The Long Road to Lancaster
My phone went off at 5:54am this morning and I leapt out of bed–in Brooklyn. It was Kaden, my partner and the Administrative Manager of Center Care at The Center calling for good luck as he shoved off to grind through 100 miles of drizzly rain and mist on 15 lbs. of aluminum and rubber.
I was supposed to BE there–waving like a lunatic before turning around to load luggage on the 26 ft. truck and get to the next stop. Instead, there I was, climbing into pantyhose, walking the dogs in the rain, pushing through 5 hours of smiling and greeting before I could GO–get there, be a part of the team that makes this amazing ride happen and bring a year’s worth of anticipation and excitement and real work come to fruition.
When finally my own release hour arrived (11:30am) I raced to my zipcar and was off like a bullet! . . . . If it were traveling through concrete, that is. You know. Lincoln Tunnel. Rain. New Jersey. Turnpike. Barrier after barrier, the same NPR story cycling past and I want to get there!
I want to get there to watch all the riders come in and cheer them on. I want to see those pos ped flags flapping past as cyclists climb off the bikes tired, wet, hungry and estatic. I want to give high fives, find out what folks have done in the past year, reconnect with all the folks who have committed to this transforming ride. And I want to hear stories from the road. Because there are always stories–terrific, hilarious, heart-grabbing stories.
This is a ride that generates stories from spinning tires like gold from straw. We share stories to honor our loved ones, to mark where we have been, to share our delights, and to remember our histories. The stories are the pulse of this ride and this ride–as I have heard over and over again from riders and crew members both–keeps people alive because it funds critical HIV and AIDS services every single day the Center is open. Which is, by the way, everyday. Stay tuned for the stories from the road, and read more about the Center’s services at www.gaycenter.org/health.
Holly B.
