for AIDS Services

by Sarah Hendershot