This is the true story of one gal, one bike, 43 miles and a lot of blood.
My blood, actually. But we’ll get to that later. It is April 25: After months of training, I am standing on a country road in Spicewood waiting for the Hill Country Ride for AIDS to begin. The event &mdash which raises money for local nonprofit groups that help people with AIDS and HIV &mdash has drawn more than 600 riders on this cloudy, windy Saturday. Some people will ride 10 miles, some 63, others 100. I’ll be doing the 43-mile route. I don’t know why I signed up for the ride. I’ve never known anyone who died of AIDS. I’m not an avid cyclist. I’m not even fit. But here I am, about to embark on the biggest physical challenge of my life. I begin by falling off my bike at the starting line.
“I want to do the 63-mile ride!” I say. Todd glares at me.