6 — OUT IN THE MOUNTAINS

— Auaus1' 1999

  

“Are we on the right road,
Molly?”

“I think so, Andrew.”

“What do you think, Kenn?”

“It’s really hot, and I’m
thirsty.”

And so we continued to ride
down Basin Harbor Road. All
three of us, biking in the wrong
direction.

Each person or small group
was riding a different journey —
sometimes, traveling the wrong
way or just backwards from
everyone else; at other times, feel-
ing confused with little or no
sense of belonging to the larger
group; toward the end, some phys-
ically unable to continue.

In these ways, the first
Vennont CARES Champ Ride
was a true testament to the strug-
gles with poor education, disease
and loss experienced in the AIDS
epidemic.

Personally, I laughed, sang,
cried, bitched and moaned myself

through the rolling green hills. I
felt as if the hot tar and gas fumes
didn’t kill me, the grit off the dirt
roads in my mouth might. What
the hell was I doing out here? Are
we lost?! Where are we? Are you
sure you read the map right? Hot,
instant fire lifted off the ground,
blazing a new trail up to the sun.
Scorched and blackened grains of
sand and stone scattered in all
directions.

Gears shifted the second I
glimpsed the farmland being tend-
ed by the plows and tedders pulled
through the fields, happy to see
John Deeres and Internationals
roll alongside and underneath the
birds’ wings, white clouds, and
weathered barn boards yawning
stretched out between the Green
Mountains and Adirondacks.

A ride close to home complete
with homemade maple walnut
cookies — a little touch from the
heart, baked by Champ Ride com-
mittee member Jen Cirillo — made

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UT IN THE MOUNTAIN

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the Champ Ride seem like so
many of the longtime traditions I
took part in growing up in rural
Vennont.

Cascading heat threshed my
backside; sweat trickled, then
dripped off my brow, neck, shoul-
ders, arms, chest, legs. I harbored
my effort to continue toward the
next bit of shadow from this and
that tree along the side of this or
that road. My perspiration trailed
off toward the lake, tracing back
from the reservoir of strength and
good memories born in times of
similar efforts in the dance stu-
dios. Dancers and dead teachers,
to whom I owe my abilities to
accomplish such a challenge,
flooded my thoughts, reminding
me to use my body wisely. Breath.
Relax your spine.

Maybe once in my life, before
training for this ride, I had ridden
a bicycle eight miles. Surely, Idid
not just decide to ride because I
love to bike. I did not truly know
what biking was before my jour-
ney into this began. I didn’t ride
for Vermont CARES or myself;
my ride was for my friendsgl rode
because I am still alive and well;
even if I hurt, I am strong and
capable. And even if I burnt beet-
red from the sun, I felt the grati-
tude that my own body gave me
for helping an unnamed friend.

I helped to raise money for
Vermont Cares. I did not have to
spend a lot of time finding
pledges; I raised close to $500 in
less than a 24-hour period.
Andrew Huff of Burlington had to
explain what he was doing and
what Vermont CARES was to
every person that pledged him
money for the ride. By educating
people about CARES, he volun-
teered his time to do more than,
ride in the event. He raised aware-
ness of a local organization that
provides direct outreach to the
people of our state -unlike any
other program in Vermont.

Of course, none of this is to say
that after 50 miles on a #*$% hot
day, I was not exhausted and
cranky to have to still go up hills.
There I was, Mount Philo, the last
rest stop, or SAG, as it was called,

Illlllll

 cEw  

More than 80 bike riders raised over $10, 000 to benefit Vermont

CARES in the first annual Champ Ride on June 12, I999.

briefly sagging a little bit myself.
Forget the finish line, the 57.40
mile odyssey had been so long
already. I nearly felt we were well
on the way to another planet!

Furthermore, Molly O’Neil'

and I had already lost our friend
Andrew on the way back through
North Fenisburgh. If it had not
been for Molly, at that point I, too,
might have bagged the rest of the
trip. After all, I had already ridden
the 50 miles I originally promised
to ride. We had come such a long
way that it just didn’t seem fair to
have to go more than what I’d pre-
pared and trained myself to under-
take. I was pissed. I was tired. I
was picking up my bike from the
ground to follow my riding part-
ner Molly up the next hill. So
much for resting.

But through our pains, this
first-ever ride raised more than
$10,000, and only 20 percent went
to event costs, compared with
overheads of up to 80 percent for
other rides. The net was more than
double the anticipated amount, and
all of it goes to direct service to the
community 4 none for administra-

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tion. That says a lot to me about the
integrity of this event.

Finances aside, there was love in
this ride. I remember huffing and
puffing my way up the hill into
Vergennes when who did I see at
the top but my fiiend, Jen Miller.
Surprise, surprise, hugs and kisses
and I was ready to continue. Kirsten
Isgro was happy to be greeted with
enthusiasm at the end, even though
she and her partner were some of
the last riders to finish. Similarly,
Andrew Huff could not finish his
ride because of a knee problem. Yet
he was touched and impressed that
he too received hugs, kisses, and
veggie burgers after he arrived back
from the road in the van. “I’ll do the
ride again next year,” he insisted:
There is no doubt in my mind that
this will be a proud tradition, in
which everyone who understands
why we rode those many miles will
return again.V

Kenn Noseck looks forward to
next year is ride, when 50 miles will
be 50 miles, the routes will be
marked more clearly, and he,
Molly, and A ndrew will benefitfrom
better maps.

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