Ripples of my life are expanding out beyond the half century marker and I am amazed at the circle of friends that surround me. Oh yes, I've always been blessed with a few loyal, loving friendships, but in these autumn years of life, warm hands of support reach out to meet me at every turn. A treasure chest of trusted friends fills my days with tidings of comfort and companionship.
I've not always been aware of this unconditional love surrounding me. What is different now? What has changed? Could it be that all my secrets have melted away leaving me nothing to hold at bay? The windows of my soul now open from the inside out giving full view to mistakes, regrets, and embarrassments. Life is short now, no place to hide, no reason to.
So, where did it go, this desire to shield my nakedness from the world? Did I give it up to the midnight hour when only the eyes of the owl were there to witness my trembling hands. Or was it relinquished as I searched for reason and purpose in the web of occurrences? This stripping away of my covers has not been without conscious effort nor has it been without pleasure. I could fly a kite on the string of names that have given me safe haven to shed my armor.
During the summer of this year I was given the experience of seeing just how extended my circle of friends had become. I received over two thousand dollars from my gracious friends towards the three day, 250 mile AIDS bike ride from Philadelphia to DC. To date there have been four fundraising rides totaling twenty five million grass root dollars! The AIDS ride has been a life passage. Indeed, a spiritual open heart surgery attended, encouraged, surrounded, and supported by oh so many friends. It is in the spirit of sincere gratitude that I share a bit of the ride with you.
Day 1
At 6 AM a riderless bicycle was led between the parting sea of waiting riders.
Upon the empty seat rides the spirit of a generation lost to the AIDS virus.
Every 20 miles we were supplied with a pit stop. Amazing primal shifts took
place at these respites. I saw a shy, demure woman banging down a row of
port-o-lets yelling for the sitters to fork over some toilet paper. We were
road grimy, saddle soar, smelly, and tired. The only thing that mattered
was getting relieved, fueled, hydrated, and back on the road. Frills were
obsolete. There was no age, no gender, no race. We were down to the nitty
gritty where only survival existed. There was, in this space, a reverence
and respect that had no need for explanation. On the first day I rode 106
miles of killer hills. It was tough? That's all I care to say about that.
I prefer not to whine in print
Day 2
I thought the hills would be easier on the second day. They were not! I
was overwhelmed. Breath was at a premium. I was spent! My eyes locked on
to a picture of my son Eric taped to my handlebars. The picture was taken
in a California redwood forest some three months before Eric's death. There
he stood, his body frail and abused by the ravages of the AIDS virus, his
arms outstretched, thumbs up to the heavens in a gesture of joyous praise.
The day the picture was taken I assured Eric that after his death I would
give substance to his spirit by lending my eyes to see and my ears to hear
for both of us. It was our ending gift to one another. "Hey! I thought
we were going for a ride. What do you say we take a break and see what's
going on? Listen to some birds, smell the sweet grass." These were
Eric's words riding through my mind. I got off the bike and moved to a shady
resting place for some attitude adjustment. Never again during the ride
would I miss the beauty that surrounded me. I stood there watching the riders
and listening to the wind whisper through the fields. Behind me, a single
line of riders moved along the twisted strip of road. Ahead, for as far
as sight would allow, the same silent ghost train wound its way through
the rolling hills. A trail of tears, A trail of hope. This was my tribe,
bound together by the threads of the AIDS ribbon.
Day 3
Only sixty miles to go. Piece of cake! "You've come a long way baby,"
and we rolled on into DC. People lined the streets with banners and applause.
Through the crowd of outstretched hands a woman held up a child, "Thank
you sister," she said. Ahead of me a sign read, "Welcome Home
DC Riders." I knew this street. Eric lived here before he became sick.
This is where he had worked and played and planned his future. In that moment
I understood why I had taken the challenge of the ride. "Welcome home
Eric."
I wish I could have shared the ride into DC with all my friends that made the ride possible. The glory and the praise belongs to you. You have made a difference in the lives of so many people. You are the heroes and heroines of the AIDS ride. May you be blessed ten fold.
Nancy-Noel Voll is a Trager therapist, massage therapist, and owner of The Turning Point Studio in Gulfport, Florida (813) 323-1475