Every June, over 2,000 masochistic do-gooders hop on their bikes and ride the 500 miles from San Francisco to LA to raise money to combat AIDS.
Accompanied by over 1,000 “roadie” volunteers and support staff, the riders – who have each raised at least $3000 – bring a much needed visualization about the impact that AIDS continues to have on every community in the world.
This epic event is called AIDS Lifecycle (http://www.aidslifecycle.org), or ALC, and for five years in a row I gladly gave my blood, sweat and tears as a roadie to be a part of this life changing experience.
Law school has impeded my ability to take the full 7 days off to be on the ride, but I’ve kept active within the ALC community. This year, not only did I volunteer to help at orientation, but I also took it upon myself to be somewhat of a welcoming party.
About a week before the event began, I was cruising Craigslist and saw an ad from an ALC participant from Chicago looking for someone to show her around San Francisco. Eager to help out the cause, I emailed her and we arranged to meet up on Wednesday, her first night here.
Being the good 21st century gal that I am, I internet stalked her and found a blocked Facebook profile. Her default profile picture made her look cute but über femme and straight, so I blew her off as not really my type and figured this would just be a fun platonic tour of the city.
Oh, was I wrong.
The minute I saw her – leaning against my office building, satchel across her perky chest, dirty blonde hair pulled back into a pony-tail, green pants tight on her hot biker’s behind – I was charmed.
We chatted comfortably as if friends catching up from time apart. She admitted to having read the blog and confessed that she was excited to meet its “witty author”. Blushing, I thanked her for the compliment and explained that she was the first person I had met that didn’t read this blog because I made them.
Both starving, we ate dinner and then headed to a bar with extended happy hour and rows of arcade games. It takes a lot to impress me, but this gal – who I shall call Roxie – instantly awed me.
While I kicked her ass at Ms. PacMan, we told travel tales and talked of what to expect on the ALC ride.
As she fought hard – but still lost – at Galactica, she told me what it was like working as a nurse, holding someone as they die.
By the time she explained her PhD dissertation topic, I was so enamored and distracted that she was able to beat me at Adam’s Family Pinball.
Out of quarters, we left to meet up with my friend Ms. B at the Lexington, an infamous lesbian bar, for a some more drinks. While there, Roxie confessed that she’d never been to a strip club and soon we were zooming off across town to the employee owned, sex-positive Lusty Lady.
Three lap dances, hundreds of some random man’s dollar bills and an educational private show later, we sauntered out of the club with promises to keep in touch with the lesbian dancer we became friends with over the three hours we were there.
Dropping Roxie back off at her hotel, I kicked myself for not having set the foundation to kiss her throughout the night. I paid too much attention to the already undressed ladies and not enough to the one I wanted to undress.
That was a mistake I would not make the next day.
Continued next week…
Blogger Bio: Queerie Bradshaw loves shoes, social justice and sex. Born a farmer’s daughter, she believes everyone deserves a good roll in the hay, and feels empowered by her feminine sexuality. She frequently travels both domestically and abroad, exploring women and wine from all regions. Now a law student who dances burlesque on the side, she fights for international rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of good porn. You can visit her website at QueerieBradshaw.com, follow her on Twitter (twitter.com/QueerieBradshaw) and become a fan of hers on Facebook.
Photo: J. Robert Williams