Mercury Returns
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
What Is An AIDS Ride?
Hello Friends and Family-
A good friend recently asked me to help them define what an AIDS Ride is. It seems their employer was feeling that it wasn’t an appropriate cause for them to be affiliated with. Strange to encounter that depth of ignorance and desire to stigmatize HIV almost a quarter of a decade into the pandemic.
I wrote the attached piece saying what an AIDS Ride is for me. It really gave me a chance to think about how extraordinary these events are. In fact, you wouldn’t receive all these unsolicited emails without them. I am alive because of them and so are countless other thousands.
I wish I could ride this year, but I have to deal with trying to keep the roof over Fugee’s head, and to have him rolling in pricey whole foods kibble. But I do have four friends riding this year. I ask that you might consider sponsoring one (or all!) of their journeys’ to create a more perfect world.
My friends are:
Alexandra Brucker https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5710
Jason Webber https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=3066
Ricci Treffer https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5282
Michelle Wharton https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5281
I salute you guys, (and Mike and Darla who are crewing!)... Well done.
As Margaret Mead noted, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed individuals can change the world. In fact, it's the only thing that ever has."
Peace.
Craig
.
What is an AIDS ride?
Quite simply, it is an example of mankind in its finest hour. It is hope for those living with a virus which has no cure. It is education and outreach to help prevent others from having to know what it means to live with HIV. It is access to treatment and quality of care for those that cannot otherwise afford it. It is essential funding for programs and policy here and in Africa, the Caribbean, Eastern Europe.
It is action in the face of dire odds, compassion without limits or conditions, it is hope, it is love made tangible, a human tapestry of people united by a common goal—to make a personal commitment in the fight to end the pandemic and human suffering caused by HIV.
It is a personal effort to make a difference in our world. Doing something extraordinary, difficult, at times exhausting, painful, something bold, beautiful and necessary—not because it is a vacation, or a cycling adventure, or a diversion. It is simply the right thing to do.
How did I come to do the AIDSRide that first time back in 1995? I had heard of the ride and decided I must do it; it was my obligation having my health and the determination to make a difference. Not an easy decision—actually a terrifying one—not knowing if I could ride my bike 600 miles in 7 days or raise the 2,000 dollars. But it was the only logical decision.
At the time, I didn’t know anyone affected by AIDS or HIV. But in a period of four years, I had been hospice care person to each of my parents. It was the most difficult and beautiful period of my life. That experience made it increasingly clear that I would do anything I could to ensure that no one should have to face any catastrophic illness without access to treatment or support. So I rode.
At the time, I was national marketing director for Virgin Megastores. The ride fell at a time which was not convenient for third quarter advertising. When I approached my boss about participating, he didn’t hesitate. He immediate said, “Of course. You must do it. There is no convenient time.” Later that day, Richard Branson called and personally sponsored me for $2,500 dollars and said “Well done, mate.”
That ride had a profound effect on me. Seeing so many disparate people united doing something difficult, joyously, tirelessly, just because it was the right thing to do. Young, old, gay, straight, athletic, sedentary, healthy, very ill, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, poor, wealthy, famous, homeless. We were family. Boundaries were erased, and for that week, we were one living, breathing testament of hope in action.
I swore I would ride every year that I could, as long as there was a need. So I rode the following year. And signed up to ride the year after that.
In 1997, I was an example of what ride could do. While accessing the services of the Southern California beneficiary of the ride, I found out I, too, was HIV positive. They got me into quality medical care, ensured my support system was strong, treated me with dignity and hope and compassion.
I took two years off from doing the ride as my body adjusted to toxic though effective medications. In 1999, I anxiously returned to the ride as a Positive Pedaler, a group of men and women living with HIV, dealing with the challenges an extreme endurance event while simultaneously coping with neuropathy, fatigue, nausea, anemia—and doing everything they could, riding those same 600 miles, to make sure that there would be hope, services and treatment for others. I was scared, not sure if I would be able to do the ride, if I still had it in me.
I never rode stronger or faster that I did that year, finishing each day hours earlier than I ever had.
It refined the possible.
So I continued to up the bar. In 2001, I worked for the AIDSRide and as a rider representative, I supported 600 riders from Northern California, keeping them trained and fundraised. We raised 12 million dollars that year. In addition, I personally committed to riding my bicycle 1,500 miles in six weeks, from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska, from Missoula to Billings, Montana, and from Montréal to Portland, Maine—raising over 20,000 dollars for AIDS vaccine research, so that just maybe, my niece and nephew might know a world without AIDS.
In 2002, I helped form AIDS/LifeCycle so that the funding and services that were there for me would be there for others. In addition, I raised 5,000 dollars running in the Honolulu AIDS marathon program, and also raised another $15,000 for a self-designed ascent of Mount Kilimanjaro to raise funds for AIDS relief in Africa. As an extremely fortunate man with access to medications my body responded to and could tolerate, I was more fortunate than more than 95 % of the world population of those living with HIV. I must share my good fortune.
So, that is a rather long way of saying the ride is a journey. Difficult, beautiful, powerful, life affirming, perfect. Seven days to remember that all is one. That we are our brother’s keeper. That kindness and sweat and joy and determination erase limitations and create a world as it should be. Without judgment or stigma or diffusion of responsibility. It is our world, and we choose life, love, compassion, brotherhood. Hope over inaction, we choose life.
That IS what an AIDS ride is.
A good friend recently asked me to help them define what an AIDS Ride is. It seems their employer was feeling that it wasn’t an appropriate cause for them to be affiliated with. Strange to encounter that depth of ignorance and desire to stigmatize HIV almost a quarter of a decade into the pandemic.
I wrote the attached piece saying what an AIDS Ride is for me. It really gave me a chance to think about how extraordinary these events are. In fact, you wouldn’t receive all these unsolicited emails without them. I am alive because of them and so are countless other thousands.
I wish I could ride this year, but I have to deal with trying to keep the roof over Fugee’s head, and to have him rolling in pricey whole foods kibble. But I do have four friends riding this year. I ask that you might consider sponsoring one (or all!) of their journeys’ to create a more perfect world.
My friends are:
Alexandra Brucker https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5710
Jason Webber https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=3066
Ricci Treffer https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5282
Michelle Wharton https://www.aidslifecycle.org/donate/form.cfm?n=5281
I salute you guys, (and Mike and Darla who are crewing!)... Well done.
As Margaret Mead noted, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed individuals can change the world. In fact, it's the only thing that ever has."
Peace.
Craig
.What is an AIDS ride?
Quite simply, it is an example of mankind in its finest hour. It is hope for those living with a virus which has no cure. It is education and outreach to help prevent others from having to know what it means to live with HIV. It is access to treatment and quality of care for those that cannot otherwise afford it. It is essential funding for programs and policy here and in Africa, the Caribbean, Eastern Europe.
It is action in the face of dire odds, compassion without limits or conditions, it is hope, it is love made tangible, a human tapestry of people united by a common goal—to make a personal commitment in the fight to end the pandemic and human suffering caused by HIV.
It is a personal effort to make a difference in our world. Doing something extraordinary, difficult, at times exhausting, painful, something bold, beautiful and necessary—not because it is a vacation, or a cycling adventure, or a diversion. It is simply the right thing to do.
How did I come to do the AIDSRide that first time back in 1995? I had heard of the ride and decided I must do it; it was my obligation having my health and the determination to make a difference. Not an easy decision—actually a terrifying one—not knowing if I could ride my bike 600 miles in 7 days or raise the 2,000 dollars. But it was the only logical decision.
At the time, I didn’t know anyone affected by AIDS or HIV. But in a period of four years, I had been hospice care person to each of my parents. It was the most difficult and beautiful period of my life. That experience made it increasingly clear that I would do anything I could to ensure that no one should have to face any catastrophic illness without access to treatment or support. So I rode.
At the time, I was national marketing director for Virgin Megastores. The ride fell at a time which was not convenient for third quarter advertising. When I approached my boss about participating, he didn’t hesitate. He immediate said, “Of course. You must do it. There is no convenient time.” Later that day, Richard Branson called and personally sponsored me for $2,500 dollars and said “Well done, mate.”
That ride had a profound effect on me. Seeing so many disparate people united doing something difficult, joyously, tirelessly, just because it was the right thing to do. Young, old, gay, straight, athletic, sedentary, healthy, very ill, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, poor, wealthy, famous, homeless. We were family. Boundaries were erased, and for that week, we were one living, breathing testament of hope in action.
I swore I would ride every year that I could, as long as there was a need. So I rode the following year. And signed up to ride the year after that.
In 1997, I was an example of what ride could do. While accessing the services of the Southern California beneficiary of the ride, I found out I, too, was HIV positive. They got me into quality medical care, ensured my support system was strong, treated me with dignity and hope and compassion.
I took two years off from doing the ride as my body adjusted to toxic though effective medications. In 1999, I anxiously returned to the ride as a Positive Pedaler, a group of men and women living with HIV, dealing with the challenges an extreme endurance event while simultaneously coping with neuropathy, fatigue, nausea, anemia—and doing everything they could, riding those same 600 miles, to make sure that there would be hope, services and treatment for others. I was scared, not sure if I would be able to do the ride, if I still had it in me.
I never rode stronger or faster that I did that year, finishing each day hours earlier than I ever had.
It refined the possible.
So I continued to up the bar. In 2001, I worked for the AIDSRide and as a rider representative, I supported 600 riders from Northern California, keeping them trained and fundraised. We raised 12 million dollars that year. In addition, I personally committed to riding my bicycle 1,500 miles in six weeks, from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska, from Missoula to Billings, Montana, and from Montréal to Portland, Maine—raising over 20,000 dollars for AIDS vaccine research, so that just maybe, my niece and nephew might know a world without AIDS.
In 2002, I helped form AIDS/LifeCycle so that the funding and services that were there for me would be there for others. In addition, I raised 5,000 dollars running in the Honolulu AIDS marathon program, and also raised another $15,000 for a self-designed ascent of Mount Kilimanjaro to raise funds for AIDS relief in Africa. As an extremely fortunate man with access to medications my body responded to and could tolerate, I was more fortunate than more than 95 % of the world population of those living with HIV. I must share my good fortune.
So, that is a rather long way of saying the ride is a journey. Difficult, beautiful, powerful, life affirming, perfect. Seven days to remember that all is one. That we are our brother’s keeper. That kindness and sweat and joy and determination erase limitations and create a world as it should be. Without judgment or stigma or diffusion of responsibility. It is our world, and we choose life, love, compassion, brotherhood. Hope over inaction, we choose life.
That IS what an AIDS ride is.
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