DAY 3. ALC10. Namaste Bitches.

Wake at 5a. Breakfast of eggs, pancakes and oatmeal. More hot brown water to wash it down. Short ride of 66 miles today.

A little stretching would be good. Yoga on the grass with a verbally abusive yoga teacher in dreads. “I never learned positive reinforcement” he assures us. All in good fun. “Fuck you, I said straighten your knee.” After 20 minutes of good stretches, considerable ribbing and a few laughs, “Namaste Bitches. Let’s Ride.”

The intimidating section of road today is the hill known affectionately as “Quad Buster.” 10 miles in. 1.3 mile climb. With all the hills training I did I…well…frankly I killed it. Tore up the hill, strong. Someone was playing the theme song from Rocky at the top and a crowd was there to cheer us on. The down hill slope was super fun. You feel like a kid again going that fast, with the wind in your face.

Lunch at mile 43 in Bradley, a little town. A line of school children welcome each cyclist with high-fives as we ride in.

Reminds me of my beautiful daughter. Zoe, you would have loved these kids! A few years younger than you but so sweet and excited. They have signs that say “you are heroes!” I think you would have loved the bar-b-que the local bar-b-que joint was serving up too!

Making good time today. Back on the bike by 12:30p.

Rest Stop 4 today is something to behold. The boys are in drag, hot pink dresses, heels, wigs, make-up, at Mission San Miguel. One of the legendary California Missions on the Camino Real. As I ride up to the Mission and am directed towards bike parking by a stunning 6 foot blonde with fake boobs standing in the middle of the highway, I come to an abrupt stop behind a car that is trying to drive through the area that’s been blocked off for riders. An older man in a cream white Oldsmobile is at a stand-off with a drag queen in flaming pink. She tells him he can’t drive thru. He says he parks in there. She looks at me aghast and says “a crazy man is trying to drive in here. ” I’m standing with my bike, one foot still cleated in my pedal, right beside the driver’s side widow so I jump in and tell the guy he can’t park back there. I try to tell him to use one of the ten empty parking spaces directly next to him. He says, “but I park in there.” More looks of discontent from the queen. The man is pleasant, smiling, and seems a little uncomfortable with the while situation, perhaps even unnerved by the man in the hot pink dress and wig standing in front of his car. “I’m the pastor here,” he says to me gently almost under his breath. “What?” “I’m the pastor here,” he says smiling uncomfortably, “and I park through here.” The queen’s eyes get big. Another queen, in matching pink, walks up. “It’s the Padre,” the first one says. “Oh!” says the second one. “Let’s let him in. ”

I decide its a good time to park my bike.

The boys have set up a little stage in the courtyard of the beautiful Mission on which they perform choreographed Jazzercize numbers, a la Jane Fonda.

I am not making this up.

Catholic Mission San Miguel on the Camino Real. Drag queens and Jazzercize. AIDS LifeCycle, my friends.

The Mission is happy to host Rest Stop 4 each year. And each year the boys take up a collection for the Mission, raising several thousand dollars which helps with grounds upkeep and other necessities for the tiny budgeted Mission.

I go into the sanctuary and sit down for ten minutes. So quiet and peaceful. Some other riders sit in the pews. I imagine some pray for loved ones. I think of the complicated relationship religious gay men and women have with the Catholic Church. And I think this mash up of cultures is such a blessing. Something is being healed here.

Back on the bike for another hour and into camp, at the Paso Robles State Fairgrounds. In by 3p. Early today! Shower. Wash some ripe cycling clothing. Leave it out to dry in the glorious sun.

And rest up. 98 miles tomorrow.

Namaste Bitches.