I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

What is something in your life, literal or metaphorical, that you wish would miraculously last for a much longer time than it was meant to? What would you do with that extra time?

Continued from last night:

In the early spring of 2001, I was living in the financial district of NYC. I was five blocks from the World Trade Center, no more than a ten-minute walk. We were 6 months in front of another event that would come to define my life.

I was working out every day, and between the Gold’s Gym a few blocks from my apartment that I sometimes went to, and the New York Sports Club that I also went to, I had lots of options.

At the NYSC, there was a trainer who took a liking to me. His name was Rich, he was super cute, partially deaf, in amazing shape, and he offered to train me for free. We began to work out together, and went out a few times. We both liked each other a lot, but we both realized we’d be better friends than lovers. We continued to work out together, and still hung out.

In early spring, Rich invited me to a gathering at his apartment. It was an informal meeting of people who might be interested in doing the Pallotta TeamWorks AIDS ride from Boston to NYC. I went and had a great time, and met a lot of great people. At the meeting, there was a short presentation about the ride, where the money went, how to approach fundraising, and how the logistics worked.

I listened, promised to support Rich in the fundraising, and left with little else to offer.

Within a month, Rich let me know he wasn’t going to do the ride.

I let him know that I WAS going to do the ride.

It was April. I had three months to train. And I had three months to raise 2,000 dollars.

You had to raise that much to help cover the costs of the logistics of the ride. Basically, you showed up with a bike, and a bag and you were in charge of the bike, and they were in charge of the bag. They’d make sure it got to your campsite, where a tent would be waiting for you. They also provided breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as hot showers, restrooms, and physical therapy pros. It was a well-oiled machine.

Within a week, I’d sent out form letters to all of my friends. I sent emails to all of my colleagues at work. And slowly the money trickled in. $20 here. $50 there. One friend wrote me a check for $1,000, that put me very close to my goal.

Meanwhile, I should say I was training. But I was NOT. NOT at all. I was riding my bike, but NYC is pretty flat, and I’d say all in all I probably trained 10 days. However, I was in the best shape of my life. I was running every day. I was lifting. I weighed 180 pounds.

The smartest thing I did to prepare for the ride was to borrow my friend Mike’s road bike. I had a dirt bike and it would have not been good.

The days passed. When all was said and done, I raised about $2,700. From lots of donors.

The day before the ride, I rode my bike to Lincoln Center. There, I dropped off my bike, so that it could be transported for the start.

Oh. Did I mention, this was the first year they were riding from NYC to Boston. I was not excited about that, but nobody asked me. The start of the ride was at Bear Mountain about 60 minutes outside the city.

The day of the ride, I wake, grab my bag, and hail a cab. I was to go to a pick-up point where I’d take a bus to Bear Mountain. The most significant thing about that day, was that I left my cell phone in the taxi. I would be communication free for the next four days. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I get on the bus, grab a seat, and chat with the people around me. We are all excited. Did I mention that it’s 6:00 in the morning. Once we were there, we have to sign in and turn in our collections, to prove that we raised enough money. If you didn’t meet the minimum you have to pay out of pocket to participate.

I get there with my surplus, and because I didn’t break any records, I end up donating my excess to others to keep them from paying. It was the perfect start to my four-day ride.

Once everyone is signed in, there is an assembly and then we climb on our bikes and start.

And this is where things got weirdly wonderful.

From the moment we started, to the moment I rode my bike into Boston, the experience was perfection. There was no competition. No one cared if they were first. Or last. No one cared if they had to walk up a hill. No one cared if they had to have a car drive them to the next rest area. No one judged you if you took a break.

On the big hills, bikers would climb the hill, then walk halfway down, to cheer on those that were struggling. On the way into camp, there were people who’d finished hours earlier who instead of showering and eating, hung out at the entrance to cheer people on.

At meals, everyone sat with everyone. There were no cliques. I sat with different people every day. We all laughed, shared storied of the road, and chatted about the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I only saw my tent mate at bedtime. I don’t even know his name. I’m not sure I’d have recognized him two weeks later. But still life was perfect.

Things that stand out:

The first day was the toughest. The hills getting us to lunch were horrible.

I did not own bike shorts. Why would I? I wasn’t a biker. The chaffing at the end of the first day was horrendous. I bought one pair, and wore them every day till the end of the ride.

Being phoneless was scary, but people let me use their phones, and I knew enough numbers by heart to be able to call people.

The people cheering you on, was wonderful. Just like in a marathon, citizens gathered along the route to offer snacks and water. They held signs and encouraged you to get up that hill.

I rode my (Mike’s) bike the whole way. There were a couple of times I wanted to walk up a hill, but I didn’t. I rested at the top, but I never walked.

I was hit on several times, and was invited to spend the night in tents that weren’t mine. I did not. I wanted the ride to be about what it was, and not about casual sex.

I got my one and only chiropractic treatment in my life, because my back was killing me. I wanted a massage, but they were all booked. Chiropractor it was. I haven’t really had a problem with my back since.

Riding into Boston was the most glorious thing ever. I still wish it had been Eighth Avenue in NYC, but alas it was not. I found my friend Michelle, and my friend Louis , in the crowd waiting for me. There were hugs all around. Congratulations. I said goodbye to the people I knew, dropped my bike (Mike’s) at the pick-up place and we were off.

We did a bit of site seeing, dropped by the Cheers bar, and then went to dinner.

And I wish, that the experience could have lasted longer. I wish that I could have held on to the perfection that was that experience. To this day, it’s probably the closest I’ve been to four perfect days. I’ve had lots of good days, but these were perfect.

Even with the chaffing, and the bad back.

From the web:

In July 2001, roughly 2,002 people rode bicycles 330 miles from Bear Mountain, New York, to Boston for the Northeast AIDS Ride. The four-day event raised about $6 million total, with $3 million going directly to HIV and AIDS health centers in New York and Boston.