July 1999, Twin Cities->Wisconsin->Chicago AIDS Ride

Software Engineering is good for some things, like making money and learning how to compete for recognition. The highly touted concept of "teamwork" however, is a joke: In the corporate world everyone is basically on their own, in a constant quest to rise above one another. It is not a place to find rewarding work.

I suppose I had a few reasons for signing up to crew Twin Cities->Wicsonsin->Chicago AIDS Ride 4. I wanted to do something rewarding; I wanted to be someone "else" for a while, with the temptation of liking it. More significantly, I was growing tired of living a life void of emotion. It's safe to get by 26 years without knowing the pain of losing life, or having something or someone to care about so much it hurts. It is safe, but not quite human. I never thought of myself as quite human. I knew on this ride I'd meet people who would change the way I think about life; I needed that. So on July 10th I arrived in Minneapolis with a bit of cynicism, and a day later I began to completely collapse the walls around my emotions which I had spent so many years building. 1770 cyclists and over 500 crew travelled from Minneapolis to Chicago in 6 days. During that period I trusted over 2200 people without hesitation, and began to redefine my concept of what being human was all about. The first day, when we arrived in the camp in rural Minnesota, we all had a few hours to cheer in the riders, who had just travelled over 100 miles, in a day that had some of them cycling for as many as 12 hours. As I sat in the grass, I watched as hundreds of teary-eyed riders arrived, thanking their Gods for giving them the will to make it through such a day. They were all there for different reasons; to remember family, friends, or to embrace their own lives. Their tears became my tears, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. On the next day I again watched the riders arrive. A child was in the crowd, placing stickers on the helmets of riders as they arrived. It was such a simple gesture, but I could see it was the placement of a memory that would forever last in the mind of those riders, and of mine. Our crew team, Pack-Up, was responsible for removing the garbage from camp, loading the tables and chairs into trucks, and dismantling the large tents from the camp each morning. Beginning at roughly 4:30, it was a job that had me seeing blisters, scabs, and chiropractors by the end of the week. Despite the painful side effects, the job itself was a lot of fun, especially with a crew comprised of people from all over the world. The week did include some moments that made me long for my urban apartment, such as the dissatisfaction of sleeping in a hot wet tent, being evactuated to a high school gym during a thunderstorm, or the horror of watching an exhausted rider near to me collapse onto the pavement in a moment that stopped the hearts of everyone nearby. Yet without those memories, I suppose the experience would not have been complete. Janus sponsored a "Wall of Honor" in the camp, a mural in which passers-by could sign a dedication; to try to express the emotion that had brought them here. As I read this wall, I read of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and lovers, taken by AIDS. But words alone have never had much significance in my life: it was the people behind the words which invoked my emotion; people whom I was now meeting. There was the emotional connection, the significance. These people, who after riding 100 miles or working all day, still had the energy to dance in the evening camp, simply because they could. On the last day, we drove from Madison to McHenry, Illinois. The crew were not supposed to drive the ride route, to save the riders from the distraction of too many vehicles passing. Luckily our crew manager knew which rules to break. I saw why. For 10 miles, every tree, every lamppost, and every street sign had a red ribbon or a hand drawn poster. It was a image of human kindness which tore at everyone in the van, myself in particular. We stopped and cheered by a lone rider on an empty road. You knew what mattered in life at that moment.. it was so clear. Saturday, 6 days on, the worst day. The rain was unforgiving. The tents were soaked, as were we. The work was exhausting, and many crew members found themselves shivering and wrapped in mylar before days end. When we arrived in Grant Park for Closing Ceremonies, the rain continued. Grasping the last of a billion Gatorades, we huddled under a tent and waited for 4pm, to follow the riders onto Balbo, for the cheering crowd, and the end. 15 minutes before 4, the rain stopped. I've never given much consideration to a higher power... but at that moment I wanted someone to thank. As the clouds broke the riders rode in to the cheers of the crowds which had gathered to meet them. The crew followed to the cheers of the riders. I would have turned around and done it all again. Unfortunately, I will have to wait 51 weeks. I've divided my photos into two sections.. one section covering the ride, riders, and community, and one section on the crew, particularly the Pack-Up team.

Ride Photos

	The beginning, Monday morning at 5am. The gear/tent trucks await.		Bike Parking at the Minneapolis Convention Centre.
	Pete & Kevin: Kevin ingesting what looks like the first of about 100 bananas he'll eat this week.		Ride Out, 6:30am Monday morning, in front of the Convention Centre,
	About 20 miles into the route on Day One.		Day Two camp in Sparta, WI.
	This is the child who was giving the riders stickers. One of the traffic crew is giving him her hat.		Day Two camp, once all the tents were up, and well before the thunderstorm which emptied the camp.
	Cheering the riders in on Day Two.		Day Three camp, Reedsburg, WI. Fun wind makes tents go bye-bye.
	A bar in Reedsburg where Kevin, Lance, their team, and I enjoy an hour of civilization.		The Wall on Honor, with the dedications of riders and crew.
	Wisconsin's Largest Clothes Dryer.		(No caption needed)
	Day Five. Red ribbons on every tree...		.. and a sign on every post.
	Cheering riders into McHenry.		Pete, Kevin, and Lance, having completed Day Five, including an unscheduled pit stop at Target.
	The start of Closing Ceremonies, as the riders arrive.		Pete and Kevin.
	My spot in the ceremony, looking back.		Looking forward toward the stage. The reality of it being over.

Crew Photos

	The afternoon Pack-Up meeting under the big-top.		Mmmm garbage.
	Bucky, one of our ever-entertaining crew managers.		Assembling the tables and chairs to be loaded into the truck.
	Folding the tents up..		A moment of kindness... as children came to camp and gave us cookies.
	Preparing to lower one side of a tent.		Cathy.. who was in charge of camp-shutdown... and a Massage manager!
	A group photo of Pack-Up. I'm the unshaven one, second from the right.		The camp tents, which we dismantled: Media Relations, General Store, Conference, Camp Services, Massage, Chiropractic, Health Services, and Medical.
	Two members of the Chiropractic crew.. who cured my back pain on Friday afternoon.		Bike Parking.
	The worst day: trash bags were our costumes, and wet was the theme.		Dancing in Grant Park, before Closing Ceremonies.

Alaska, July 2001

July 19, 2001 was the first day of the rest of my life. It was the day I quit my job, nearly the hardest decision I'd ever made. After almost five years of working for the same company, I could no longer tolerate the commute and lack of work/life balance. The country was in a recession, and I was probably an idiot. Luckily I did have enough money in the bank to provide a couple of nice holidays before settling into poverty. I was on a plane to Alaska the next morning. I had sort of planned it this way. I had purchased the Alaska trip several months prior, but as work became less and less tolerable, I decided it would be nice to be unemployed when I left for the Last Frontier. The flight was on Alaska Airlines. I had heard that Alaska has been rated top in customer satisfaction for several years running. The 737-900 I was on was less than a month old, and the service onboard was outstanding. Arriving in Anchorage was sort of like arriving in Moscow in that I didn't have a previous experience to compare it to. Most cities look relatively the same from an airplane. Approaching Anchorage presented a spectacular vista reminicent of a movie scene, or a coffee commercial; a bit too stunning to believe. It was enthralling, considering my last view was that of an urban area of 9 million people. On the ground, the airport was buzzing with cargo jets from just about every asian country, refueling in Alaska before heading on to the rest of the Americas. I had a little under one day before heading North. I wandered around Anchorage in the evening, somewhat suprised by how dumpy the town looked. Not a lot of architecture or charm, which is likely explained by the number of buildings with petroleum company logos on them. I guess I had been spoiled somewhat by the buildings in Chicago. In Alaska, function outwieghs form. I spent the late evening at Mad Myrnas, Anchorage's only gay bar. Friday night was drag show night, and I'd been advised by more than one person that I simply must attend. Without question, this would be my only opportunity in life to see Native American drag queens. It was quite an interesting show, divided between the Native 'girls', and huge beary men singing Celene Dionesque love songs. There was also a fundraiser for a team of riders on the Montana AIDS Vaccine Ride.

The next morning, after an awful Holiday Inn breakfast, I boarded an Alaska Railroad train for the 12-hour journey to Fairbanks. The train journey was stunning, and I found myself out on the rear balcony inhaling diesel fumes for most of the trip. Despite the cloudy weather, the trip lived up to its claim as the most beautiful rail journey in North America. Mount McKinley was mostly obstructed by clouds, but that was insignificant, as the scenery just never failed to impress as the train made its way slowly North.

12 hours and several moose later, I arrived in Fairbanks, where I joined my cousin Brian and spent the next 2 days. Fairbanks was much more enjoyable than Anchorage. Much smaller than Anchorage, it has a small-town charm not unlike a small Midwestern town. The outer edges of Fairbanks contain the awful fast food and megastores found in any suburban sprawl, and we safely avoided them save for the location of our motel.

Each of our two days in Fairbanks began by inhaling head-sized cinnamon rolls at the best coffee shop in the state. We did manage to see quite a bit, starting with The Alaskan Museum. Located at the University of Fairbanks, it had an excellent exhibition on Alaskan history, wildlife, and culture. We found musk ox at the musk ox farm. Grotesque animals native to the tundra above the arctic circle, they rarely moved in the unbearbale 80-degree summer heat.

On the second evening in Fairbanks, dinner at the Golden Eagle Saloon was served by the bartender who simply handed us slices of ground beef, which we grilled in the corner of the room. Torrential rain fell outside, and the air was musty and filled with the smell of plants I had never known. It was a true Alaskan experience. Well after midnight, restaurants were full and the sky remained an eerie shade of gray-blue.

Heading south the next morning on the Parks Highway, we arrived at the entrance to Denali National Park. To get to our campsite, a 6 hour ride on a school bus awaited us. The 80-mile ride took us through one of the scariest roads I had travelled. Along 3000 foot high ridges with no guardrails, we saw just about every form of wildlife in the book: bears, sheep, caribou, moose, foxes, loons, and golden eagles. From pine covered mountains to icy tundra, it was amazing how many landscapes we passed in so little time. The temperature gradients were particularly amusing: almost 90 degrees in Fairbanks to just under 50 several hours later in the park.

That night, we camped at the Wonder Lake campsite, 30 miles from Mt. McKinley. Unfortunately, the clouds once again kept the mountain in disguise, but we were happy to just hike under the midnight sun. One of the best moments of the trip came with a flock of ducks flying above Wonder Lake. The wilderness was disturbingly quiet, and we could hear the wings of the ducks several hundred feet away as if they were almost touching us. That night, I was pleased to report I was not attacked by a bear in my sleep.

Back in civilization, we drove south to Talkeetna, where we spent two nights in small-town Alaska. A chilly 4-hour rafting trip included no less than 10 bald eagles, and several elderly women who were overly concerned with the speed of the river current. After several excellent meals and a hot tub with a mountain view, we drove on to Anchorage, where we spent a final evening drinking martinis until the wee hours.

September 2002, Los Angeles to Seattle on the Coast Starlight

After travelling Europe and Alaska on the rails, I've grown to appreciate travelling by train. I know that long-distance driving will always be my least favorite way of 'getting there'. Watching the country pass by with a glass of wine in my hand and my feet up sounds much better, so in September of 2002 I took my first multi-day train trip in the U.S. The Los Angeles to Seattle route aboard Amtrak's Coast Starlight is deemed by most to be Amtrak's best journey in service, and second in scenery only to the California Zephyr. It is the only route in the country with a separate first-class lounge car, including anemities like wine tasting and a library. My only warning about the long distance trains is this: Unless you've chosen a train because you're afraid to fly, spend the extra money for a sleeper car. It's the difference between a sleepless white-trash journey, and an immensely enjoyable holiday.

Los Angeles The journey started in Los Angeles, where my friend Alex and I had flown to the day before. L.A. is my hell, I love going there simply because it makes me so happy I live in Chicago. I don't understand Californians: Inching their SUVs through urban smog that would make any third-world visitor gasp, exercising inside air conditioned gyms on gorgeous days, and mistaking prosperity for quality of life. I visit at least once a year, and have a great time, but am always ready to leave. Approaching LAX, the stunning city skyline appears. Getting around L.A. L.A. has done an interesting job with its public transit. Three train lines span the city, providing an efficient 90+ minute journey from LAX to Hollywood. Why on Earth would anyone want to spend only 20 minutes in a car making the same journey? The photo is of the Hollywood/ Vine station at Rush hour on Thursday morning. Bustling. The Coast The Coast Starlight set out of Union Station on time at exactly 10:00am Thursday. We had purchased a standard bedroom, to which we were shown by Mo, our car attendant. The train spent the first two hours working its way out of the L.A. area, which was undoubtedly the least scenic portion of the trip. Shortly before reaching Santa Barbara we hit the incredible coastline we would hug for the next several hours. Vandenburg One of the nicest aspects of the trip is the portion of coastline which runs through Vandenburg Air Force Base. There are only two ways to get to this huge stretch of coastline: 1) be in the Air Force or 2) take this train. We did manage to spot a dolphin during lunch. Parlour Car The only disappointment of the trip was the absence of the Pacific Parlour car. This first-class lounge car was out of service on our run, having been replaced with a second Superliner Viewing Car, reserved for first class passengers. The free snacks, movies, and wine tastings remained, but those comfy chairs would have been nice. Alex poses in the Superliner Viewing Car. The Train Leaving the coastline, a 25 minute stop in San Luis Obispo gave us an opportunity to leave the train and wander. A walkway above the platform gave the best opportunity to photograph the train. From back to front, the train was composed of 3 coach cars, a coach viewing car, the dining car, the first class viewing car, 3 sleeper cars, the staff sleeper car, the baggage cars, and 2 Genesis locomotives. Red Land North of San Luis Obispo we found ourselves travelling though hilly landscape spotted with deer and acres of red/yellow succulent plants. It was an impressive landscape unlike anything I had ever seen before. The track included the impressive 'Horseshoe', a 270 degree turn in which the entire train is visible. Farmland As the land flattened out, we entered several hours worth of rich farmland. Lettuce, artichokes, and other greens we the most dominant crops, but the occasional berries, grapes, and corn kept the view unpredictable. Passing near Monterrey we met the coast again briefly. Last year, I spotted nearly 50 seals while taking this train from San Francisco to L.A. None this year unfortunately. Sunset The perfect sunset came shortly before our arrival in San Jose. I was able to catch only a glimpse of the San Francisco skyline as we departed Oakland about an hour later. It was bedtime as we arrived in Emeryville. Sunrise When I woke up, I honestly thought the light from the window was the city lights of Bay area, and that I had not yet made it to sleep. I was stunned to find that I had just slept nearly 9 hours. Looking out the window gave me a rush of emotion that was worth the price of the ticket alone. We were in the middle of the Cascade Mountains. It was an intense feeling, try it and you'll agree. Oregon We spent the better part of the daylight hours of the second day passing through Oregon. It was one incredible vista after another. With the meals included in the train fare, the agenda for the day went something like: eat, look out the window, eat, look, drink wine, then eat more. Autumn Autumn arrived at 4 o'clock in Northern Oregon as we found ourselves passing through tunnel and after within hilly forests of yellow and orange Aspen trees. Seattle Passing Portland at sunset, we traversed Washington just as we had Oregon, along the waterfront. Sadly, it was too dark to capture the beauty in the night sky, even though the landscape was clearly visibly as the moon illuminated the clear sky. We arrived in Seattle roughly two hours behind schedule, I really couldn't care. I'll admit that on-time arrivals aren't Amtrak's strong point, but few were on this journey to make good time. Apart from some loopy waiters, the onboard service was quite good, and I'm definitly looking forward to my next cross-country journey.

Send me an e-mail at 'curtis' at (this domain)

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October, 2002