2024 AIDS Ride Dedication

I’m dedicating my 2024 HIV/AIDS ride to two VIP supporters, Sam Granato and Alma Davis. 

Sam has continually been a quiet yet mighty advocate for social justice, primarily in the field of child welfare. None more important than the welfare of his children – all 7 of them, including me. Dad was the first to know of Bret’s AIDS diagnosis when called to escort him home from a Tokyo hospital without disclosing his condition, thus breaking the law of both countries at the time. Dad and his wife, Sharon, nursed Bret from that initial brush with death and kept the secret that was Bret’s to tell in his time. Supportive of his eldest son to the end and beyond, Dad became and remains a founding member of my ride support team. 

Crew Mama Alma & her daughters

Alma took ride support to the next level when she signed on to crew the inaugural Alaska AIDS Vaccine Ride in 2000. An Alaska resident at the time, she was well-suited to hosting exhausted, hurt and/or freezing cyclists needing a warm motorcoach ride to camp. “Crew Mama Alma” handed out Tootsie Pops, read aloud raunchy Alaskan tales, spread encouragement, and shared her gratitude for 7 days across that state; then she signed up to do it again in 2001! Did I mention she slept in a tent every night right along with the rest of us? A renown quilter, Alma also made 3 different quilts donated to ride fundraisers and established my base of Alaska donors. Alma was always proud of her own 5 children and easily took on as many more as needed a mother’s love. Mom was my biggest fan in all things and #1 contributor on my ride team every single time. 

Mom and Dad had both been in failing health and coincidently passed away within days of each other at the start of this year. Amid the shock, we siblings teased that it was Bret’s turn now; bet he’s surprised! But then, surely all three are delighted to be reunited again. When I see those 3 empty chairs on Day 1 of this year’s AIDS Vaccine Ride route, my mind will be on the people in my life to whom this ride meant the most and our mutual dedication to those whose families should have more time together in this life.

Pack the Bike and Carry On!

It's my habit to register for a ride by World AIDS Day on December 1, as a show of my commitment to bring an end to the AIDS pandemic. Soon after, you hear from me fairly often with the latest research news advancing that shared goal and multiple requests for your own ongoing support. 2024 rolled out a little differently this year, throwing me into what I can best describe as a state of suspended animation. I'm told it's normal when a parent dies, let alone both parents within weeks of each other. I'm doing my best not to rush the process and remain grateful for all the grace bestowed on me along the way. Now the calendar has rolled on, airline and ride posts have started their countdown. It's time to pack the bike and carry on! The heavenly throng of witnesses has grown and far too many arrived there too soon. Let's move forward together, doing our part to remind our family, friends and neighbors that AIDS is not through with us yet, that HIV may be slowed but isn't going anywhere fast enough; that we are still on a mission to make AIDS history!

Pandemic Needs

 First published, not published, in mid-March 2023

“So grateful for vaccines. So grateful for vaccines!”

My running mantra the entire 8 days of my recent COVID quarantine. This first-timer spent a lot of time on the couch, getting little done yet deeply grateful that every vaccine and booster did its job, kept me from feeling so much worse and now fully recovered. Coincidently, my 85-year-old mother and 25% of residents and staff at her assisted living home were going through the same. So grateful for vaccines!

I was prepared to get COVID one day. I wasn’t prepared for how easily my brain substituted “HIV” with every test result and my vaccine gratitude. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise given my near constant appeals for HIV vaccine funding over the last 3 decades. It was humbling, just the same.

Yes, I’m peddling HIV/AIDS vaccine research progress at Emory Vaccine Center. Yes, I ask for your donation to keep that research pressing on to the same success EVC contributed to COVID vaccines. And yes, I’ll pedal my bike this May in Action Cycling Atlanta’s AIDS Vaccine 200 cycling event. In its 20^th anniversary year, participants will press on to bring attention to a need still with us, a virus that still kills at pandemic proportions despite much-welcome advances in treatment and prevention strategies. COVID put a crimp in my training schedule but boosted determination to make my COVID mantra relevant for a world affected and at risk for HIV/AIDS.

Leave No One Behind

Walked bleary-eyed through Sea-Tac airport at 4:30 this morning, spotted this poster, stopped in my tracks and smiled.

For a split second I thought I was dreaming of a time when AIDS was the spotlight pandemic in the news, on the lips of celebrities and forced onto politic agendas. When AIDS essentially wiped out an entire generation of income-earners, leaving elderly parents to raise their orphaned grandchildren and too many adult children to die alone, discarded by fearful or ashamed family and friends. 40 years of tenacious advocacy, research, trial and error have yielded amazing results that do make me smile, big. 

Yet you know me so you know it's not enough. I'm a finisher. If a goal is worthy of my time, I'll hit the impossible deadline, take on extra work, publicly share my vulnerabilities, cycle across high bridges and ride in the snow/ hurricane/heatwave. Most challenging of all, I'll ask for your support because I can't do it alone. I'm so grateful for knights like Sir Elton who feel the same way.

"We will not leave anyone behind." - motto of the Elton John AIDS Foundation

The Elton John AIDS Foundation has raised $450 million toward ending the pandemic of HIV/AIDS. It's not enough. My cycling team, the Puget Sound Riders have collectively raised $700,000. I've met hundreds who work hard to raise a few hundred dollars and thousands more who selflessly contribute what they can. Every penny gets us closer to that goal of assuring HIV/AIDS is left in the rear-view once and for ALL.

World AIDS Day is December 1, every year. Take a moment on this day to join the finishers with your contribution to my 2023 AIDS Vaccine 200 or the fundraiser of your choice. We're out there, still committed to making AIDS history. 

Reflections in Gratitude - 2022 AV200 Epilogue

 THANK YOU!

The impact of your generosity to rid the world of HIV/AIDS is more evident than you might imagine. When I experience that impact, I wish you could hear it with my ears and see it with my eyes because I struggle to do it justice in the retelling though I will certainly try.

The Puget Sound Riders last travelled to Atlanta for the AIDS Vaccine 200 in 2019. We’d kept in touch and participated virtually through the COVID years but the time away had its influence on the ride and its participants. Only half of our usual team foursome was available to travel this year, had done very little road training and knew we’d struggle to finish each 100-mile day; we also knew that wasn’t our main objective. You gave. Steady donors and newcomers, family, friends, former teammates, and strangers gave like never before and kept giving through the weeks following our May event. So far, you’ve contributed to more than $140,000 for HIV/AID research at Emory Vaccine Center this year. Congratulations and thank you!

The roughly 150 people that gathered at Emory University for the 2022 AIDS Vaccine 200 were a humbler lot with far fewer strong racers and more relay participants. The tone had mellowed somewhere in the fog of a new pandemic that brought on reflections of the pandemic we still fight to live through; some have fought it a very long time. It’s now 27 years since the deaths of my brother, Bret, and my teammate Mary’s brother, Peter, and 25 years since Mary and I discovered that fact when we met on the start line of our very first cycling event to end AIDS. I think we knew then that our brothers had unfinished business with this virus, and we’d found a way to carry on their work.

Bret never knew he had HIV. In the 80s, people hardly understood or could agree how the virus was transmitted. Bret was diagnosed on what should have been his deathbed in a Tokyo hospital; his HIV had already progressed to AIDS and he was lucky to survive that illness. By the kindness of his doctors, Bret able to slip out of Japan and sneak back into America since it was illegal to be in one and cross into the other with HIV. COVID travel restrictions brought those memories flooding back. Remember how anxious people were to get COVID travel restrictions lifted? The United States was one of the last developed countries in 2010 to lift its travel ban on those testing positive for HIV from entering the US. The ban had been in effect for 22 years.

Bret and I had an uncomfortable but necessary conversation about his final wishes at an airport fast food table in the middle of the night on our way to DC. Bret knew he was living on borrowed time and volunteered for every treatment trial available from a desire to help others and desperately wanted to donate his entire body to medical study at his alma mater, the University of Washington; they turned him down. He was devastated. The week after Bret died, I took a big box of leftover pills to his doctor, prepared to plead with him to give the drugs to someone who couldn’t afford them. Dr. Shalit gratefully accepted the pricey pills and did just that. A person infected with HIV today must remain diligent with their healthcare but can now count their daily medication regimen on one hand instead of by the handful.

The infrastructure built to study HIV, from the lab to global human trials is now highly regarded and utilized in collaborative health studies of many kinds – immunology, cancer, healthcare delivery and public policy to name a few. Last week I met the local bakery owner whose day job is scientific research on genetic variants that alter immune response and lead to an auto-immune disease. She admitted that as much as we all want HIV eradicated, her work is made easier by testing theories on the more dynamic HIV than on any other virus that attacks the immune system. The Emory Vaccine Center took pride in their contributions to the rapid development of COVID vaccines. Today’s message on how to recognize and avoid the spread of monkeypox is being delivered over communication channels that weren’t available 30 years ago and to ears that are now more accustomed to listening.

Bret didn’t want people to know he had AIDS because it would cause them to jump to the conclusion that he was gay - a social death sentence. Last month I made a trip to walk among the largest display of the AIDS Memorial Quilt in San Francisco history. Each of the 3,000 panels held the name of someone who died of HIV/AIDS; each told a story of a person who was loved, celebrated and missed. I made my way to a tent at the far end which was accepting new panels to be stitched into the quilt which now includes more than 50,000 individually sewn panels and 110,000 names. The back of the area was set up with several tables, scissors, needle, thread and piles of fabric panels – newly completed additions, starter background pieces for those wanting to get started and unfinished panels for volunteers to lovingly complete. A couple of those were laid out on tables surrounded by people who felt compelled to sit and stitch a while. I joined them. It was a mostly contemplative exercise periodically broken by someone lifting a memory, a sorrow, a hope. In the background was a steady flow of people in their 60s and 70s with an armful of fabric admitting something like “He needs to be included but I just couldn’t finish it”. We took the bundle from one person, laid it out on the table and 4 of us helped her finish the square in time for the formal
donation ceremony. In doing so, we learned about “Bear”, her friend and castmate

panel for Bear

in 80s Broadway musicals. We laughed, sang and could feel Bear honored by her design and testimony to his talent and friendship. Another story was told of a couple very interested in honoring their son with a panel until it was explained that the purpose of the quilt was to display to future generations that “never again will a community be harmed because of fear, silence, discrimination, or stigma”. The couple was too afraid of how their own generation would react to knowing their son had died of HIV/AIDS. They returned later that afternoon and asked for a starter panel.

Serendipitous meetup w/Chad & Toby, ride mate, donor, friend

My mother was a master quilter. She made each of her children and grandchildren at least one quilt. I have Bret’s quilt of beautiful blues interspersed with masses of big-eyed frogs reminiscent of the ones he drew as a child. My family never made an AIDS quilt panel for Bret. Not because we were ashamed to display his name in that way but (this is my guess) because Bret didn’t want that. I think he’d feel differently now. It’s hard for me to imagine exactly how Bret would have responded to the evolving acceptance of his unconventional lifestyle. I do know he would be happier, less afraid and not have to travel so far to feel safe and accepted.

I’ve been honored to witness the results of your generous support over the past 25 years. Our progress is real and should be celebrated, yet our grasp on it remains tenuous. AIDS is not cured, HIV is still considered a global pandemic and hard-won laws can be too easily set aside, yet I remain hopeful every time I look back and see how far we have come. Maybe it’s time Bret had a quilt panel.

P.S. Happy birthday, Bret 

How Are You?

 No really, how ARE you?

Can anyone honestly claim to have avoided the trauma of COVID-19, only to be eclipsed by a modern-day world war? For me, the last 2 years put all previous ones in a whole new light, and ultimately that has been good, and necessary. Life carried on, bringing with it many unexpected twists and turns. Important constants rose to the surface; constants that make me whole, bring me joy and give me purpose in these unpredictable circumstances. One of those constants is bringing an end to that other pandemic; the one that has no vaccine or cure. HIV.

I’ll admit my immediate reaction to news of a global pandemic, daily body counts and the global race to make an effective vaccine raised a little resentment. Where was all this media, compassion and urgency when HIV was eradicating entire generations? Oh right, HIV was spread by unacceptable behaviors. No judgment there #sarcasm. The feeling was fleeting.

An important lesson learned in my decades-long endeavor to end HIV/AIDS is to seek out the progress, however small, and rejoice in each one. That skill pulled me quickly off that pity pot as soon as the world was reintroduced to Dr. Anthony Fauci, a personal hero of mine for his early and tenacious contributions to end HIV/AIDS. At that moment I was confident the research of past decades, research to which you and I contribute on a regular basis, would save the day.

Soon to follow were public messages from researchers and docs I’ve come to know through the AIDS Vaccine 200 and its Emory Vaccine Center beneficiary. Emory’s Dr. Carlos Del Rio most recently spoke on the effect of COVID-19 on children. Dr. Mark Mulligan ran the Emory Hope Clinic and forged strong ties with the global HVTN (HIV Vaccine Trials Network) in his 30+ years running vaccine trials and was tapped to expedite global COVID-19 vaccine trials from his latest post at NYU. The last time we traveled to Atlanta, Dr. Steven Bosinger gave our PSR team an enthusiastic tour of his genomics lab and the new “toaster-size” device that can genetically map thousands of samples in about the time it takes to toast bread - massively faster than past methods. That method, used to investigate HIV’s unpredictable behavior in various populations, was quickly applied to COVID-19. The list goes on.

An HIV vaccine may remain elusive but the research is saving lives in new ways. What is learned from this new deadly virus may well hold the key to ending old ones, like HIV. 

 “An HIV vaccine is one of the holy grails. I’ve often said I can’t retire until we have one.” - Dr. Mark Mulligan, personally heard many times and quoted on his NYU bio 

This weekend I’m thrilled to return to Emory University for the AIDS Vaccine 200. My excitement isn’t so much for the pedaling - 200 miles is a long way and I could be in better cycling shape - but for the chance to personally thank these tenacious researchers, hear their stories of the last two years and experience their enthusiasm for the progress to come. Please join me with your donation right here! Every contribution is a meaningful one that I pray gives you a sense of accomplishment and ignites hope. It is good, and necessary.

Spring Training Begins!

 

The Bridge Between Gratitude and Hope

Thank you. Thank you for acknowledging the power of a virus to ravage lives. Thank you for extending compassion to every human being, protecting yourself and those around you. Thanks for seeking the truth from experts, asking questions and sharing facts to squelch fear. Thank you for supporting the research, medicine, clinics and care workers committed to prevention, treatment and easing pain. Thanks for giving, and giving, and giving again. 

Decades of tenacious attention to ending HIV/AIDS supplies an arsenal of practices for fighting viral enemies like COVID-19 and fuels the spirit of hope for which I’m most grateful on this bridge between Thanksgiving and World AIDS Day. Thank you for feeding hope on this journey.

Emory Vaccine Center thanks 2021 donors

Action Cycling Atlanta brings back their 2-day AIDS Vaccine 200 for 2022 and the Puget Sound Riders will return to take on the 200-mile weekend in Atlanta. Please join us with your bike or your spirit, your dollars and your tenacious attention to ending HIV/AIDS.

Thank you

Many Roads - One Journey

A year of options on the same journey. 100% of your donation makes a difference in making AIDS history. You decide how.

You know the drill. Coronavirus 2019, aka COVID-19, alters yet another planned event and cancellation is not an option. Take that tenacity, inject some creativity and the 2021 AIDS Vaccine 200 carries on, more accessible than ever.  

No doubt you haven't missed the irony of a new deadly virus leading to a pandemic in desperate need of a vaccine. Sadly, it won't be the last. But did you ever imagine that every ounce of generosity you've directed to Emory HIV/AIDS vaccine research would bring us a COVID-19 vaccine at record speed? It's true! Take a minute to bask in that unexpected and wildly welcome success.

At the January AV200 2021 kick-off party, via Zoom of course, two of our most prominent Emory Vaccine Center HIV/AIDS researchers, Dr. Rama Amara and Dr. Steven Bosinger (aka Mario) enthusiastically shared Emory contributions to COVID vaccine readiness: expertise in immune system response and memory, virus blockers to halt replication or lessen its impact on the body, test methods and a massive global human vaccine testing infrastructure. And their contributions continue.

Those two researchers and their colleagues are more than AV200 beneficiaries; they are part of the community. They are family. So the inevitable question wasn't unexpected - How could the COVID vaccine be produced so quickly yet we're still waiting for an HIV vaccine? We already knew the answer and do not doubt that HIV/AIDS vaccine research at Emory has ever taken a backseat to fighting COVID, SARS, Ebola or any other globally infectious disease. Quite the opposite. The broad stroke required to achieve monumental progress against the brutally nasty Human Immunodeficiency Virus is the backbone on which other, more amateur viruses have been tamed. Yet Rama and Steven heard our hearts' speak and added theirs as well. It's important to celebrate the wins along the way, because the road is long and we will not falter; we will prevail.

2020 was an especially hard year for literally everyone in the world. As we work our way back to some sense of normalcy, we are mindful of those still struggling. I want your contribution and recognize such a gift can come in many forms, each one welcome on this road to making AIDS history. Your prayers and kind words are as motivating as your dollars. If you're able to make a financial contribution, this year you have a choice as to how to direct 100% of all you give. Click Option 1 or 2 to navigate directly to my donation page for each choice.

Option 100% - Direct 100% to HIV/AIDS vaccine research at Emory Vaccine Center 

Option 2-way split - Split your donation 50-50 between vaccine research and 5 AIDS service organizations serving the greater Atlanta area. These ASOs took a financial beating in 2020 and Action Cycling Atlanta chose to include them more broadly with our 2021 ride. Do take the time to read about their good works whether or not you choose this option. If you live in another state, I encourage you to seek out ASOs near you and help them out too. We're all in this together - for the long haul!

Viruses and vaccines. Who knew we'd get more deeply personal practice. I hope what we've learned together along the way has made this round a bit easier to navigate. Stay well. Stay strong.

The 2021 AIDS Vaccine 200 ride begins tomorrow with 8 rides over 8 weeks. I'll be pedaling this new variation in a variety of ways. Follow along, come on out and pedal with me! Let's have some fun, making AIDS history!

Thank you.

 

World AIDS Day Reflections on Why

Prologue

COVID-19 cancelled the 2020 AIDS Vaccine 200 but it did nothing to halt your generosity or its impact on the progression of vaccine development. Even without an event, you gave in a big way. Donations to the Emory Vaccine Center by way of the Puget Sound Riders contributed more than $5,600 of the $46,000 raised this year for HIV/AIDS vaccine research. The steady input of support and tenacious research on this fatal, mutating virus that presents in many ways around the globe contributed to the rapid development, testing and delivery of coronavirus vaccines and provide ongoing feedback to bring us ever closer to an AIDS-free world. Thank you!

AIDS? Isn’t that pandemic over? Why gather for an event when a check will do? Simple. The AIDS pandemic is not over, and it will take more than money to end it. True, I’d get excited over a big $$$$$ gift though am keenly aware of the catalyst of raising awareness in a personal way. With HIV/AIDS long out of the headlines, a remarkably high number of people believe AIDS has been cured or that a vaccine is already available. Neither is true. Prevention and treatments have substantially advanced, but their reach is limited by accessibility to healthcare, cost, and cultural stigma. Would you get tested if it meant losing your job? How effective is a monthly treatment if you have inconsistent or no health insurance? And yes, it remains sadly easy to run into deeply held beliefs that HIV is a deserved punishment for immoral behavior.

I’m a straight, white, Christian woman, long past her athletic prime who makes for a curious sight in an AIDS jersey and spandex, cycling through the countryside, buying a Gatorade at your convenience store, pausing to rest at your sports park or changing a flat tire at the end of your driveway. I meet your curiosity (or acknowledge your contempt) with an approachable smile that invites your question and returns a truthful answer before riding on. Multiply several such encounters by a few hundred participants over the course of a 2-day event and it’s bound to make a community more aware of and curious about the current state of HIV/AIDS on the world, to vote, give and care accordingly. 

That is why I ride and remain ever grateful for your ongoing curiosity and support. I’m registered to ride in the 2021 AIDS Vaccine Ride and whether or not I make it to Georgia, I commit to continue fundraising for HIV/AIDS vaccine and cure research at Emory Vaccine Center and riding through the countryside in my AIDS jersey, now with a matching red ribbon face mask.

Puget Sound Riders join the #AV200WorldAIDSDay ride

2020 AIDS Vaccine Ride detour

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds" but another pandemic can certainly try! As you likely guessed, the 2020 AIDS Vaccine 200 has been cancelled in light of the COVID-19 pandemic. No road training, bike packing or wondering what the weather will throw our way this year. Like the rest of you, our usual paths have been altered by this new deadly virus and I pray you and your loved ones have managed to stay healthy and safe from its grip.

It's been a little scary for those of us with front row seats to the last one but I find comfort in the path we have taken together, bringing hope to the journey of those fighting HIV/AIDS. I knew the nation was in good hands with Dr. Fauci and Dr. Birx were on the Coronavirus Task Force. I knew the same science Emory Vaccine Center applied daily in advancing work to find an HIV vaccine could be applied to this Coronavirus just as it did for Ebola and the Hope Clinic stood ready to conduct human trials. One look at the list of COVID-19 research projects underway at the Emory Vaccine Center gave me comfort to see the names of those whose tenacity with HIV/AIDS work is a comforting inspiration every May - Ahmed, Amara, Bosinger, Altman and more.

Several of you make such a habit of giving to this cause that you did so early and even after likely knowing it would be cancelled. I am grateful for your generosity and trust in Action Cycling Atlanta to ensure every penny is still directed to fighting HIV/AIDS whether or not we ride.

This month marks the 10th year that my Puget Sound Rider co-captain, Mary Harding, and I have brought you along on the AV200. This week also marks 25 years since both Mary and I lost our brothers, Peter and Bret, to HIV/AIDS. Sometime over this ride weekend we'll pause our pedaling and raise a toast to making progress on our "appointed rounds".

Cheers!

Hope for Every Journey

Isolation, uncertainty, fear. The more time spent in this space, the more I gravitate to Daphne. Situated in the very middle of my backyard, the sweet fragrance catches me in my tracks every time, forces me to pause, take a deep breath and replace all that troubles my mind with beauty and joy and
hope. Just for a moment, yet a moment remembered.

The first time Daphne nudged me with her healing power was brought about by another deadly virus, HIV. That April was also a time of fear coupled with many hours of isolating silence spent sitting with Bret as he moved in and out of a coma and the uncertainty of how long each would last or if it was his last. Every trip to Bret’s apartment brought me through the front gate under a lush arbor of Daphne that I hadn’t even noticed until the fragrance caught me off guard and made me stop every time to breathe deep, overcoming my fears with hope for just a moment.

That moment of hope took root in my life as I searched out ways to bring more of it into millions of lives affected by HIV. The journey led me to support healthcare professionals who’d bend the rules to ensure Bret’s leftover, expensive) AZT drugs were not wasted, service organizations that evolved from gentle guidance through the dying process to treatment planning and advocates for workplace policies to meet the unique needs of a life lived longer with HIV. Through it all, scientists and researchers press forward to slowly move a deadly virus to a manageable and ultimately harmless one. Along the way I observed the global scientific community discover the value of cooperation over competition and the efficiency of cross-testing findings from one field into another. The HIV Vaccine Trials Network/HVTN global collaboration of clinics who have played a part in every HIV vaccine trial in humans was founded by the research institute widely known as an innovator in cancer research. The newly branded Fred Hutch now proudly lends its vast knowledge to any and all cures that save lives.

Next month would have been my 10th year cycling through Georgia as a reminder that the HIV pandemic is not yet eradicated and gratefully passing your financial support to HIV/AIDS research conducted at the Emory Vaccine Center. Neighboring the CDC, the EVC is skilled at the nimble shift of resources and learnings from steady progress in immunology against HIV to quickly address the latest threat to global health, be it Ebola or COVID-19. Our cycling event, the AIDS Vaccine 200, was cancelled this year due to the latter though I take comfort in my familiarity with the level of dedication these communities place on our global health and how urgent is their desire to ease the burden of front-line healthcare workers and my confidence in the vast array of HIV/AIDS support organizations to stay the course in the meantime.

I’m not immune to the fear and uncertainty brought on by this latest viral pandemic but the past 25 years have taught me to relax more into the beauty, remember to trust in hope, and breathe in deep. Thanks, Daphne.

This post is dedicated to the memory of lives lost in the early days of viral pandemics, when fear and uncertainty is at its peak, to the brave souls who hold their hands and the constant love of God to bring peace. 

Red Ribbon of Hope

It happens every several years and when it does is usually most needed. Tomorrow is World AIDS Day. For Christians around the world, it is also the first Sunday of Advent, starting a period of growing darkness and hopeful anticipation of the birth of Jesus Christ, bringing light to our dark places, love to overcome our fears and peace to a weary world.

I've mentioned before that Bret wasn't a fan of the red ribbon. To him, it was akin to a scarlet letter putting the shame and stigma of HIV/AIDS on a pedestal. It could be like that then, 25 years ago when fear and lack of information caused teenage hemophiliacs, successful business men, African virgins and suburban housewives, newborn babies, young people finding their way and yes, some who had gone astray were made to feel they deserved the terminal diagnosis of HIV/AIDS. Exacerbated by fear, most were deemed unworthy of love and denied care. Then hope stepped in and hope refused to quit.

What began with an angry, scared and tenacious gay community, joined by brave healthcare professionals and curious scientists, the challenge to name and treat the true culprit grew momentum and made slow, steady progress. Hope was present at the start and has never let go of this battered ribbon of red. Wearing it today is a reminder of the darkness through which we have come thanks to their persistence and announces to the world that we honor the sacrifices of the past and also advocate for the next breakthrough to eradicate the darkness and bring an end to the scourge of AIDS on our world.

This December 1, when World AIDS Day and the season of Advent collide, may that hopeful spark in your heart ignite into energetic action that educates the doubtful, loves unconditionally and acts to bring light to those still in darkness. Then hope wins.

Those Who Serve

Ours is a team rooted in love and dedication to honoring the lives of 3 brothers lost too soon because of HIV/AIDS. In our 20 years together, we’ve come upon many such siblings, in addition to sons, daughters, spouses and friends but Joshua Campbell was the first to refer to us as “sibling survivors”. Joshua became a survivor in 2007 when his brother Jason lost his life in the line of duty with the Greenville NC Police Department. He’s ridden over 1,500 miles in support of families and especially children, whose parents are killed in the line of duty and is equally dedicated to the mission of Action Cycling Atlanta and the AIDS Vaccine 200 beneficiaries. 

In 2018 Joshua chose to dedicate his AV200 ride to the memory of Donald David Fehrenbach, brother of my teammate, Jon. Last weekend Joshua chose to dedicate his AV200 ride to my brother Bret and didn’t let conflicting family obligations slow his plans. In stepped Mary Harding, long term ride buddy, teammate and fellow sibling survivor to carry out Joshua’s plans. Over the course of 2-days and 200 miles, 4 red cuffs engraved with Joshua’s dedication to Bret were passed from scientist to rider to crew to donor and back again. My words cannot come any closer than the looks on their faces as that bracelet came to symbolize the inspiration for why we ride and give, work and serve to end AIDS.  

Bret Granato - Band of Honor relay 2019 AIDS Vaccine 200 Ride

Joshua made it back in time for closing ceremonies
 and to see everyone who participated in his 2019 AV200

Do all the good you can, By all the means you can, In all the ways you can, In all the places you can, At all the times you can, To all the people you can, As long as ever you can                          -John Wesley

Ride Reason

Prologue: Jersey worn on my Saturday training ride (pic is post-ride, i.e. done!). 

Chapter 1: 25 miles in, I arrived at one of my favorite pit stops where the bench is always shady when you need it, the restroom (flush toilets!) is clean and there's a new water bottle filler (thanks BIKES Club of Snohomish County!).

I parked my bike in the corner slot and greeted the cyclist sitting on the bench. She looked strong perched next to her fast bike and we instantly shared gratitude for shade on this hot, HOT day. 

Conversation naturally moved to what we were doing out here alone. Training, yes. She, for her first STP and me for the AIDS Vaccine 200. She must have glanced at my jersey when she declared "How great about the vaccine!"

My knee-jerk response, "It IS great how far the research has come but we're not there yet. That's why I ride." For all of one second she looked puzzled then quickly apologized. Apologized!! For not being better informed. Within another 10 seconds she was up to speed and that made training in HOT weather for 6 hours on a perfectly good Saturday completely worthwhile.

Postlogue: Mary, Jon and I are entering our third decade of riding for the same reason and we weren't spring chickens when we started. One of our greatest personal challenges is accepting the growing limitations of our cycling bodies and focusing more intently on the primary reasons we register, advocate, ask for your support and show up at the starting line - to raise awareness and funding to fight HIV and end the devastation of AIDS on the world. Your encouragement, prayers, good wishes, knowledge sharing and love make all the difference. You are the wind at our back and the fuel making it happen.

Woven Together

A guest in my home is likely to sleep under Bret’s quilt. Mom made one for each of us, carefully choosing colors and themes to fit our personality, often from childhood. Bret loved the water and his early drawings were full of cute little creatures with big features so it was fitting that his quilt would be covered with friendly frogs in a watery sea of blues, greens and purple. His quilt was finished in time to cover Bret in love through the last days of his life and remains a tangible memory of my little brother, in my home.

My first glimpse of Peter’s quilt panel was the same year Mom stitched 2 quilts for a raffle to raise donations for the 2000 Alaska AIDS Vaccine Ride. Lovingly assembled by family and friends soon after his 1995 death from AIDS-related causes, Peter Harding’s family chose to personally share his panel rather than add it to the ever-growing AIDS Memorial Quilt. As a result, this extraordinary piece of art was passed from cousin to friend, sister to neighbor, displayed in classrooms, churches and community events across the country. Peter’s sister Mary would share the touching story of his inspiring life, illustrated by this beautiful panel which came along on our Alaska and New York rides. Peter’s panel would make its final solo appearance this year in Atlanta.

The morning after our 200-mile weekend AIDS ride, a select, supportive group of AIDS Vaccine 200 family joined Mary at the new Names Project Foundation headquarters in downtown Atlanta for the significant delivery of Peter’s panel. We took our time, laying out the panel for all to marvel at the detail and love added by each contributor including more recent family additions. This magnificent panel will be joined to another 7 forming one of more than 6,000 blocks dedicated to over 96,000 individuals lost to AIDS. The Harding mission to remember Peter while maintaining awareness of the AIDS pandemic can now go viral as each panel is digitized and displayed with the memories shared by those who knew Peter best.

That same weekend, 3,000 miles away, another gathering celebrated the life of Gretchen Piscotty. Gretchen and I were new moms, neighbors and fellow church members in California who kept in touch over the years through mutual friends. Her battle with ALS was short and fierce. Gretchen was determined to live every second to the fullest and had family and friends close at hand to make that happen as they tenderly launched Gretchen into her next journey.

Mary heard about the nearby Snohomish Ride to Defeat ALS and suggested we ride it together in
honor of Gretchen. The 60-mile event experience was like every charity ride, from the bustle of crew setting up registration, snacks, water and gear checks to the nervous energy of each cyclist, some experienced and most others not. Hardest to miss at this event was the large multi-generational team of riders and crew in matching jerseys and tees with

the distinguishable graphic of a colorful patchwork quilt on a black background. Team Granny had travelled from Arizona to honor their matriarch and remember her as more than a victim of ALS. Granny, I would learn, was a loving wife, mother, friend and remarkable quilter, just like Gretchen.

The patchwork symbol woven through this cycling season depicts for me the interconnected value each unique contribution makes to the beauty and significance of the whole. Cherished lives are honored and remembered by the actions of those who come together to grace their story and carry their legacy forward. Thank you for contributing to these stories in 2018. Together we bring hope for the journey onward!

GiveBIG

“GiveBIG” says my inbox on this annual day where every donation dollar to Puget Sound charities is doubled by the Seattle Foundation. Doubling is good, tripling is even better. My employer, PayPal, will take care of that. I was recently asked how to motivate people to maintain, let alone increase their charitable giving with the elimination of tax benefits. I’ll answer that with another gift I’ll make today to a charity that is not based in Washington but that lives close to my heart. You see, the world lost a wonderful woman this week, one that I’m blessed to have called friend. The disease that robbed Gretchen of her prime won’t be fought entirely by private funding and decreasingly by government funding. I’ve watched what happens when those funds dry up. The labs shut down. Researchers lose their jobs. The work stops.

My giving is motivated by my heart and each little victory won on an arduous journey taken by those who won’t stop seeking the solutions we insist on making a reality. If my incessant peddling or pedaling inspires you to pitch in, I am blessed. Every dollar donated is a gift and the rewards go far beyond a tax break. To someone, our rewards are priceless.

Unfinished Business

We’re late for our plane but have to rush back for the pamphlets. People need to know! – December 1994

Bret put a massive effort into educating everyone he knew and testing every new treatment introduced in those most desperate early days in the fight against HIV/AIDS, though it saddens me to think he’d never realize the difference he made. Instead, Bret died talking about what more he could have done if not for laws or stigma or a simple lack of time. Perhaps why I feel so compelled to keep HIV/AIDS in my sights, why I’m humbly grateful for the lives saved by your donations and why every ride is a victory yet each falls short of the finish line.

Today is the last day of 2017, an important time to look back on what we accomplished together this year to move closer to an AIDS-free world before turning attention to what is yet undone. In May, the AIDS Vaccine 200 was abbreviated by a massive rainstorm that started as I finished the first 100 miles of day one and cancelled day 2. The bus ride back to Atlanta began in the somber way of any unfinished goal until every rider was struck by the realization of a goal had already been achieved. These 100 cyclists raised a record $358,500 to continue HIV/AIDS vaccine research and support. You contributed to that record before a single cyclist had pedaled one mile from Emory University!

The Fred Hutch Obliteride in August had less dramatic weather (for 2-day riders) and more dramatic climbs of every kind with several hundred cyclists stretching themselves to work harder, raise more money and push immunotherapy closer to defeating cancer and HIV/AIDS - $2,800,000 closer!

Ending AIDS is my unfinished business but unlike Bret, I’m blessed by hindsight stretching back many years that involved thousands more people than miles and I can see how every contribution, large and small, has saved lives and is bringing us closer to ending AIDS. Thank you for being there in my rear-view mirror, for reading this message year after year and believing that AIDS will one day be history, like 2017.

#IOU100miles

As you read this, I’ll be prepping to finish the second half of the AIDS Vaccine 200. That’s right, 3 weeks and 3,000 miles from the first half! Those 100 miles across the Georgia countryside started out warm and muggy and heated up steadily from there. By the time we reached our Rock Eagle overnight, lightning strikes and a threatening forecast led to the inevitable early morning decision to cancel Day 2 and safely bus riders and crew back to Atlanta. Disappointment turned to determination on that school bus as cyclists planned their make-up rides. Mine is tomorrow when I take on the Flying Wheels 100-mile route through the three-river valley in my own backyard. It may be 3,000 miles from Atlanta but the route is equally long, rural and hilly, past pungent dairy farms, over and along rivers and valleys. The weather will cooler but it will be muggy. Lightning is forecast for late afternoon.

Stay tuned for the AV200 epilogue…

This I Believe - 20th Anniversary Edition

“This we believe: One day every man, woman and child will live in a world without HIV/AIDS. Until that day comes we ride together – with hope for all.”          -AV200 10th anniversary motto

Until that day comes… Is why I’m asking you again to make a generous contribution to my annual fundraising drive to move Emory Vaccine Center further down the road to ending HIV/AIDS. Thanks to the tenacity of every donor, doctor, teacher, scientist, care-giver, activist, clinician and advocate, new HIV infection rates are falling and the infected are adding more, healthier years to their lives. So much progress has been made in the 35 years since HIV burst onto the scene that it’s tempting to feel “that day” has arrived. Alas…

Every man, woman and child... Look closely at the data and you’ll see progress centering around those privileged to receive comprehensive sex education, have affordable healthcare, and access to testing and treatment without fear of losing their job, their freedom, their family and support system due to the stigma attached to HIV/AIDS. It matters to me that progress is available to everyone, everywhere and it’s too easy to politicize that possibility away. The ultimate solution is an HIV vaccine and a cure for those already infected. Until that day comes, I’ll show up at the gym at 5am, haul my bike through baggage claim, pull on spandex and pedal, pedal, pedal. More importantly, I’ll peddle the same goal to you.

This year I’ll respond to our unstable political environment by doubling my efforts and hope you’ll do the same. Next month I’ll take on those 200 miles out of Atlanta in solidarity with Action Cycling Atlanta in their 15th annual AIDS Vaccine 200 for HIV/AIDS research at Emory Vaccine Center. At summer’s end, I’ll cycle closer to home in the 2-day Obliteride in support of Fred Hutchison cancer research. The Hutch and EVC are close partners in their drive to end HIV/AIDS and are leveraging cancer treatments to teach the immune system to fight HIV. A win against cancer is a won HIV battle and vice versa.

Both rides spend more than a weekend spotlighting attention on innovative research, commitment to collaboration and sincere appreciation for every penny of every donation raised by ordinary people with extraordinary expectations. I respect that your giving decisions may be as challenging as a long slog up a steep hill in a torrential downpour. I also respect the challenge of HIV. Your contribution, small or large, to either or both rides, makes a difference. Every dollar raised to help scientists explore new ideas can be turned into $14-$16 dollars in federal funding to carry that idea forward. Federal funding is no longer as reliable as your generosity. Let’s do what we can to maintain progress toward that day when we all live in a world without HIV.