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Pedaling
for My Life
How I traded in a death sentence
for a bike trip across the wilderness of Alaska
by Roy Green
There is something mentally liberating about riding
a bicycle long distances on long, lonely roads which
brings an inner spiritual contentment. The gentle purr
of the chain on the chain ring is sweet music to the
cyclist’s ears. Perhaps, in my case, I feel a little
smug thinking that each stroke of the pedals signifies
my determination to not let HIV defeat me...
In August 1990, just after my 33rd birthday, I was diagnosed
HIV-positive. It was my reasonable expectation that
I might possibly not see my 40th birthday in 1997. I
very realistically thought I would not live to see the
new millennium. Even if I did manage to stay alive,
I expected the quality of my life to be low. After all,
I knew the usual drill: Take AZT for a while, go on
disability after a few years, then eventually get sick
and die. This is the scenario that I had seen unfold
for many of my friends and peers at that time. After
a couple weeks of deep introspection, I decided that
this outcome was simply not acceptable for me. I realized
that I must be tenacious and stubbornly determined in
my plan to stay alive and healthy.
I began taking AZT, spending hundreds of dollars per
month out of my own pocket for this medication. I was
not a drug-user, nor was I much of a drinker, and I
ate fairly sensibly. In spite of this, the AZT therapy
was not easy on my body, so I finally discontinued it
in 1993. In 1997, after four years of not being on any
medication, I began a simple regimen of antiviral drugs,
which have greatly improved my immune system with virtually
no side effects. In July, I celebrated seven years without
getting sick and my 40th birthday with a huge party
of nearly 300 well-wishers at Pacific Street. (Many
of you reading this were there!)
Then, in November of 1997, something happened which
led to a huge change in my life—physically, yes—but
much more so spiritually. One day, while scanning a
local newspaper, I saw an advertisement for the inaugural
Texas AIDS Ride. This event, to be held in October of
1998, was a seven-day, 500-plus-mile bicycle ride from
Austin through Houston and on to Dallas to raise money
for AIDS service organizations across Texas. The thoughts
swirled through my head as I grasped the thought. “Hey!
I like to ride a bike! Across the Great State? For AIDS
charities? I must do this! I can do this! (Can’t
I?)”
An event like this was tailor-made for me. Although
the requirements seemed way above my self-perceived
abilities, the goals and deadlines were all clearly
laid out—all I had to do was to calculate and execute
the necessary steps. In other words, I could not be
fettered by my own self-doubt. This was perfect for
my analytical, goal-driven, deadline-motivated personality.
In April of 1998, I bought a bike. I began my bicycle
training regimen at a modest 10 or 20 miles per week.
I rode more and more and before I knew it, I was riding
over 200 miles per week!
When the day of the ride came, it was both a huge adventure
and pretty overwhelming. It was the most ambitious undertaking
I had ever attempted—I was nervous and anxious
and excited. I chased away any thoughts of failure,
finding comfort in a famous quote from William Shedd:
“A ship in the harbour is safe, but that is not
what ships are built for.”
The ride was incredible. I rode every mile without injury,
illness, mechanical problem, or even one flat tire.
But in a much bigger sense, I realized that this wasn’t
just about riding a bicycle. I realized that it was
about goal setting, determination, and accomplishment.
Inexplicably magical, the ride is about random, abundant
acts of kindness among hundreds—even thousands—of
strangers. The ride gives hope to HIV-positive participants
and supporters and fosters a relentless spirit of teamwork.
After that day, I was hooked. I participated in the
MS-150 and numerous lengthy single-day rides. I eagerly
participated in Texas AIDS Ride 2, held last October.
In all of those months, I have ridden between Houston
and Austin several times, Houston and Dallas twice,
and have ridden literally thousands of miles through
places like Fayetteville, Fulshear, Magnolia, Plantersville,
and Round Top. I will again ride across Texas in Texas
AIDS Ride 3 this October.
Meanwhile, back in early September of 1999, I was browsing
AIDS-related topics on the Internet and I found an interesting
website. A call was being issued for 2,000 people to
enroll for a bike ride from Fairbanks to Anchorage,
a fundraiser for AIDS research. 510 miles in six days.
Mountains and unpredictable weather. As I clicked and
read, the gears started turning in my head. “Alaska?...
Always wanted to go, but I never made the opportunity.
Alaska on my bicycle? Sounds difficult, but—oh,
yeah—that’s why I would do it! Alaska on my
bicycle to help fight in the long battle against AIDS?
Alaska!” I then saw the date—August 2000—and
I realized it would be the 10th anniversary of the disclosure
of my HIV-positive serostatus. A tear rolled down my
cheek. Back on that gloomy day in 1990, the year 2000
was so impossibly distant into the future. As I stared
at the computer screen, I realized I was probably supposed
to be sick—or even dead—by 2000. Now, the
tears were flowing and my whole body trembled with excitement.
So, in an act of blatant contempt against HIV, I am
diving into this wonderful project. Accompanied by 1,500
cycling companions from around the world, I will ride
my bicycle across 510 miles of vast, rugged Alaska wilderness.
I will spend chilly Alaska nights sleeping in a tent,
amongst moose and bears. My trusty two-wheeled, tubular
steel companion and I will be as one as we forge across
Alaska—snow, wind, rain, or shine.
For this privilege, I must raise a minimum of $3,900
in donations (none will go toward my expenses, as one
generous team member has already donated an airline
ticket) to provide much-needed “seed funding”
for a team of the world’s most highly respected
research scientists: Dr. David Ho, director of the Aaron
Diamond AIDS Research Center in New York City; Dr. Irvin
S. Y. Chen of UCLA’s AIDS Institute; and Dr. Rafi
Ahmed, director of the Emory University Vaccine Center
in Atlanta. Dr. Ho was Time’s “Man of the
Year” in 1996 for his research efforts in AIDS
therapies. Ho, Chen, and Ahmed are working to develop
a vaccine to eradicate the virus which causes AIDS.
I may be a little crazy to take on this project—perhaps—but
I am very determined. I want to remind the world that
AIDS isn’t over. Globally, over 30 million people
are living with HIV/AIDS. Only two million of these,
about 6.5 percent, have access to protease inhibitors.
Since the beginning of the epidemic, 9 million adults
and 2.7 million children have died of AIDS. Back in
1990, I assumed I would be one of these statistics.
Quite simply, I am very happy to be alive and so strong.
In the past two years, I have pedaled over 8,000 miles
on a mountain bike. I educate myself about medical advances
in HIV therapies and I have been aggressive and proactive
in my treatment. I have frank and open communication
with my wonderful doctor. I swallow fistfuls of herbals
and vitamins with my few medicines. I am almost a total
vegetarian. Fried foods are forbidden. Most certainly,
no tobacco or recreational drugs.
As a result, I have not spent even a single night in
a hospital. I may be middle-aged, but I am still “lean
and mean” with less than 10 percent body fat and
the ability to leg-press nearly 800 pounds. As part
of my training, I have set a goal to ride my bicycle
5,000 miles in the year 2000 to prove that HIV won’t
stop me from living. POZ magazine recently interviewed
me for an article to run in the May issue about people
living with—and thriving, in spite of—HIV.
Again and again, I spit in the face of the monster living
inside my body and I keep getting away with it.
I want to demonstrate that being diagnosed HIV-positive
is not an automatic death sentence. I would like to
be an example of how being focused on some healthy passion
in your life—in my case, the AIDS bicycle rides—can
yield the rewards of emotional and spiritual wellness.
I want everyone to know: “I’m Roy Green from
Houston, Texas. When I was diagnosed HIV-positive in
August of 1990, I expected I would become ill and probably
die. Instead, I am fighting to eradicate AIDS and commemorating
a decade of living with HIV by riding my bicycle across
Alaska!”
Good health and good spirits to you all!
Please feel free to contact me by phone at 713/807-1615,
visiting my home page at www.rider254.homepage.com
and sending e-mail to rider254@hotmail.com.
Many people have helped as members of my “team.”
If you can support me in either the Alaska AIDS Vaccine
Ride or Texas AIDS Ride 3, please contact me soon. Your
support will be greatly appreciated.
For information about the Alaska AIDS Vaccine Ride,
call 888/553-4567, www.alaskaride.org. (They are no
longer accepting registrations for the 2000 ride, but
they are still looking for donations, volunteers, and
crewpeople.) For information about signing up for the
October 12–15 Tanqueray Texas AIDS Ride, call 1-888/780-RIDE
(7433), www.aidsride.org.
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