Riding for a Reason Tanqueray AIDS Ride isn't for Cyclists, it's for Consciousness-Raisers By Lisa Petraitis

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The Hothouse Flowers CD Songs From the Rain had been in my collection since its 1993 release. I'd been a fan of the band since word of the Dublin quintet first hit the U.S. in 1989. I found it impossible to resist the pull of the band's vibrant Celtic-flared pop and upbeat themes celebrating and reflecting on life and love. Little did I know that almost three years after my first listen to Songs From the Rain , the disc's seventh track, "A Thing of Beauty" would hold such a special meaning for me.

One Saturday afternoon in March my friend Rebecca sat down at my kitchen table, opened a newspaper and got a great idea. "Lisa, look at this," she said, turning the paper my way. "Do you want to do this bike ride for AIDS?"

The full page ad detailed the first "Twin Cities to Chicago AIDS Ride Presented by Tanqueray." The event was to benefit six AIDS service organizations in the Chicago area. The Ride organizers aimed to recruit 1,500 riders to raise AIDS awareness by pedaling more than 450 miles between the two cities over a six-day span in July.

The previous summer I had rediscovered bike riding with the help of a brand new 21-speed cross bike. In no time I was an avid cyclist, working myself up to the intermediate level by fall. I would take to the city streets for a 20-mile tour four times a week in what began as a tiring, grueling task but soon became an invigorating jaunt. Those 80 miles I pedaled weekly made me feel like I was getting the serious workout I wanted. But the idea of 450 miles -- an average of 75 miles a day for six straight days -- sounded like it was just too much. Images of myself lying on a stretcher with an oxygen mask came to mind.

"Ride my bike from Minneapolis to Chicago? You've got to be out of your head!" I shrieked and left the newspaper alone.

All of the impossibilities about doing The Ride flooded my mind.

"There's absolutely no way I could ride the distance," I said, dead set against the idea. "The pledge minimum has to be a huge amount. I don't have the energy to fund raise. I don't know where I'll be professionally in July -- what if I can't get the time off? How would we transport our gear? Where would we stay at night? What if it rains? Who's going to take care of my dog?"

"Oh, you could do it," my friend said assuredly and waited for my response.

She was right, I suddenly realized. My string of reasons not to do The Ride were merely excuses. After all, if 1,499 other people would be doing it, I could do it too. Still, I resisted. "That's too crazy for me."

Rebecca suggested I just call up and look into attending an orientation. I wavered, but finally decided it couldn't hurt to go to the meeting.

The ad helped convince me. It moved me to tears when I read it. As I read along, I thought of friends and acquaintances living with HIV. They are all beautiful, talented people whose premature departures will leave a void in so many lives. Knowing there are so many like them, I had to do the ride. But still, I was scared and very uncertain of my abilities.

The night of the meeting was a frigid one. Why am I out here when I don't have to be? I wondered as a descended the L stairs. Why am I sacrificing my own personal comfort? I felt right in feeling selfish, but that sentiment would soon change.

Kevin Honeycutt, The Ride's Executive Director, was to lead the orientation. Honeycutt asked who among the 50 or so of us had ridden our bikes to the meeting. I thought he must be joking -- walking in the cold was awful enough, riding in it would surely be cruel.

Honeycutt spoke briefly on the development of the U.S. Tanqueray AIDS Rides since its inception in 1994. The Twin Cities to Chicago trip would be the fifth route. He then cued up a short videotape of the previous year's Boston to New York Ride to offer a glimpse of The Ride and rider motivation.

Immediately, I identified the music, "A Thing of Beauty" by Hothouse Flowers. The song is one with a memorable intro, and its harmonies and charging rhythms were perfect for the scenes of riders battling on through the rain and coasting into victory.

Honeycutt told us the reality of the client-to-service organization ratio, the lack of funds and the overall need to raise the level of HIV/AIDS awareness. He asked us to commit to the cause.

"A Thing of Beauty" stuck in my mind the whole way home. Its upbeat vibe fueled my excitement. When I was home I pulled the CD jacket to Songs From the Rain to have a look at the lyrics. The first verse seemed completely in tune with the day: "Look out your window on a winter's morning/ Your breath is steam and there's frost falling/ And the sun casts a spell upon the road/ A thing of beauty is not a thing to ignore." But the following lines really hit me: "Stand by the river on a moonlight evening/ Lovers are loving and grievers are grieving/ And the water does a dance upon the stones /I said I'd listen, I will not ignore/ A thing of beauty is not to ignored." The words moved me. This song that was the theme song for The Ride would become my theme song as well.

In the three short months I had to prepare mentally and physically for The Ride, everything fell into place. It wasn't always easy. A 50-mile training ride through the North Shore -- a far more challenging route than the city streets I was accustomed to -- was at first a brutal experience. And the attitudes I encountered in fund raising ranged from kind and overwhelmingly generous to startlingly ignorant, selfish and impenetrable. But nothing could stop me.

The six days of The Ride turned into one of the greatest experiences of my life. Our mobile tent-city provided all we needed: hot meals, showers, medical aid, bike service and security, gear distribution, evening entertainment, and an enthusiastic volunteer crew and staff of more than 250 individuals. The incredibly positive sense of community was a charge in itself. We knew we were all in this together.

Most of the days were long and hot, and with Wisconsin's very hilly terrain, there were some tough stretches. But that live-wire of positive energy kept me going.

After pedaling say 60 miles under the blazing sun, finding myself alone on a two-lane road, with nothing but sprouting cornfields on either side of me and endless, endless road ahead, I would sometimes get a little discouraged. But then, from out of nowhere, a fellow rider would come up alongside me with a word of encouragement, an offer of water or a quip to make me smile and I'd regain my focus. If I would pull off the road, offers of assistance would come immediately from passing riders and the crew patrolling the route.

Even the children who lived near our campsites came out and stood curbside, high-fiving us and spraying us down with water guns. Their cheers made entering the home gate even sweeter.

The lyrics from "A Thing of Beauty" often drifted into my mind as I rode: "Face up to morning/ Face up to day/ Face up to reality /And face up to your ways/ There's so much to breathe, see, know, understand, and do/ I believe in a thing of beauty/ Do you?"

During dinner, The Ride's Executive Producer Dan Pallotta delivered the "Ride Witness News," a recap of the day's events of funny, alarming, and emotional stories. On our last night at camp, Pallotta took a few moments to express his hopes of seeing an end to the AIDS epidemic within five years time.

At first, I found his dream too enormous to harness. Then I realized by not believing in his vision I was falling into the very same narrow minded trap I was working to fight. I was sitting amongst a small but powerful army. What we had thus far accomplished was astounding -- further efforts could be staggering. Lofty idealism? Not at all. Just hard, worthwhile work.

As the hundreds of cyclists filed out of the gathering area during the closing ceremonies, Pallotta made his way into the crowd. As he walked by me, I reached out to shake his hand, "Way to go, Dan!" My only regret was that I was unable to free one of the roses from a bouquet given to me by my friends to give to him. After all, "a thing of beauty" is also meant to be shared. I hope to have one ready for him next time.