Salty Century Photo Essay: A Wellfleet-Provincetown-Dennis Figure 8

Posted on September 6, 2014 by Mikola De Roo

Every year, the peak of my training regimen for BRAKING AIDS Ride is completing at least one century ride, a training ride of 100 or more miles prior to the ride itself. Ideally, I get in one century sometime in July or August, and during my strongest years, I have been able to do at least two centuries before BRAKING AIDS begins. This year wasn’t one of those years, and I ended up doing one century ride during our annual vacation to Cape Cod. We stay in Wellfleet on the Outer Cape, so my route usually resembles something like a figure 8—roughly 50 miles going from our cottage to Provincetown and back, and then another 50 or so from our cottage to South Dennis and back.

Rather than staying on Route 6, the main highway on the Cape, which is two lanes—one in each direction—for most of it and is also the most direct route from Wellfleet to Truro and Provincetown, I took back roads for the the first 22 miles of my century ride this past Wednesday. I rode Lecounts Hollow Road to Ocean View Drive, Gross Hill and Gull Pond Roads, then Old Truro Road, Pamet Point Road, Old County Road, Castle Road, Bridge Road, Depot Road, and more, criss-crossing and riding Route 6 along the way for brief stretches. What did this mean? HILLS. Lots of them.

To get from South Wellfleet to Provincetown, rather than staying on Route 6, the main highway on the Cape, which is two lanes—one in each direction—for most of it and is also the most direct route, I took back roads for the first 22 miles of my century ride this past Wednesday. I rode Lecounts Hollow Road to Ocean View Drive, Gross Hill and Gull Pond Roads, then Old Truro Road, Pamet Point Road, Old County Road, Depot Road, Bridge Road, Castle Road, Corn Hill, and more, criss-crossing and riding Route 6 along the way for brief stretches. What did this mean? HILLS. Lots of them.

First beach pitstop after riding Ocean View Drive out of Wellfleet.

Ryder Beach, Truro.

Ryder Beach, Truro. The weather was windy in the morning, so much so I almost didn’t realize how hot it was until I stopped here.

The view of Corn Hill from Castle Road, Truro. Amazing how misleading photographs can be. These houses are on big, tall bluffs overlooking the marshes and the bay to the west. Lots of climbing.

One of the houses near Corn Hill, Truro.

Powerade hydration self-portrait, #2. After over 20 miles of hilly back roads, I was hot and thirsty, so I stopped at the general store near the beginning of the Shore Road in North Truro. It used to be a hole in the wall called Dutra’s. Now it has been renovated and expanded, and they carry fancy Fever Tree tonic water. (This brand is light and not too sweet or cloying, perfect for cocktails, but four 6.8-ounce glass bottles are not worth $8.) I skipped the overpriced cocktail mixers and went for the sports drinks. I am not a big fan of Gatorade or Powerade, but hydration is key to endurance cycling. Electrolytes are your friend, and for whatever reason, perhaps because the blue versions of these products aren’t trying to simulate real fruit flavors like strawberry or grape or lemon, they tend to be the most palatable to me. Blue flavor, please, for me and The Blue Streak.

The window display at the expanded and renovated general store in North Truro. The place has new owners and is now called The Salty Market. To give you a sense of the scale here, the pig is nearly the height of the tall bench behind it, at which two gentlemen are seated. Both these guys kept giving me a weird look as I paused to snap this photo, as though I were interested in them and not the giant pig sculpture directly in front of them that was large enough for either one of them to straddle and ride like a horse.

Provincetown, as viewed from Shore Road (Route 6A) in Truro, about 25 miles into my ride. The road is relatively flat, small rolling hills here and there, but headwind was something fierce in the morning, so it was slow going.

People walking on the sand bars during low tide on the bay, as seen from Shore Road, riding from Truro to Provincetown, late Wednesday morning.

Low tide on Shore Road between Truro and Provincetown, facing southwest.

After I arrived in Provincetown, I headed straight for Joe’s to get some iced coffee and then down the rest of Commercial Street to the West End, where I stopped at Relish, a deli that has incredible sandwiches as well as baked goods. When Jen and I got married in the West End in 2010, Frank, the guy who owns Relish, made our wedding cake. These are the store t-shirts.

To the disappointment of my friends Nicole Dewey, Kerri Fox, and Gregg Passin, cupcake lovers all, I did not get a cupcake at Relish, but this tray of them was so cute, I had to take a snapshot.

Objects may be larger than they appear. This slice of pistachio coffee cake from Relish is roughly the size of my head. Although the one pictured here is the one Jen and I shared from today (Friday), it is nearly identical to the one I purchased at Relish about 27 miles into my ride and housed all by myself.

Objects may be larger than they appear. This slice of pistachio coffee cake from Relish is roughly the size of my head. Have I mentioned that under the curly hair, I have a big melon for a head? Although the slice of cake pictured here is the one Jen and I shared this afternoon (Friday), it is nearly identical to the one I purchased at Relish about 27 miles into my ride and housed all by myself on Wednesday. Photo by Jennifer L. Anderson.

At the end of a Commercial Street in Provincetown’s West End is a traffic circle that feeds onto Provincelands Road, which in turn leads toward Herring Cove and Race Point Beaches. I had never noticed before this week that the rotary itself is a tiny park with this little plaque noting the first Pilgrims’ landing. Learn something new every day.

The outer rim of the West End rotary has benches that overlook the bay, the marsh, and the causeway. This is where I sat to eat my divine coffee cake from Relish and my iced coffee from Joe’s. Now that you see the view, you understand why those first Pilgrims decided to stay.

Another view of the West End marshes, Provincetown, at low tide. Love these colors.

People walking the Breakway, which spans about 1.5 miles, West End, Provincetown.

The Tidal Flats and Provincetown Breakway at low tide, West End, Provincetown.

After my cake snack, I was hot. I should have headed straight back to Wellfleet. I had gotten a late post-9am start (ah, the beauty of a cool summer! No need to begin at 6am to avoid the heat!) so it was already noon, and because of all the hills and headwind as well, I was only about one-third of the way through my century ride. But instead I stopped here, at Herring Cove Beach, parked The Blue Streak, stripped off my cycling shoes and socks, and marched myself down to the water to go soak my head, literally, and cool off.

The Blue Streak, waiting for me patiently at Herring Cove, while I went to take a dip.

Self-portrait at Herring Cove Beach, after taking a dip in the ocean (or rather, wading in to the knees and dunking my head in). The other beachcombers were perplexed by my strange bathing costume.

Non-photographic, afternoon interlude: After my detour to Herring Cove, I hauled ass back to our tiny cottage in South Wellfleet, via Route 6, Shore Road, and some of the same hilly back roads in Truro. I was pleased to make much better time than I had during the morning. Remarkable what a difference headwind makes.

I stopped at the cottage and ate a self-made turkey sandwich that was serviceable but not worth photographing. While I was there, Jen returned from her own training ride of hill repeats along Ocean View Drive, so I got in a brief snuggle with her and our dog Sadie. Sadly, I had another 45 miles of riding to go, so the visit was short-lived.

The good news is that most of my remaining route, the 22-mile Cape Cod Rail Trail between Wellfleet and Dennis, was flat. Along the way, I passed through Wellfleet, Eastham, Orleans, Brewster, Harwich, and Dennis, and then back again in reverse. The scenery in parts is lovely but the road itself—like the NYC West Side bike path, open only to cyclists and people on foot—is unremarkable, mostly flanked by trees and scrubs on both sides, so I only tend to take a handful of photos en route. Also, the one annoying thing about the Rail Trail is that it includes numerous stop signs where the trail intersects with roads trafficked by cars, so the route requires a ton of stop-and-go slowing down and ramping up again. In addition, after the first leg of my ride, I tend to get increasingly impatient with completing the century and stop less to take out the camera. For more on what this second portion of the route looks like, see my previous post from last year.

One of the marsh views, facing west on the Rail Trail between Wellfleet and Dennis.

Unfortunately, it isn't visible in this photo, but I discovered during the last 30 miles of my 102.5-mile ride this Wednesday that from a few places along the Rail Trail, one can see all the way to the bay. In this image, I could catch a small triangle of blue salt water right next to the tree silhouette near the top center.

Unfortunately, it isn’t visible in this photo, but I discovered during the last 30 miles of my 102.5-mile ride this Wednesday that on a clear day, from a few places along the Rail Trail, one can see all the way to the bay. In this image, I could catch a small triangle of blue salt water right next to the tree silhouette near the top center.

At this point in a long day of riding, especially on a road like the Rail Trail, which is flat, uneventful, and safe enough terrain that one can afford to zone out for a while, strange, random stuff starts to drift through one’s head. Lines from Pride & Prejudice, the number of bones and muscles in the feet, whether the road ahead will ever end, and any number of X-rated fantasies to keep the mind going and entertained while the legs continue their monotonous pedaling. It is also the section of the journey during which I decided to get “arty” with the photo composition. Look at me, putting the reflection of the sun at the center without showing the actual light source.

This is where the photographic record of my century ride 2014 ends. I had wanted to take a picture of my odometer with my total distance for the day to post here, but somewhere during the last 30 miles, in my bleary-eyed state, I went to look at my speed and I hit the reset button by accident so the mileage count started over. You will have to take my word for it: 102.5 miles total.

The thing about a century ride is that its full-day endlessness makes its completion all the more satisfying, and it’s also one of the best psychological confidence boosters I get prior to the actual BRAKING AIDS Ride. No matter how the day goes, a century is a good lesson that I repeat annually—less because of its physical training benefits and more because it reminds me that steady tenacity bears out. The closest thing I have to a picture of that figurative journey isn’t a photo from my century ride at all. It is a photo of me with my wife from the previous day, which she took during 45 miles of hot, hilly riding.

Seeing her beautiful face, all serious and sweaty from riding her bike, The Pale Horse, inspires me because she is a less experienced endurance cyclist than I, and she had a number of obstacles—physical and emotional—this summer that limited her training in a big way. Many people would have raised the required money for the ride, said to hell with the rest of the bike training, and not bothered doing the ride at all. Jen didn’t quit. When things were looking and feeling especially dark and dire in late July and early August, I assured her she doesn’t have anything to prove to anybody, except maybe herself, but she still refused to throw in the towel. Even at her most frightened and downtrodden, even when angry and disappointed at how the summer season went, she has kept showing up. Sometimes, she hasn’t been physically up to riding at all. Other days, she’s done shorter rides when she was unable to do longer ones and she’s ridden even when she has felt like crap, which has been often. She has also continued to insist on showing up and doing the actual BRAKING AIDS Ride, determined to have whatever ride experience she’s going to have. If that isn’t bravery and grit and perseverance, I don’t know what is. She has no idea what a fucking hero that makes her to me, so this is my way of trying to convey that. Jennifer Lynn Anderson, this post is for you:

This was actually taken the day before my century ride, doing a 45-miler with my wife Jennifer, who is also doing the ride next week. But she has been such a tenacious, brave beast during a challenging and difficult summer training season, and I am so proud of her, I wanted to post this here.

LESS THAN A WEEK FROM TODAY, I WILL BE RIDING NEARLY 300 MILES IN 3 DAYS, FROM BOSTON TO NYC, TO BE PART OF THE FIGHT TO END AIDS. CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO SUPPORT ME & HOUSING WORKS FOR BRAKING AIDS^® RIDE 2014.

On Possibility

Posted on August 26, 2014 by Mikola De Roo

I have been thinking a lot lately about possibility. How I go about determining what is possible for certain, what seems possible but hard, what is unlikely, and what is impossible.

It isn’t that I don’t ever get ambitious or dream big. It is that I also tend to be a realist. I am the person in the room who has vision but who’s also good at figuring out how to take an idea and create a process that turns the idea into a reality. I assess possible approaches, saying, “well, doing it that way won’t work” or “let’s try this instead.” Some of this may be temperament; some of it may be that I have spent a lot of my life around big-picture talkers. I am talking about people who need realists and makers—people who Do and Manage Concrete Stuff and turn imaginative talk into something more—to get anything done. Some of these big-picture folks have genuine vision with potential brilliance in them and some don’t; regardless, they tend to be people with authority and in some cases big ambitions about Making a Certain Outcome Happen. In my experience, however, many of these people set a high bar for others but offer up little by way of planning, knowledge, or proposed steps about how to get their desired result. They also don’t tend to care much about determining what will or won’t be entailed and which resources are essential and which are nice to have but not crucial. They rely on other people to do that—creative implementers, managers, analysts, builders—to translate abstraction into creative visions, interpret vague demands and desired results, arrange processes and people, outline a plan with concrete steps, manage the whole business, and in the end, make something happen. You can’t make anything happen with your head in the clouds all the time. It takes having at least one foot and better yet two feet on the ground at least some of the time. And at least in my career life, I am right a fair amount of the time about what does and doesn’t work, enough anyway that the realist, maker skills have gotten a lot of play in my workplaces and kept me employed.

I encountered this mysterious street sign near a construction site on Henry Street in Brooklyn a few weeks ago while walking home. It was as though the universe was trying to tell me something. Turn left?

I have a mentor who has pointed out to me that our strengths and our weaknesses are often the same aspects of self. Whether they are operating as one or the other or both depends on how and when we are using them. The same person has also observed that I have a lot of experience and comfort with articulating to myself why something isn’t possible. I have spent a lot less time letting myself dream and imagine what I want, irrespective of whether it is possible or impossible. That tendency to gravitate toward hyper-realism and always be sussing out the odds has served me in good stead in some ways, but the problem with that frame of mind is that it’s prevented me from imagining in other parts of my life. How one can dream about what might seem impossible but is possible. That in turn has stopped me from imagining something that I desire but seems nuts—unrealistic or unlikely—and trying to do it anyway. It’s stopped me from trying and perhaps failing but maybe getting closer than I had thought. It has stopped me from seeing the value of a free imaginative space if I can’t guarantee a particular outcome. It has stopped me from trying and perhaps failing but in doing so learning something that might make the next attempt more effective. It has certainly stopped me from trying something unlikely and discovering I was wrong—that the effort was hard, maybe harder than even I thought it would be but that the goal was in fact possible. Not impossible as I had believed.

In short, the editor in me outshouts the writer in me. A lot of the time. I tend to talk myself out of a lot of ideas before I have even let myself dream them up much less gotten started on attempting them. Usually, it’s so unconscious and familiar a mental process—an internal argument, a whittling down of options, of paths to travel—that I am not even fully aware that I’ve had a hand, and a pretty significant one, in narrowing what’s possible for me and what I choose to pursue right from the beginning.

The fact that typing that last two paragraphs made me tear up a little underscores not only its veracity but also why it matters: Because it’s me holding myself back and getting in my own way. I am my own biggest obstacle. I don’t have any control over what gets in my way outside of me. But I do have agency over the role I play, the choices I make, the ideas I allow myself to contemplate and the paths I allow myself to carve out and walk.

One of the things I love about being part of BRAKING AIDS^® Ride is it is a concrete, physical manifestation of challenging my own certainties about what is possible and what is impossible. It has also forced me to re-evaluate my own beliefs about what is going to prove to be hard or challenging in a given ride season. The first year I signed up for the ride, I didn’t know I could ride 100 miles at a stretch. I had no idea I would be able to slowly crank my ass up a hill that seemed like a mountain. I had never raised what ended up as almost $13,000 for anything. Other people may not have been surprised, but I didn’t know I could be relentless in asking family, friends, colleagues, and even acquaintances and strangers to donate money, even if it is for a worthy cause. I go back to BRAKING AIDS^® Ride each year, yes, because I believe in and am passionate about the cause and because I love the spirit of the ride community, but also because the ride and the annual process of training and fundraising leading up to it force me to re-think what I believe my obstacles are every year and to keep showing up. Every year, I think to myself this is the year everyone who knows me will get fed up with hearing about HIV/AIDS and stop giving money. This is my sixth year doing this since 2008 and that fear—that little slice of reality, such as it is—has yet to materialize. Which is a way of saying I underestimate myself and perhaps more important, I underestimate the ongoing kindness, generosity, empathy, compassion, and interest of other people, all the individuals who have supported me with donations but also with love, encouragement, wisdom, humor, you name it. And perhaps I underestimate whatever small impact I have on them, and that their support has on me, too, because I worry about disappointment—expecting more of others and of myself and then being hurt when they or I fall short.

The ride is a space that has let me try to visualize and then do things I didn’t think were possible and, on my good days, to care a little bit less than I do in other parts of my life about failure and disappointment that things don’t turn out how I planned or imagined or dreamed. It’s forced me to redefine what is success and what is failure. It’s challenged me to see that the process of showing up and seeing what happens—and being open to the actuality, whatever it might be, often different than anything I could have imagined or planned or trained for—is more important than any outcome. I keep showing up and along the way, I hope that these life lessons sink in a little more and gets a little more integrated into my self and how I move in the world. My wish is that over time, these lessons also become something that I can live out not only on the ride but in the other parts of my life, too.

Training and fundraising for this event multiple times has also made me see again and again that I struggle with taking the many things I can’t see or hear on faith. I operate a lot of the time with a strong desire to see visible signs that who I am and what I do in the world make a difference, make something better for someone other than myself. Sometimes I think that longing is an insatiable part of me, and it’s difficult for me not to judge myself for that kind of ego, to yearn for that kind of constant reassurance and positive reinforcement so much it feels like a need—a prerequisite for attempting anything at all—rather than a want.

I’ve been doing this ride since 2008, so I can speak first-hand to the amazing collective energy in doing a community physical event. I am also a storyteller, so the power of the symbols and metaphors BRAKING AIDS^® Ride offers when it comes to raising money and awareness for an important cause aren’t lost on me. The parallels between doing a daunting physical and financial challenge and living with a chronic disease like HIV are certainly inexact, but they still bring home messages about helping one another, about working and fighting together, about endurance, about pain, about compassion, and about love in a way that few direct-mail solicitations asking for donations can. Seeing HIV+ positive riders, who can choose to self-identify during the ride by riding with an orange flag on their bikes, climb hill after hill over 300 miles inspires me more than any fundraiser gala and gives me a different perspective on what it might be like to have to live with HIV each and every day. Three days on the ride makes HIV more palpable than statistics or a report in The New York Times. I have also been amazed by some of the people we encounter along the road every year, strangers who come out and stand on their lawns with signs to cheer us on.

Still, in spite of all that, I have wondered about whose minds we are really changing and whose hearts we are opening with the ride itself, pedaling our way across New England. At the very least, I know the ride has a transformative effect on everyone within our ride community. It connects a cause, which can easily become too much of an abstract idea, to our own friendships and families, to our goals and fears, and to our humanity. The stigma-free, passionate, and supportive environment of BRAKING AIDS^® Ride is a profound enough experience that the ride is worth doing for those reasons alone. There’s also no question that the ride has an effect on the many clients who rely on the Housing Works life-saving services by raising funds that support those crucial programs. But even after years of being part of this experience, it’s sometimes hard to know—to see and recall in concrete ways—who we are reaching outside of the immediate ride and Housing Works community with our moving presence on the road.

Eric Epstein, President of Global Impact, which produces the event, calls BRAKING AIDS^® Ride a civil-rights march on wheels. I don’t think he’s wrong, but I confess I have sometimes wondered whether we’re preaching to the already converted or whether our presence changes anyone. Who is hearing us as we cycle, rain or shine, through the suburbs of Boston, in small towns in Rhode Island, in Lyme, in New Haven, in Milford, in Yonkers, in the South Bronx, the signs on our bikes and messages on our bike jerseys publicly reminding folks that AIDS is still around and we still need to work together to fight it and someday, end it?

It isn’t lost on me that this same doubt nags at me in other parts of my life. Who is listening and does it matter? Is anyone out there? When I was a teacher, I wondered it about my students. Whenever I write something that other people read, I wonder if anyone’s reading, and if so, if my words and stories are resonating with anyone at all. Most of the time I haven’t the slightest clue.

But something happened during last year’s ride that gave me pause and made me think again about how we all have an impact on people all the time, in big and small ways. We just don’t always know it. In fact, most of the time, we won’t know it.

Every year on the ride, one day is declared Red Dress Day. Originally called Dress-in-Red Day, the concept came from one of the early AIDS rides many years ago; the idea is to have every rider wear something red so that from a distance, the riders cycling along the road would look like a red ribbon. The BRAKING AIDS^® community being the creative, kooky, fun-loving bunch that it is, it’s also the day that many riders don an elaborate costume of one sort or another—everything from a red bike jersey to an Incredibles superhero outfit to a vinyl red bustier to a red tutu to red fishnet stockings to yes, a red cocktail dress.

Some riders posing during lunch at the beach, Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS® Ride, September 2013.

Riders Henry Bolden and Brigid Siegel, hotties dressed for success, Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS® Ride, September 2013.

The effect this visual parade has on the spectators who encounter us during the course of Red Dress Day varies. Some people are rude cat-callers, but many are simply curious, and some have even donated money on the spot when they find out why we’re riding. But overall, suffice it to say, Red Dress Day garners attention: It’s hard not to notice over one hundred people cruising through small New England towns, all of them wearing red, many of them in costumes or drag of one sort or another.

Tom Dwyer, riding through new England in style in his self-described "Tragic 'Ho" outfit, Red Dress Day, Braking AIDS Ride, September 2013.

Tom Dwyer, hitching a ride with one of our amazing moto-safety crew guys and cruising through new England in style in his self-described “Tragic ‘Ho” outfit, Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS® Ride, September 2013.

A small group of riders and crew gather during lunch at the beach to make a red ribbon, Red Dress Day, Braking AIDS Ride, September 2013.

A small group of riders and crew gathering during lunch at the beach to make a red ribbon, Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS® Ride, September 2013.

Another BRAKING AIDS^® Ride tradition is that we all eat dinner together each night of the ride. During the course of the meal, various announcements are made by staff and crew, and for a portion of the evening the mic is opened up for anyone—rider or crew member—to share something from that day on the road. The moments people share run the gamut in tone and emotion: Some regale us with the silly or lewd comments they overheard people say. Others tell us what moved them or inspired them that day. On more than one occasion, brave souls have used that space to come out about their HIV status, sometimes for the first time to anyone.

Last year, crew member Linda Zipko got up at dinner one night and told us the following story: When she and a bunch of other BRAKING AIDS^® Ride folks arrived at our host hotel en masse earlier that day, it turned out to be the same place we had stayed at the previous year. While she was in the lobby, one of the people who worked there walked up to her, perhaps recognizing her from the year before and said something like, “See? I heard you guys were coming back this year, so I wore a red shirt to work today.” Linda was warmed by the gesture and the two of them ended up hugging, two virtual strangers, right there in the hotel lobby. Normally a hug of that sort doesn’t last more than a second or two. But the hotel staff member held on, and it became clear to Linda something beyond a kind gesture of solidarity was happening. Tears began streaming down the face of the staff person, who clung to Linda, couldn’t quite release her, and who whispered in her ear that a close family member—father?—had been diagnosed with HIV during the previous year. I don’t recall what else the person said to Linda; I believe the words “thank you” were repeated a lot.

A number of other BRAKING AIDS^® crew and riders were in the lobby at the time. They said later they could sense something big was transpiring as they witnessed the hug and the exchange; they just didn’t know what. Someone had the forethought to snap a photo of the moment as it took place, even without knowing what it was or what it meant.

Crew member Linda Zipko hugs a new friend, who wore a red shirt for Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS® Ride, September 2013.

Crew member Linda Zipko hugging a new friend, who wore a red shirt for Red Dress Day, BRAKING AIDS^® Ride, September 2013.

I wasn’t in the hotel lobby that afternoon. I was probably somewhere out on the road, trying to get my bike, the Blue Streak, which was having mechanical shifter troubles, through another 25 miles. I didn’t witness any of what Linda experienced first-hand, and yet I have found myself returning to this story again and again during the past year.

The story is touching, to be sure, but it doesn’t give me solid, neat answers. I don’t know what happened to that stranger in the hotel lobby afterward. Perhaps the moment with Linda unfolded, it was powerful and moving, and then like a thundershower, it was over. I can’t say what that person felt or whether the moment resonated and had ripple effects later. I don’t know whether this person has told any of what was shared with Linda to anyone else, before or since. Likewise, I don’t know whether the person told anyone about wearing the red shirt, before or after doing it. I only know that showing up in a red shirt that day last September meant that this singular person had been waiting, for months, possibly all year, to have some kind of brief connection with us, with our ride community, a bunch of strangers, for a few minutes—to say in some small way “HIV affects my life, too,” and in doing so, perhaps to feel a little less alone in the world with whatever challenges might come with that.

It also means that our presence as a ride community had an impact on someone, long before that person chose to say something to one of us about it. I wondered later about that, about that choice to say something to Linda. The person could have worn the shirt as a private gesture and said nothing at all, and might even have had the same feeling of connection, just without any of us knowing it. What if the person hadn’t recognized someone from the ride or felt too vulnerable and didn’t have the nerve to say something in the moment? What if Linda had been tired that night and not up to sharing the story with the rest of us? We would still have had an impact, possibly a big one, on a stranger. The difference is we wouldn’t know it.

That refrain hums in my head sometimes now like a strange, minor-key mantra. We don’t always know, we don’t always know.

We affect one another. All the time. We can’t always know how or when.

We don’t always know, we don’t always know.

That might sound pessimistic to some, but it isn’t. I try not to dwell too long on whether I’ll recognize those moments when signs of connection and impact and meaning rise to the surface, if and when they happen, or if I’ll be lucky enough to be present for them—literally and emotionally—when they do make themselves visible. I think of how many teachers and mentors and surrogate-parent figures and friends I’ve had over the years, of how much they have shaped who I am today. I think of the BRAKING AIDS^® Riders and crew who have moved me, some who became close friends, and others who I haven’t seen recently. I think of how sometimes it has been the smallest moment that struck a chord or changed something in me—a gesture, a smile, a word of reassurance, a moment of tough love when I needed it, a split second where the eyes met in recognition. Then I observe to myself how rarely I ever shared the fact of that impact with those people, often because I wasn’t aware of it myself until much later.

We all matter. We don’t always know.

We don’t always know.

I keep returning to that moment with Linda and the hotel staff person. Then I think to myself that for every moment like that, one we get to witness and hear and talk about—to see some tangible proof that who we are and what we do matters—a dozen other moments like that may be happening to other people, changes inside the shell of their selves that are happening because of us, because of something we said or did, that we aren’t aware of and may never know of. Something that changes their perspective or their trajectory forever, however slightly.

I imagine the vastness of that big cloud of all we don’t know, of all those invisible moments of meaning and connection and impact—both the ones I benefit from and the ones in which I affect others in some way. It’s a big cloud that stretches the expanse of the sky, like something Magritte would have painted. I take great comfort in dreaming about its possibility.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO SUPPORT ME & HOUSING WORKS FOR BRAKING AIDS^® RIDE 2014.

Next Stop: AIDS-FREE NY 2020

Posted on July 19, 2014 by Mikola De Roo

A graphic from the newly branded Housing Works AIDS-FREE NY 2020 campaign.

One of the advantages of working at Housing Works is that I get to see and hear firsthand the impact of our advocacy efforts. On June 29, coinciding with NYC Gay Pride, we achieved a big victory: Governor Andrew M. Cuomo made history with his public declaration of an advocacy-based plan to end the AIDS epidemic in New York by 2020, as reported in The New York Times and in a press release issued by the Governor’s office.

Later the same morning, Housing Works and other AIDS and LGBT advocates held a press conference to praise the Governor for stepping up. A video montage of the statements made appears below.

To anyone who has some knowledge of the history of the AIDS epidemic for over three decades, this may perhaps sound like a daunting goal. But Governor Cuomo’s announcement reflects his recognition that the landscapes of HIV and health care have changed. Although there are more New Yorkers living with HIV than in any other state in the nation, New York has the people, institutions, resources, and tools needed to end the epidemic that has plagued us for more than 30 years by stopping new HIV infections and halting AIDS-related deaths. Based on progress and an expansion of advancements that have already been made—from new prevention and testing technologies to highly effective antiretroviral treatments—we have the science to make the ambitious goal of decreasing new HIV infection to below epidemic levels by 2020 viable. A successfully treated HIV+ person can live a healthy life and is virtually unable to transmit HIV to others. New HIV prevention tools beyond condoms, such as PrEP (pre-exposure prophylaxis, in which an HIV-negative person takes a daily pill to reduce the risk for HIV infection) and PEP (post-exposure prophylaxis, or meds taken following possible HIV exposure to reduce the risk of transmission), combined with these advances, mean we can end AIDS as an epidemic even without a cure. For more on PrEP, see this recent New York Magazine cover story or this post on PrEP on the Housing Works advocacy blog.

New York State has already been laying the groundwork to reach that goal. Always a leader and center of innovation in the fight against AIDS, New York has experienced a decrease in new HIV diagnoses of nearly 40% in the last decade, with fewer new infections each year. By contrast, there has been no decline in the number of new HIV infections diagnosed nationally each year, which has remained static at roughly 50,000.

Reacting to the news of Cuomo’s commitment, Housing Works CEO Charles King put it best:

“This step by Governor Cuomo, setting a clear goal to end the AIDS crisis in New York State, is absolutely courageous. In doing so, the Governor is reshaping the way we think about the AIDS epidemic and is setting a new standard for leaders of other jurisdictions in the United States and, indeed, around the world.”

And now that the Governor has gone all in, the real work begins—creating a blueprint to end AIDS by 2020 and implementing it. Toward that end, Housing Works and its allies continue to urge the Governor to convene a high-level State Task Force to develop and design a strategic roadmap with concrete steps and benchmarks for the Cuomo Plan to End AIDS in New York State.

Housing Works staff, clients, volunteers, and allies, celebrating during NYC Gay Pride 2014.

For its own part, the same day that the Governor made his historic public commitment, Housing Works officially launched the New York segment of the ongoing Housing Works AIDS-FREE advocacy campaign during Gay Pride, marching behind the above “AIDS-FREE NY 2020: Closer than you think.” banner during the parade. Housing Works’ AIDS-FREE Campaign is a collaborative, multi-year initiative committed to ending the AIDS epidemic—in New York State by 2020, in the United States by 2025, and worldwide by 2030. For an overview of the campaign, click here.

The tag line on the banner isn’t merely aspirational. We are closer to making the end of AIDS a reality than we’ve ever been.

How You Can Support the Work Housing Works Is Doing

to Reach an AIDS-FREE New York by 2020

By and large, Housing Works’ advocacy—the grassroots organizing and political lobbying work it does in Albany, D.C., and across the globe to promote an AIDS-FREE future—is not funded by grants or by corporate or government dollars.

That’s one reason events like Braking AIDS Ride are so important. The funds raised by the ride to support Housing Works are unrestricted and can be used when and how they are needed across the organization.

As of this writing, I’m a little more than halfway to my $5,000 fundraising goal.

Please donate today to help me reach the finish line!

Throwback Thursday: Braking AIDS Ride in 95 Seconds

Posted on June 19, 2014 by Mikola De Roo

It’s late June and although I’ve been training since April, I’ve yet to send out any fundraising emails and this is my first blog post of the season. So I’m woefully behind schedule.

For today, I’m keeping it short and sweet. This 95-second video from the highlights of the 2013 ride sums up why I do this ride every year, why I’ve raised over $50K and counting for this cause, and why I’ve logged roughly 12,000 miles on my bicycle since 2008.

My fundraising goal this year is $5,000. Click here to donate! The photo below is me near the end of Day 2 of last year’s end, having just finished about 200 of the 285 miles.

Me, celebrating near the end of Day 2, over 200 miles into the 300-mile ride, somewhere along the Connecticut coastline. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Braking AIDS 2013 Raises $250K and Counting for Housing Works

Posted on October 7, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

In the week since I bicycled 300 miles from Boston to New York and completed Braking AIDS Ride 2013, I’ve been bogged down in the usual, overwhelming post-ride wash of feelings—elation, love, gratitude, sadness, achiness (emotional as well as physical), exhaustion, bliss—and in catching up with regular daily life. (The latter, I confess, pales in comparison to the ride experience at the moment.) It remains close to impossible to try to convey the experience of the ride itself, which is far more of a journey than even the daunting physical 300-mile route suggests.

That being the case, it’s unsurprising that the ride leaves something of a chaotic upheaval in its wake. Each year, I find the ride’s aftermath—re-entry to a life without either the demands or the satisfactions of day-to-day training and fundraising—to be discombobulating. That shift too is hard to capture fully, as is the confusion elicited by the sudden change in my focus and emotional intensity. Still, the photo below of my living room, taken by my wife Jen the day after the ride, gives a pretty decent indication of what the first 5 to 10 days after Braking AIDS Ride looks and feels like, literally and metaphorically:

Jen, commenting on our living room after we got home from closing ceremonies: “It’s like Braking AIDS 2013 just blarfed all over our apartment.” Photo courtesy of Jennifer L. Anderson.

As a result of all that tumult, internal and external, I haven’t been able to land for long enough to do a proper post-ride recap. One thing I can and will say right now is that even though this is my fifth Braking AIDS Ride, the experience of it is different and transformative in new ways every year, which is one of many reasons I keep going back. I had a physically challenging journey this year, but not in the ways I expected, and those obstacles and detours led me to rich places and feelings I haven’t had before on the ride. I plan to write more about the ride experience itself in the coming weeks, but in the meantime, I wanted to send word on the fundraising piece of the ride.

I am thrilled to report that as of September 29, 2013, Braking AIDS Ride 2013 raised $250,000 net for Housing Works.

As of September 30, 2013, Braking AIDS Ride netted $250,000 for Housing Works. Donations can continue to come in for the 2013 ride through the end of October: http://bit.ly/ZGvJZl.

As of September 29, 2013, Braking AIDS Ride netted $250,000 for Housing Works. Donations can continue to come in for the 2013 ride through the end of October: http://bit.ly/ZGvJZl. Photo courtesy of Gant Johnson.

That $250,000 total is all thanks to the support of my dear friends and family who have been such generous donors to my ride efforts, and to countless others like them who contributed to the fundraising of other riders and crew members. They are my heroes, in the truest sense of the word, and all the donations and well wishes from every single one of them are what make the continued crucial advocacy and services that Housing Works offers possible. It is their good will and commitment that enable Housing Works to keep fighting the good fight in pursuit of the end of AIDS.

To those heroes who supported me this year and to the friends and family who were unable to contribute financially but who offered much-needed love and emotional sustenance: Thank you. Every time I think of the notes of encouragement so many of you sent, of the calls and voicemails, and yes, of your boundless financial generosity these past five months, I feel the way I did on Day 2 of this year’s ride when this photo was taken:

Me, on Saturday, September 28, 2013, celebrating near the end of Day 2, over 200 miles into the 300-mile ride, somewhere along the Connecticut coastline. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Because I am both a wordsmith and something of a data geek, I have taken the liberty of doing some analysis, including some arithmetic number-crunching, in order to break down and illuminate what that $250,000 fundraising number means beyond the monetary one-quarter of $1 million total:

“As of September 29, 2013” refers to the fact that donations and matching gifts can continue to come in for Braking AIDS Ride 2013 until close to the end of October. That means 1) if you haven’t donated but would still like to, you can at http://bit.ly/ZGvJZl and 2) the final amount raised for Braking AIDS Ride 2013 will be calculated sometime in November and obviously will be higher than $250K.

To put that large $250,000 net figure into greater perspective: The 2013 ride consisted of 106 riders and roughly 60 volunteer crew members. Riders need to meet a fundraising minimum for the event, but crew members do not. That said, many of our amazing crew members raise money anyway.

Last year, the ride pulled in over $221,000, so this year’s Braking AIDS Ride 2013 total represents a 13% increase ($29,000 more) over 2012.

My contribution toward that $250,000 total, as of this writing, comes to $13,185. And that figure also may go up to $15,240 if the matching gifts from my own company go through. (We have a new owner and a new set of HR policies, including a matching-gift program. Technically, according to the program’s guidelines, Housing Works should qualify for matching gifts, but despite repeated attempts, I have been unable to get confirmation on that. With the help of many of my colleagues, I have been diligently sending in completed matching-gift forms anyway, and I made another phone call to the powers-that-be this morning. Stay tuned and fingers crossed.)

The $13,185 I raised was made possible by over 150 generous donors, all of whom are listed below. They inspire me and have all my gratitude.

Through the help and generosity of those 150+ donors, I achieved just shy of 132% of my original fundraising goal, which was already an ambitious $10,000. My typical beginning goal in past years has been $5,000.

This $13,185 represents the most I’ve ever been able to raise for a single Braking AIDS Ride, even exceeding the $12,500 I was able to raise back in 2008, when I was a first-time rider and the sheer fact of me attempting such a Herculean physical undertaking was an astonishing novelty to everyone who knew me.

Contributions to my ride efforts this year ranged in size from $20 to one mind-blowingly generous $1,000 donation. The average donation totaled at about $100. No doubt about it: Every dollar counts, and each and every donor helps make it happen.

The majority of the amount I raised this year came from individual donations—just over $12,000—with an additional $1,150 coming from corporate matching gifts. (That latter figure will increase to $3,205 if my company’s matches come through.) If you donated this year and forgot to see whether your company has a matching-gift program, please check with your HR department today, as if there’s still time to process these gifts and doing so can double your already generous contribution to Housing Works. My hope is that for future rides, I’ll be able to find more donors who are able to maximize their contributions through a corporate gift program. The paperwork is a minor nuisance and most HR departments don’t make it easy to even discover whether the company has a gifts program, what kinds of donations qualify, and what you need to do to process a gift for a company match, but as this year’s stats show, it is worth being persistent in finding out. Those matches add up.

Over $2,000 in donations came from my McGraw-Hill Education friends—colleagues, authors past and present, and work-based outside vendors and freelancers. That impressive sum does not include the possible matching gifts from MHE’s parent company. In addition to being stellar people to work with, these individuals are kind and magnanimous. Those who work with me in my Midtown office are also mostly nice enough not to make too much fun of me when I commute from Brooklyn by bike and show up to work in cycling gear.

Most of my donors are individuals, but I was also surprised and grateful to receive generous support this year from several local businesses in my Brooklyn neighborhood. I believe in using my own consumer dollars to support high-quality businesses that give back to the community—and it goes without saying that, in addition to being good samaritans, all of these organizations are fantastic in terms of the primary goods and services they offer—so I want to give a particular shout-out of gratitude to the following spots in and around South Brooklyn (Cobble Hill; Carroll Gardens; Columbia Street Waterfront; Red Hook):

Woofs ‘n Whiskers, a dog-walking business and “urban cat and dog retreat,” run by the big-hearted folks who have been caring for our dog Sadie for over a decade.
Elite Fitness Studio, my excellent neighborhood gym, where locals at all different stages of athleticism and fitness can feel supported and stay motivated.
The JakeWalk, a warm, welcoming Carroll Gardens restaurant and bar owned by the same folks who have brought us Stinky Bklyn cheese shop and the Smith & Vine and Brookyn Wine Exchange wine shops. Now that I am done with the ride and no longer in hard-core training mode, I plan to frequent all these establishments again with relish.
Papél Brooklyn, which, for those of you who have ever received a written missive, or gift-wrapped from me and exclaimed “what great packaging” or “what a perfect card/postcard/stationery design, is on my list of favorite paperies (and that’s a very short list, too).

Surprise donors, old and new, come through every year. The lesson this year, which I seem to keep re-learning, is that one can never be 100% certain who will be able to give or when, just as one doesn’t always know how many people’s lives are affected by HIV or AIDS. Parts of my donor base change every year and not always in predictable ways. For example, some people who gave in 2008 and then didn’t for my 2009, 2010, and 2012 rides returned as donors this year. Likewise, people I’ve solicited for all five years I’ve done the ride and who never donated before now gave for the first time this year. But these two statistics from this year especially blow me away: Nearly one-third of my donors this year were brand-new, a particularly moving figure when one takes into account the fact that I did not experience any of the life changes that often result in a significant expansion of my social network and a broader potential new donor pool—a new job or a move to a new city, for example. The flip side of that fraction leaves me dumb-founded with gratitude: Over two-thirds of my donors—that’s over 100 kind souls—are previous donors of at least one of my five Braking AIDS Rides, and many of them are people who have donated all five years I have done the ride.

Three donors, two of whom I am lucky enough to call family, made me cry when they wrote me to say they were each contributing a second donation this year.

The $13,185 my 150+ heroes helped me raise puts me in the #5 spot for individual fundraising for Braking AIDS Ride 2013. You guys rock.

This 2013 $13K+ total also means that since 2008, I’ve raised over $50,000 in the fight to end AIDS, averaging at $10K per ride event coming from between 80 and 150 donors each year.

In spite of this post’s focus on money and financial results, I also want to emphasize to all my donors that your dollars are doing far more than paying for critical services and programs, though they are most certainly doing that. You are saving and improving lives in an immeasurable, spiritual way, not just a physical one. The emotional and spiritual toll that HIV, AIDS, and homelessness all take on a human being cannot be diagnosed using any medical test or shaped into concrete statistics to use for a jaw-dropping graph or fancy infographic. But it’s there nevertheless. No one describes that toll better than Housing Works President, CEO, and co-founder and fellow Braking AIDS rider Charles King, who spoke during our opening ride ceremonies and shared with us some remarks he made last month at a roundtable meeting on the end of AIDS convened by UNAIDS, the Joint United Nations Program on HIV/AIDS. He also included these same remarks again as part of a longer presentation called “Ending the AIDS Epidemic in New York State and Around the Globe” that he made in Montreal at North American Housing and HIV/AIDS Research Summit VII on September 26, the day before the ride began (and the full text of that presentation can be found here):

For too many years, we have insisted on treating HIV as a biomedical event, when in fact it is a biosocial phenomenon. That is to say, that while HIV is indeed a virus, it is a virus that is driven, as we all know, by social violence, which is why it largely has spread through the most socially and economically marginalized members of our communities and wrecks even more poverty and marginalization in its wake, at a very great cost.

We pay lip service to this phenomenon through our talk of key populations. But we persist in largely biomedical and individualistic behavioral responses. In order to end the epidemic, with or without a vaccine, we need structural interventions that address the social drivers of this disease. To date, with the exception of vulnerable children and orphans, and pieties about human rights, we have resisted this approach both because of the attenuated nature of the causal links and because of the supposed financial or political cost of the required interventions.

In fact, we have to recognize that these key populations represent the nexus between the goals of ending poverty and ending AIDS. It is not so much new money we need. It is targeting our development dollars at the right people, both to eliminate poverty and to stop transmission of the virus, and taking seriously the commitment to human rights. Structural interventions, properly applied, can serve not only to keep millions of HIV+ people in care and ultimately virally suppressed, but they are also an effective prevention strategy.

I believe I am on solid scientific and economic ground for my case, being neither a scientist nor an economist. But the Baptist preacher requires me to speak not just of science and economics, but also to the human condition. You see, when I speak of the cost of social violence, I am not just speaking of the economic cost or the disease burden.

Think about what it means to be subjected to social violence. Homelessness not only deprives you of the means to organize your existence, it deprives you of your very dignity.

Not being able to feed your children not only deprives them of essential nutrition, it signals that you are not fit to be a mother.

Being unable to get a job because you are an obviously gay man or a transgender woman not only deprives you of a livelihood, it says you have no value to offer society.

Hiding from punitive laws because you are addicted to drugs or survive by selling sex not only forces you underground, it destroys your sense of self-worth.

We talk about living well as both a measure of disease control and of economic development. But social violence not only spreads HIV and poverty, it destroys one’s soul. We will not end the devastation of AIDS until we allow those who have been impacted to reclaim their most sacred part, their very souls.

That is what ending AIDS is most about. Not just stopping a virus, but allowing people who have been cast to the margins to reclaim their place in our communities and in the world.

[emphasis mine]

With that, I have one final, simple message for my many benevolent donors: Please don’t ever doubt the impact and the ripple effect of your contributions to this cause. In being part of this fight to end AIDS and homelessness, you are doing more than helping people in need survive. You are helping them to live. Thank you again, all of you, for all you do.

My Braking AIDS Ride 2013 Heroes

Jessica Abel & Matt Madden*
Chris Anderson & Mel Stupka*
James Anderson & Suzy Turner*
Jennifer Anderson*
Renée Anderson*
Anonymous* (4 donors)
David Anthony*
Tansal Arnas*
Kate Asson
Janis & Dave Auster*
Jennifer Baker*
Paul Banks
Leah Bassoff*
Charles Baxter*
Jon Bierman*
Deirdre Birmingham
William Bish*
Claire Brantley
Aviva Briefel
Kelly Burdick*
Steph & Bill Carpenter*
Jess Carroll & Sharon Glick*
Stephanie Carroll
Lynne Carstarphen*
Carnegie Corporation of New York†
Clare Cashen*
Betty Chen*
David Chodoff*
Danielle Christensen*
Laura Coaty*
Susan Conceicao*
Barbara Conrey*
Janet Corcoran
Nancy Crochiere*
Anneliese & David Daskal
Joe DeIorio & Thos Shipley
Nicole Dewey & Bill Seely*
Carol Diuguid*
John Dunn
Christie Duray
Mariamne Eliopoulos*
Elite Fitness Studio*
Julie Englander*
Rachel Falk*
Michael Fisher
Terence Fitzgerald*
Timothy Fitzpatrick*
Jimmy & Chris Flavion
Ray Flavion*
Kory Floyd*
Kerri Fox*
The Well-Placed Word
David Gifford & Svenja Leggewie*
Michael & Nicola Gillespie*
Rebecca Gilpin*
Goldman Sachs†
Google†
Susan Gouijnstook*
Penina Greenfield*
Dawn Groundwater*
Amanda Guinzburg*
Scott Harris*
Karen Henry*
Chris Herrmann & Joseph Lorino
Frank Hopp*
Tom Hyry*
The JakeWalk
Andrew Janke
Andrea Vaughn Johnson & Eric Johnson*
Kristopher Kelly
Laura Kennedy
Elizabeth King
Judith Kromm
Debra Kubiak
Jon Lowy
Sylvia Mallory
Matt Martin
Derek McNally*
Dave Meier*
George Meyer*
Michelle Misner & Jason Baluyut*
Richard Monreal
Lorraina & Ben Morrison*
Susan Muller-Hershon
James Murdock
Elizabeth Murphy*
Liz O’Brien*
Eva & Tom Okada*
Jacob Okada*
Stephen Okada
Michael O’Loughlin
Papél New York
Gregg Passin*
Anne Paterson
Nancy Perry*
Lisa Pinto*
Eileen Pollack*
Mary E. Powers
Kirstan Price*
Catherine Groves Ramsdell
Josie Raney*
Jessica Bodie Richards
Rhona Robbin*
Greg Romer*
Stacy Ruel*
Mike Ryan*
Carla Samodulski*
Danielle Scaturro*
Terri Schiesl*
Duane Schrader
Roger Schwartz*
Brian Seastone*
Samantha Shaber*
Jane Smith*
Janet Byrne Smith*
Fred Speers & Chase Skipper*
Lynn Stanley*
Katie Stevens*
Carylanna Taylor
Jeannine, Bil, Kade & Jack Thibodeau
Matt Trokenheim & Jen Simon*
Woof ‘n Whiskers*
Kelly Villella*
Sherry Wolfe*
Yu Wong*

† matching gift

Things I Think of Before a 300-Mile Ride in the Fight to End HIV/AIDS

Posted on September 25, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

We’re down to hours here before Braking AIDS Ride begins. I had such hopes of writing about all sorts of important things before leaving for Boston on Thursday for orientation day—what living with HIV and HIV meds can look like and some thoughts about the stigma of HIV and AIDS (which, yes, still is alive and well), to name just two. I cannot possibly do those subjects justice before the ride—I’ll be lucky if I can do them justice at all—but I did want to share some of the thoughts, serious and silly, that run through my head in the 48 hours before the ride:

I can’t believe I’m doing this. Again.
Do I have enough butt butter?
Does anyone, truly, look good in spandex cycling clothing? (Except my friend Colby. He doesn’t count. He looks good in everything. Even after riding 103 miles in a downpour, his hair looks perfect, exactly as it did at the beginning of the day. So clearly he either has a hairdresser running alongside his bike as he races along at 20mph, or he has some sort of deal with the cosmic powers that be.)
I’ve posted this photo before. This pic of me and Colby was taken right before closing ceremonies last year. In other words, after Colby had ridden 85 miles in the rain wearing a cycling helmet. It may be even better that I’m in the photo as a source of hair comparison. I mean, really, look at the coif on that man! Photo courtesy of Colby Smith.
How can I not do this? Why can’t I just do this all the time?
DO NOT FORGET TO DROP THE BLUE STREAK OFF AT BIKE SHIPPING ON WEDNESDAY MORNING.
Did I train enough? Probably not. Sigh…
Oh, man. I meant to email so-and-so to ask him/her to donate.
?!?!?!??!?!? That is a vague approximation of my amazement and astonishment at the ongoing compassion, generosity, and bravery I witness and the encouragement I receive as a result of my involvement with this ride, all season long—from people I know well, from people I know but not that well, and even from people I don’t know who have somehow connected with me about this ride and this cause. No one who knows me would ever say I’m a la vie en rose Pollyanna type when it comes to my overall assessment of humanity. I am a skeptic and a believer in most things. I see humanity as a mixed bag, with strengths and weaknesses in equal doses, and often with strengths and weaknesses being the very same qualities, depending on the situation and how those characteristics are being utilized. And yet year after year this event brings out incredible, moving aspects of people that I hadn’t known were there, myself included.
I’m so lucky. To all my unbelievable fantabulous donors out there—the long, full list of you is forthcoming after all this riding madness is over—THANK YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN! You inspire me so much, I am willing to temporarily forgo my hatred of styling a phrase in all caps. for emphasis and my dislike of the overused exclamation point. You fill me with so much wide-eyed glee, I make up dumb non-words like “fantabulous.”
What we are all participating in here, riders, crew members, and every person I’ve been in contact with because of this ride whether the person donates or not, is important. It matters and saves lives. Not that most of you need any convincing about how essential the funds raised by Braking AIDS Ride are to Housing Works and its services, but the following two bits of information crossed my path recently. I share them here because they are a stark reminder of why what my donors and supporters have done on behalf of Housing Works and its clients is heroic and absolutely needed and why we must continue to raise money and to raise awareness about AIDS/HIV as a serious health problem:

HIV status and testing are serious ongoing challenges. Most people are aware that the annual rate of new HIV infections, even here in the United States, in New York City, in 2013, remains pretty static. In addition, as I’ve written before, at any given time, about 20% of people living with HIV are unaware of their infection. Even more startling is how much that same percentage goes up when you look at teens and young adults. According to the CDC, in the United States, of people between the ages of 13 and 24 who are HIV+, 60% do not know it. I’ll be blunt: If you don’t know you have HIV, it’s likely that you are unknowingly giving it to others, and they may be doing the same, and so on. Housing Works is doing its part to try to face these challenges and numerous others head-on. HIV testing is one of Housing Works’ many medical services, and the organization is also a strong advocate for over-the-counter HIV testing.
Think HIV isn’t a problem? Think again. This terrifying statistic makes me want to run out and try to raise another $10-15K in the next 48 hours.
Funding for HIV and homeless-related services were both included in the mandatory budget sequestration.The need for continued financial support at organizations like Housing Works from the general public—whether it comes from individuals or via corporate donations—is urgent and all too real. An estimated 8,000 households that include people living with HIV/AIDS will lose housing assistance from a government program called Housing Opportunities for Persons with HIV/AIDS (HOPWA), putting them at risk for a return to homelessness. If we wait for our government to get its act together, people in dire need will be homeless and out on the street again.

I wonder what weather.com…. On a less serious note, in these last days before the ride, I sometimes let myself imagine what the ride weather might be like, what it could be like, and before I let the wish in my heart fully form in my head, I shush myself, because it would not do to Tempt the Weather Gods by counting those chickens before they… well, that’s a mess of images and aphorisms, but you know what I mean.
Speaking of chickens: Many people who do this ride, myself included, take their inspiration from the wisdom of erudite people like these:

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.”—Mahatma Gandhi

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”—Margaret Mead

“If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.”—Emile Zola

“Let us give publicity to HIV/AIDS and not hide it because [that is] the only way to make it appear like a normal illness… One of the things destroying people with AIDS is the stigma we attach to it.” [emphasis mine] —Nelson Mandela

The list could go on and on. Samuel Beckett. Eleanor Roosevelt. Martin Luther King, Jr. Etc., etc., etc. I draw energy, strength, and, I hope, greater compassion from historical figures and luminaries like those above, too, of course. But if I’m being honest, when I’m in the van on the way to Boston, or topping off the air in my tires at 5:30am on Ride Day 1, or if I’m on Mile 69 of Ride Day 2 and my ass hurts and I’m cold and wet from the rain and man, I can’t contemplate brilliant leaders and visionaries or AIDS or HIV or homelessness and who’s living and who’s dying and who’s dead already, I can’t think about any of that Deep, Important Stuff for a little while at least—in those moments, I also take tremendous comfort in these words from the 2000 stop-motion animation film Chicken Run, spoken by Fowler, the stodgy former RAF rooster:

Keep pedaling! We’re not there yet! You can’t see paradise if you don’t pedal!—Fowler, from Chicken Run

"You can't see paradise if you don't pedal!"-from Chicken Run

Rocky, the American rooster from Chicken Run who learns that helping others is as rewarding as helping oneself, learning to “fly” via bicycle. Indeed. You can’t see paradise if you don’t pedal.

Thank you again to everyone who has been so supportive throughout this journey!

And to you slackers who haven’t caught up on your email: YES YES YOU CAN STILL CLICK HERE AND DONATE!

Braking AIDS Ride Gear-Up: 2012 Snapshots from the Road, Boston to New York

Posted on September 20, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

At this time next week, I will be getting up at an ungodly hour to ride out of Boston for Day 1 and the first 100 miles of Braking AIDS Ride 2013. I am now at a point where I am making lists of the miscellaneous items I need to buy before I pack. I am less than $1,000 away from my $10,000 fundraising goal (yes yes, donations can continue to roll in! Donate once! Donate twice! Donate three times a lady! Donate here and now!). Last week, The Blue Streak got a major cleaning, a tune-up, and a new chain. I look at that bike every day and I still marvel that I’ve ridden over 12,000 miles on her, that I somehow became a person capable of logging 12,000 miles on anything without a motor. I will likely put in one more long ride this weekend and maybe a few shorter ones, but the time for hard-core training is done. I now have to enter that exciting, terrifying well of uncertainty in which my questions and doubts tend to echo loudly, and I just have to sit with them, and with my hopes, my goals, my disappointments, my strengths and weaknesses, and while letting myself feel that vast sea of all I put into and get from this ride, I also need to trust myself, trust the training, and trust that I can handle whatever the ride and the road brings me.

After last year’s Braking AIDS Ride, I did a thank-you and 2012 post-ride write-up here in late October here, mostly focusing on the closing ceremony where I had the honor to speak. But I also meant to do a second postscript, replete with select photos from the journey, which was full of torrential rain, cold, hills, tears, grief, and more laughter and love and good will than I thought possible, from myself or anyone else. But Hurricane Sandy hit New York and our neighborhood hard, and then the holiday frenzy began, so this draft of a post stayed in my blog archive, unpublished all year.

I am sharing it now because the experiences and moments captured in these images represent only a fraction of what I wish I could say every time someone asks me why I do this ride for this cause, and why the next year and the next and the next, I do it again.

Me, riding in the pouring rain early Friday morning, Sept. 28, 2012, in Massachusetts, Day 1 of the ride. I don’t always look this serious when I cycle. But I do always look this serious when I’m freezing. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Crew member Laurel Devaney, rider Jordana Swan, and me, posing at Oasis 1, on Day 1, Friday, Sept. 28, 2012. When I first wrote this caption last October, it was about the rain and the cold. But Jordana passed away unexpectedly on Nov. 3 at age 31. I wanted to keep the lovely photo up, but I thought it would be more fitting to say something about Jordana. I didn’t know Jordana well, but I rode with her on Day 3 in the morning, and she was spirited, generous, energetic. Smiling every time I saw her all weekend. I didn’t know it at the time, but it turns out she crewed on the day that she was unable to ride, and on Friday night, after all our bicycles had taken from the all-day storm, she also volunteered to help clean everyone’s bike chains. Her death is a terrible loss, and she is much missed. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Me, still wet and cold, but decidedly happier, later on Day 1, Friday, Sept. 29, 2012. Photo by Alan Barnett.

The cards and messages left for us by members of the First Congregational Church of Griswold in Connecticut, near the end of Day 1, Friday, Sept. 28, 2012.

Members of First Congregational Church of Griswold were on hand at the church to serve us fresh pie, ice cream, hot coffee and tea, and all sorts of other baked treats. Their kindness warmed the entire space. It was an amazing place to have as the last oasis before the hotel in Norwich, Connecticut, especially after riding in the freezing rain all day long. Photo by Alan Barnett.

The members of the First Congregation Church of Griswold left a wooden cross for all the riders and crews of Braking AIDS Ride to sign. The cross remained there so that the entire congregation could see it on Sunday, but it was eventually sent to Housing Works, where it remains on display. Photo by Alan Barnett.

A number of the messages on the cross were dedications to the memory of friend and fellow Braking AIDS Ride rider Kyle Spidle, who passed away unexpectedly from meningitis the week before last year’s ride. He was 32 years old. Many of us knew Kyle from his first ride in 2008; he found out he himself was HIV+, just a handful of weeks before that ride. He came out with his HIV status at dinner on Day 2, in front of over 150 people, most of whom had only known him for two days, myself included. Watching him do that was one of the bravest, most moving, sad things I’ve ever witnessed. He rode as a PosPed (an openly HIV+ rider) the rest of that weekend, and for every day of every ride in the subsequent three years. Kyle was kind, inspiring, funny, and courageous, and I think of him often. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Kyle, mugging for the camera, during the ride in September 2009. Don’t let the smile and the hot bod fool you. He wasn’t just a pretty face.

Kyle, fellow rider and a PosPed (an HIV-positive rider), giving crew member Amy Hemphill a kiss for helping him fix a flat. Kyle was the first victim of the meningitis outbreak that began last year. He died a week before last year's Braking AIDS Ride. He was 32 years old.

Kyle, giving crew member Amy Hemphill a kiss for helping him fix a flat, Sept. 2009.

Friend and rider Chris Vaughn signing the cross at the First Congregational Church of Griswold. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Jen, picking out a card for us from the basket left for us by the children members of First Congregational Church of Griswold. The card is shown in two photos below. Photo by Alan Barnett.

The card Jen picked out for us, from the slew of cards made for Braking the Cycle riders and crew by children from the First Congregational Church of Griswold, Griswold, Connecticut. Day 1, Friday, Sept. 28, 2012.

Interior message of the above card, made by one of the children from the First Congregational Church of Griswold, Griswold, Connecticut. Day 1, Friday, Sept. 28, 2012.

The front of another of the cards made by one of the children from the First Congregational Church of Griswold in Connecticut. This was the one I picked out from the full basket of messages they left for us.

The interior message of above card made by one of the children from the First Congregational Church of Griswold in Connecticut.

Friends and fellow riders Colby Smith and Chris Vaughn, Day 2, Sept. 29, 2012, also known as Red Dress Day, where the idea is, if every rider wore something red in memory of those who die from AIDS-related causes and those who live with HIV, and one took an overhead photograph of the ride-in-progress, from the bird's eye view, the ride would look like a red ribbon.

Friends an d fellow riders Colby Smith and Chris Vaughn, Day 2, Sept. 29, 2012, also known as Red Dress Day. The idea behind Red Dress Day is, if every rider wore something red in memory of those who died from AIDS-related causes and those who live with HIV, and one took an overhead photographs of the ride-in-progress, from the bird’s eye view, the ride would look like a red ribbon.

Fellow riders on the ferry, just after having climbed the infamous Mount Archer in East Lyme, Connecticut, Day 2, Sept. 29, 2012.

Fellow riders Courtney Burbela and Mason Scherzer, on the ferry, just after having climbed the infamous Mount Archer in East Lyme, Connecticut, Day 2, Sept. 29, 2012.

Me, hugging new friend and Braking AIDS Ride 2012 husband Matt Martin, near the end of Day 2, Milford, Connecticut. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Close-up of me and Matt Martin, at an oasis in Nathan Hale Park, New Haven, Connecticut, Day 2, Saturday, Sept. 29, 2012. Photo by Alan Barnett.

“Thank god! An oasis!” Me, arriving at Silver Sands State Park, Milford, Connecticut, Day 2, Saturday, Sept. 29, 2012. Photo by Alan Barnett.

Rider Claude Grazia had his girlfriend meet us at Silver Sands State Park, the last oasis before the hotel in Bridgeport, Connecticut, on Day 2, Saturday, Sept. 29, 2012. Claude’s girlfriend brought this adorable creature, who was the first to greet me and attack me with love and dog kisses and licks when I got there. Photo by Alan Barnett.

With fellow riders, about to turn the corner onto 9th Street where a crowd of applauding friends, family, and other supporters awaited us. It is entirely unclear to me what I might have swallowed to produce the beautiful expression on my face.

Sunday, Sept. 30, 2012, Day 3, New York City. With fellow riders, about to turn the corner onto 9th Street where a crowd of applauding friends, family, and other supporters awaited us. It is entirely unclear to me what I might have swallowed to produce the beautiful expression on my face.

The check for nearly $221,000 that we presented to Housing Works at closing ceremonies on Sept. 30, 2012. The actual final total was higher, as riders and crew continued to fundraise until the end of October.

Outer Cape Century Bike Ride: A Photo Essay

Posted on September 16, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

As part of my training for Braking AIDS Ride every year, it’s critical, psychologically as well as physically, for me to put in at least one century ride (a ride equaling 100 miles) prior to the ride event. In past years, I’ve tried to do at least two century rides, the first in late Jule or early August, but some years, between weather, time, travel, and the usual life-juggling factors, I’m only able to do one, and some years, the best way to get it done is to do my century when I’m on vacation. We go to Cape Cod for a week every year in early September, and I’ve taken to using one of those days to complete my century ride. I could rent a bicycle easily enough, but the more one rides, the more one is attached, emotionally and physically, to one’s own bike. So each year, we pack our two bikes into our car and drive them up to Cape Cod so we can ride them while we’re there.

The New Yorker approach to transporting two bikes up to Cape Cod: Two bike frames in the trunk, along with miscellaneous beach mats, helmets, and bike pump, and all luggage and kitchen supplies packed into the backseat. As you can see, The Blue Streak has been disassembled and stacked on top of Jen’s hybrid bicycle in the trunk of our rental car. Given the odd angles of the handlebars and the bicycle forks, it’s more of a challenge than you would imagine. Two wheels fit atop the two bikes in the trunk; the others went tightly wedged behind our seats in the car. Re-assembly is my first task upon arrival at our Drummer Cove, Wellfleet, destination.

Sadie, helping me navigate on our first morning on Cape Cod, driving from Drummer Cove, Wellfleet, to the Flying Fish Cafe in the center of town, where the world’s best scones and muffins are made. (It is a well-known fact that the Cape Cod muffin, which contains a mix of blueberries and cranberries, is the only muffin in the world I will praise openly and seek out actively.)

This year, I completed my 104-miler training ride on Tuesday, September 4. The maps below offer a visual view of my route, which began in South Wellfleet at Drummer Cove.

My starting point for my 104-mile bike ride: Drummer Cove, Wellfleet. The cottage we’ve rented for the past decade is one of about 6 to 8 small houses right next to the marsh and Drummer Cove. Tucked between Route 6 and the cove, the cottages are shaded by a copse of tall pines, so it’s surprisingly quiet and beautiful, despite the close proximity to the highway.

Map of Cape Cod. The detail of this map offers a clearer view of my 104-mile ride route, but this map gives a better sense of the overall scale and distances covered.

Map of Cape Cod. The detail of this map below offers a clearer view of my 104-mile ride route, but this map gives a better sense of the overall scale and distances covered.

Detail view of my 104-mile ride route, Outer Cape, September 4, 2013. My route began in South Wellfleet at Drummer Cove, proceeded to Provincetown and back to Drummer Cove for lunch, then down to South Dennis and back. The purple line shows my the first half of my ride, from Wellfleet through Truro to the West End beaches and dune bike trails of Provincetown and back to Wellfleet. The yellow line represents the post-lunch second half, from Wellfleet through Eastham, Orleans, Brewster, and Harwich to South Dennis and back again.

In the morning, when I left Drummer Cove, I began riding east on Route 6, the sole highway on the Outer Cape (with just one lane of traffic going in each direction for most of it), and made a quick left onto Lecounts Hollow Road to make my way to Ocean View Drive, which runs along the eastern coast and offers a cliff-/dune-side view of the ocean shoreline and the beaches of Wellfleet. It’s also a road that’s less trafficked by cars than the highway and is not only more scenic, but hillier and windier, and therefore more challenging riding terrain. At the end of Ocean View Drive, the road splits one last time, and you can either take a left onto Gross Hill Road and Gull Pond Road, heading westward back toward Route 6 and Wellfleet Center, or you can take Ocean View down a sloping hill to its end at Newcomb Hollow Beach. I did both, coasting down Ocean View, stopping briefly at Newcomb Hollow Beach to take the photos below, then turning around to climb back up the hill to the intersection with Gross Hill Road. I then headed along the gentle rolling hills of Gross Hill and Gull Pond Roads, cool and shaded by scrubs pines and red cedar trees, passed Gull Pond and back toward the highway. Where Gull Pond Road meets Route 6, I took a right onto the highway, passing the best source of fried clams and other deep-fried seafood delights in the area: Moby Dick’s Restaurant.

A foggy, chilly, overcast morning at Newcomb Hollow Beach, Wellfleet. It was just cold and windy enough that I wore my arm warmers for the first 10 miles of my ride.

Newcomb Hollow Beach, Wellfleet, morning of September 4, 2013, about 8 miles into my century ride.

The sky was overcast and gray as I rode along Ocean View Drive. It was chilly and no one was on the beach. I wasn’t sure it would clear up at all and was prepared to ride the bulk of my century ride in the rain. But the weather on the Cape can change in a heartbeat, and that Tuesday morning was no exception. The clouds burned off and by the time I made my way past Gull Pond and back to Route 6 heading east to Truro, less than 15 miles into my ride, the sun was out and the arm warmers came off. I rode on Route 6 for another 6 miles, until it meets Route 6A, also called Shore Road, which runs right next to the bay side of the western Outer Cape Cod coastline, and then I took Shore Road the rest of the way to Provincetown. It was still early morning, so town was quiet as I rode down Commercial Street from the East End to the West End of Provincetown. Once I got to the West End of town, I turned right on Province Lands Road, and headed first to Herring Cove, where I took off my biking shoes, waded into the water, and leaned over to wet my head and cool off. From there I traversed the Province Lands biking trails that wind up and down through the stretch of dunes and marsh grasses between Herring Cove and Race Point, where I stopped again to eat a power bar and rest.

Gull Pond, Wellfleet.

Moby Dick’s Restaurant, Wellfleet, from the intersection of Gull Pond Road and Route 6. Yes, the sign really says, “For a Whale of a Meal.” Don’t let that deter you if you’re ever in the vicinity. The seafood is excellent, and one entrée is great for two people to split.

The decor inside Moby Dick’s Restaurant, Wellfleet. Lots of nautical-themed curios and knick-knacks: fish, fishing nets and traps, buoys, anchors, all lit by holiday lights strung along the rafters. During my century ride, it was too early to stop for a snack, sadly—Moby’s doesn’t open until 11:30am for the early-bird lunch crowd—but we did eat there one evening during our stay. Mmmmm…. clam strips. Fried good good is good good!

Hilly terrain in Truro, from Shore Road/Route 6A.

Scrub pines and woods in Truro, about Mile 20 of my ride for the day.

Beach cottages overlooking the bay along Shore Road/Route 6A, Truro.

Truro, facing east and Route 6, from Stotts Crossing, a tiny little strip of connector road linking Route 6A, the shore road, with Route 6, the only highway on the Outer Cape.

View from Shore Road/Route 6A in Truro, facing west, back toward Wellfleet, with Route 6 in the distance.

View of rowboats on the water, along Shore Road, Truro.

Pilgrim Lake and dunes, Truro, facing east from Shore Road.

Hazy view of Provincetown in the distance, from Shore Road/Route 6A, Truro.

Another view of Provincetown, farther along Shore Road/Route 6A, Truro. The haze had burned off, and the day was starting to heat up.

The West End Breakwater, Provincetown. In the distance, to the right of the breakwater’s vanishing point, the tiny bump in the horizon line is Woods End Lighthouse.

The marshes in the West End of Provincetown.

Another view of the marshes in the West End of Provincetown.

March grasses, reeds, and dunes in the West End of Provincetown.

Herring Cove Beach, Provincetown.

Herring Cove Beach, Provincetown, moments before I waded into the water to cool off.

One of the Provincelands bike trails between Herring Cove and Race Point, Provincetown.

Overlooking Race Point Beach, Provincetown.

Sun bathers on Race Point Beach, Provincetown.

Before leaving Provincetown, I stopped at the gas station on Shankpainter Road to replenish my water and Gatorade bottles, and then I headed back to Wellfleet, riding Route 6 out of town, then picking up the Shore Road again going home, though I did take a couple of detours to do some additional hill riding along the way. One of the nice things about doing this century ride route is that after my first 50 miles, I get to stop back at home for lunch before doing the second half of it. That meant that in addition to having a delicious sandwich waiting for me, I got to snuggle with my partner and our dog for a few minutes and I had the luxury of being able to trade my sweaty, soaked-through jersey for a clean, dry one.

The remaining 50 miles were easy riding in terms of the terrain. The Cape Cod Rail Trail from Wellfleet to Dennis is relatively flat and it’s also 44 miles total, 22 each way. Because that would leave me 6 miles short of a full century and because I knew I need to put in some more hills before the day was over, I backtracked and re-did my route along Ocean View Drive again before heading to the Wellfleet entrance of the rail trail on Lecounts Hollow Road.

Unlike the rest of my route, much of the trail is overgrown with trees and offers more shading from the elements than most of the roads on Cape Cod. This turned out to be fortuitous because the weather took another 180 turn. Ocean View took me less than half an hour, but by the time I began on the rail trail, the sky was turning gray again, with heavier cloud clusters than those of early that morning. The first downpour hit when I was in Eastham, the next town over from Wellfleet. That lasted about 15 minutes and then stopped before I reached the town line between Orleans and Brewster, at about Mile 10 of the first 22 to Dennis, but the light stayed green-ish and dark, and it was clear from the strange glow cast on the pavement and on the wet trees that more rain was coming. I got to the Dennis end of the trail with no further rain beyond a few spittles here and there, but I literally didn’t have time to do more than eat a power bar and send a text message to Jen telling her I was heading back and doing my last 22 miles before the sky darkened and rumbled and a flash of lightning struck along the horizon. The sky opened up almost as soon as I got back on the Blue Streak, so I didn’t dawdle, and I pedaled like hell the 22 miles back home, tearing through the near-knee-deep puddles flooding the trail, with the rain coming down in sheets the whole time.

Cape Cod storm clouds gathering, before a deluge. The thunderstorm that drenched me all 22 miles back from Dennis to Wellfleet swooped in so fast, I didn’t stop to take out my camera, which would have gotten soaked and ruined. But the storm clouds depicted here, of another Cape Cod rainstorm, give a pretty accurate idea of what the sky looked like just before it started to pour during the last 22 miles of my century ride on September 4, 2013.

The Cape Cod Rail Trail, Brewster, on a different, sunnier day.

The Cape Cod Rail Trail, again on a different, sunnier day. Several small metal tunnels appear along the 22-mile rail trail between Wellfleet and Dennis. I include the image of this one because the storm I rode through became so severe, that when I was about to pedal through one of them, not only was it flooded, it was also occupied by more than a dozen wet people and several bicycles. One by one, cyclists, walkers, and runners had ducked into one of these metal tubes during the storm because, except for a campground area somewhere in Brewster with a hut that houses a public bathroom, these tunnels offer the only shelter on the rail trail itself. The tunnel was packed with people and I was already soaked and intent on getting home, so I didn’t stop with them, but they clearly intended to either wait the storm out or wait until the rain lightened. I rode at least another 12 miles after I encountered these folks and it poured the whole time, so they must have given up and braved the elements or stayed there, cold and wet, for a good, long time.

I was never happier than when I opened the door to our little Drummer Cove cabin. The Blue Streak and I were drenched, so I stripped out of my cycling clothes in the doorway in order not to trek water and mud and sand into the house, and then I wiped the bike down and emptied the saddle bag and hung it from a rack in the bathroom, so rainwater wouldn’t drip and pool on the floor as everything dried.

I got back home to Drummer Cove in the nick of time, it seems. The storm worsened, and pounded down on our cottage for the next five and a half hours, all through the evening. My rewards for making it through 25 miles of cycling under torrential showers were numerous and simple and full of tactile pleasures, a hot shower, dry clothes, an evening relaxing on the couch with my wife and my dog, a massage, cold beverages of all kinds (hydrating water and seltzer and juice, followed by a glass of crisp white wine), a delicious dinner of fresh seafood and grilled vegetables, and the sight of this distance on my bike odometer:

What joy: A 104-mile bike ride, completed.

Braking AIDS Ride in 150 Seconds

Posted on August 15, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

One of the questions I get most frequently about the Braking AIDS Ride is about why I keep going back for more. I mean, let’s face it. Biking nearly 300 miles in three days, rain or shine, sound like… well, it sounds like lunacy.

That three-day lunacy every September also means that beginning every March and April, most of my weekends are all about training. Not brunch. Not going out. Not staying in bed with my devoted wife, who loves me and this cause enough to let me make her a bike widow for four to six months every year. Not snuggling with my dog. Not seeing friends. Not reading. Not writing.

Have I mentioned no brunch?

Every weekend, each time I cycle up the long Alpine hill at the northern end of Palisades Park, I keep hoping that a brunch feast like this will be waiting for me when I reach the crest and then roll into at the rangers’ station. I’ve been riding that hill for years now. Where are my damn poached eggs?

I’ve written many a wordy post articulating the numerous reasons I am thrilled to participate in this cause and on behalf of Housing Works and this ride, despite the lack of poached eggs available on River Road in Palisades Park. Words are my strongest medium, but I have a great appreciation for the visual as well. The fine folks at Black Watch Productions, who have been participating in and documenting the ride on film every year since its inception, have managed to capture the spirit of the ride in 150 seconds. This is why I keep going back:

For those of you looking for my Hollywood close-up, I don’t appear in the fine bit of footage above, but I do make a few cameos in a slightly longer segment that appears on my Braking Aids Ride donation page. My heroic partner’s amazing efforts as a ride crew member are well-documented in that video as well, beginning around Minute 5; fashionable as ever in her adorable stripey hat, she’s one of the angels literally pushing and running alongside bikers who are trying to claw their way up Mount Archer, the toughest hill on the route. As for me, at 5:40, I prove, in case anyone doubted it, that I’m incapable of climbing Mount Archer without an expletive or two, and The Blue Streak and I, back by popular demand, show up again to wave at the Black Watch folks, on decidedly flatter ground, at 7:26. For those of you dying to see me in spandex, this is your chance.

[INSERT SHAMELESS SELF-SERVING PLUG: Yes, there’s still time to donate! After you’ve enjoyed the donation page video antics, while you’re there, why not make a ride donation to support Housing Works and its amazing work to fight AIDS/HIV? As of this writing, I’ve raised $6,400, 64% of my $10,000 goal, and I need your help to make the remaining 36%. Donate, donate again, and please share the link to this blog and to my donation page (http://bit.ly/ZGvJZl) with your friends, your family, your colleagues!]

And to those of you who’ve donated already, I can’t ever thank you enough. I think of your support, your kindness, and your encouragement with every single pedal stroke on the road.

Women on Bikes! Getting My August Training-Ride Bearings

Posted on August 2, 2013 by Mikola De Roo

The summer has zipped by in rather frightening fashion. It’s only two months until Braking AIDS Ride 2013 begins, which means I need to put in some back-to-back long training rides this weekend.

Bearings, for sale here, Charles A. Cox, c. 1890. Courtesty of Posters: Artists Posters Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.

Bearings, for sale here, Charles A. Cox, c. 1890. Courtesy of Posters: Artist Posters Collection, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division.

In my fantasy version of doing back-to-back training rides, a fantasy that tends to dominate my foggy, exhausted thinking at 6:00am on Saturday morning when I’d rather remain in bed, the weather will be as beautiful and mild as it’s been most of this week, the wind will be at my back, the hills will feel like flats, the flats will feel like downhills, and the downhill cruises will feel like heaven on earth. In that imaginative rewrite of my training days, it feels as though the leg power of five other women are powering me and my bike, and the riding is such a piece of cake to us, we’re all reading fashion magazines as we cycle. (For anyone who’s asking, in the illustrated rendition of this fantasy above, I’m the raven-haired woman in front of the blonde caboose rider.)

In reality, it’ll be me, by myself, pedaling on my own steam, trying as best I can to push myself but also live into whatever my body can do that day and whatever the road brings me. What’s nicer about the reality version: Nothing feels better than the moments when I work hard and it pays off. Sure, it would be easier if the roads all felt flat, but then, so would my mood. The highs are that much sweeter when they are hard-won. So, whatever comes these next weeks, bring it on.

On the other hand, while I can forgo the other five women helping me pedal, but if anyone knows where I can get those amazing, red knee-high cycling socks, please contact me ASAP.

To support me and my invisible tandem-bike harem to support Housing Works and fight AIDS, you can still donate here! I’m at 54% of my $10,000 goal, a sum that’s been achieved, to my amazement, in only a month. So, I’m more than halfway there, and the rest, I hear, is, well, at least partially downhill. Donate early and often!

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How You Can Support the Work Housing Works Is Doing

to Reach an AIDS-FREE New York by 2020

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I am thrilled to report that as of September 29, 2013, Braking AIDS Ride 2013 raised $250,000 net for Housing Works.

My Braking AIDS Ride 2013 Heroes

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DO NOT FORGET TO DROP THE BLUE STREAK OFF AT BIKE SHIPPING ON WEDNESDAY MORNING.

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