AIDS/LIFECYCLE 2005
Day 7: Ventura->Los Angeles (60 miles)
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Despite the fact that we had only sixty miles to ride from Ventura to Closing Ceremonies in Santa Monica, we had to be there by 3, so I woke up early. Perhaps it was just time to pee, or excitement about the final day (and disappointment-I wasn't ready to be done).
In any case, I had some time to myself. This in itself was a rarity; throughout the week, I had noted how little time I had to do nothing, especially in the morning. So I decided to go take a walk on the beach. When I reached the beach, it again seemed like a public beach, with a blue, cracked paint lifeguard tower and a volleyball net. Yet there was a single man who had kept his candle from the night before. He was wearing his bike jersey and shorts. He was kneeling on the sand. The candle was lit. He held it between both palms, as if rolling dough. He was praying.
I walked down the beach, away from him, to give him some space. I looked at the rocks, picked some up-sort of for the people I knew with HIV, but also for the praying man. (I know I wasn't supposed to take things from public beaches, ok, sorry).
At the end of the beach was a large creature. An otter or a seal, I thought. Later I found out, in my city-ness, that it was a sea lion. It was quite far up the shore. It was moving in place, flapping its flippers and barking.
I was ten or twenty feet away, a little scared (and awestruck as well), of course I didn't know what it was doing there, and I feared that, like whales, it was somehow beached, helpless, dying. I ran back to camp and found a ranger, who, being kind not to laugh at me, told me that the sea lion had eaten some of that red algae and had gotten sick. Essentially he had gotten food poisoning, and he could more easily defend himself on the land.
I felt kind of stupid, but better to be stupid and caring than insensitive.
I returned to the tent to find that, to my surprise, we were leaving early. D- knew an ex-rider who worked at Star****ers, and the last day was always delicate, as the sweep vehicles were ruthless in making sure you didn't fall behind.
So for the last time, we packed our bags and our tents, rode out of Ventura.
By the way, Ventura is smelly. All of Ventura is smelly. I don't know why, and I don't know what the smell is.
Anyway, we spent most of the morning staying ahead of the late vehicles (there was no advantage to getting in early, as you would just be sitting around until closing ceremonies).
As on the previous year, G- had flats only on the final day, and that added some small excitement.
Soon we were at the borders of Los Angeles, the beaches of my childhood. Zuma, Malibu. PCH was beautiful, with the ocean on our right, as it was the entire time, but the road got more and more crowded and the shoulder thinner and thinner, with more bikes. I had been instructed to eat lunch not at the rest stop, but at the taqueria. We didn't know the name, but on the roof is a guy with a big sombrero. One of those 60 foot Mexican guys. We spent as long as we could there, leisurely eating and cheering on other riders, listening to a guy who had had a bad encounter inside the taqueria, yet spent all his time complaining without explaining what actually happened.
We rode the last fifteen miles slowly. It was pretty treacherous, with the cars and the parked cars and the bikes, but the familiar LA beaches pleased me. I thought of my grandma, who lived off one of the roads we passed, and an acquaintance of mine who had died on PCH, but by a car, somewhere not far from here. With about five miles left, we regrouped, took pictures in front of a boat called BAYWATCH, off PCH and into Santa Monica, up the last hill, and finally home, into the Wadsworth Theater area.
We waited for an hour or so for Closing Ceremonies. We ate, drank, rested in the shade. By now, we were all pretty eager to go home. Many of us made phone calls, arrangements. The portapotty line was endless, and as we were about to ride in as a group for Closing Ceremonies, all of us in line were exhorting those in front of us to pee faster, and when a portapotty opened up, well, we ran to it.
We rode into Closing Ceremonies, which was appropriately short. We gave the roadies and volunteers a huge ovation-it would have been so much more difficult to do this without them-carrying our bags, providing food for ourselves. I can hardly imagine it. the speeches reiterated the challenges we face, the 7 million we raised. We were surrounded by our supporters. Literally, the services we provided had saved people's lives. I felt tired, good, relaxed, addicted-I couldn't wait to do it again. I was happy to see my family, my friends, sad to see my new friends go, although I would eat breakfast with them the next morning. For now, I was content.
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