RIDE SAFE | Cyclists in the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS each year peddle through some pretty isolated stretches of road. This year, MobileTREC is equipping each rider with the SafeTREC application and service to give them an added layer of security on the road. MobileTREC is also donating $1 from every SafeTREC subscription to Lone Star Ride. (Tammye Nash/Dallas Voice)

SafeTREC service now partnering with Lone Star Ride; adds a layer of security to life, company officials say

TAMMYE NASH | Senior Editor
nash@dallasvoice.com

We all know what happens when you find yourself in an emergency situation at your home, and you pick up your landline to call 9-11 for help: The 9-11 operators can use their system to determine your exact location and send help, even if you aren’t able to tell them where you are.

But what happens if you, like many people these days, use your cell phone as your home phone instead of having a landline? What happens if you are in your car, or perhaps walking or cycling?

Those locations can’t be wired into the 9-11 system, and the best emergency operators can do is triangulate your location to within a three-, six- or nine-mile radius, depending on the circumstances. And when minutes count, that might not be good enough.

That’s the problem that the people at MobileTREC were trying to solve when they came up with their SafeTREC and SafeKidZone applications for smart phones, according to Martin Lobe, MobileTREC’s vice president of sales and marketing.

Users download the MobileTREC app they want to their smart phone and then pay a $9.95 per month subscription fee to use the service. Lobe said the company is also working to finalize a family plan for $19.95 a month that he hopes will be available within the next month.

To use the service, he explained, users designate a specific button on their phone as the “panic button,” and in case of emergency, they push that button and the MobileTREC operators contact the appropriate responders. And the MobileTREC apps marry with the phone’s GPS signal to send responders to the user’s exact location, Lobe said.

Lobe said the applications and MobileTREC’s subscription services can give users an added layer of security and some options that you don’t get with 9-11.

With the SafeKidZone app, children can punch the panic button and that activates a whole community of responders — friends and family as well as police and fire — to come to their aid.

Lobe explained that users establish a network of contacts among family and friends, and if a child needs help, the SafeKidZone program sends an immediate text and email to the established “safety network” as well as to the company’s 24-hour Response Call Center. Then the child, the “safety network” members and the Call Center are linked through a live conference call.

That lets everyone know what the child’s situation is, allowing the closest family member or friend to respond immediately or if necessary, the Call Center personnel will notify 9-11 to send police or fire, giving them the child’s exact location.

SafeTREC is the same sort of application and service, only geared for adults, such as college students, senior citizens, business travelers or those on vacation.

“Think about someone, an adult, who may have some sort of disability or illness, and they fall in their home and can’t get up. They don’t need medical attention, but if 9-11 sends an ambulance, they have to pay for that. With SafeTREC, they push the panic button and the system sends someone in their safety network over to help them up,” Lobe said.

“I have gay friends, and when I started looking into it, doing some research, I realized just how often gay bashings are happening, and how sometimes gay people are not getting the proper protection from police in some instances. And I knew that our service is something that could be very, very helpful to gay people,” Lobe said. “We want to let the LGBT community know that this is available, that they are not alone.”

The service is also perfect, Lobe said, for sports enthusiasts — like cyclists or runners — who might find themselves out on the road and suddenly in need of help. And that, he added, makes a partnership between MobileTREC and Lone Star Ride Fightings AIDS a perfect match.

MobileTREC CEO Don Ferguson explained that his company will be equipping every Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS rider with the SafeTREC service, and will also donate $1 from every subscription to LSRFA.

The two-day Lone Star Ride, scheduled this year for Sept. 24-25, raises money for three AIDS service organizations — AIDS Services of Dallas, AIDS Outreach Center of Tarrant County and Resource Center Dallas.

“I can see the Lone Star Ride is a worthwhile event where people are getting together to help others, and I am excited for SafeTREC to become a part of it,” Ferguson said.

And helping people help each other, he added, is one of the goals of the company.

“Our system is designed not only to protect people when they are in danger but also to build a safety network so people are automatically looking out for each other,” Ferguson said. “Man is not an island. We survive better together, and that is what we are doing at SafeTREC. We are creating a community of people looking out for each other.”

For more information, go online to MobileTREC.com

E-racing Stigma team captain David Hodge, left, and his team members

David Hodge, captain of the E-racing Stigma team for Lone Star Ride, says cycling for the cause is in his blood

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS cyclist David Hodge is what you could call doubly positive: Not only is he one of the most upbeat, life-loving people you could hope to meet; he also happens to live with the very disease that LSRFA exists to combat.

When he turned 40 five years ago, Hodge decided to mark his definitive entry into middle age with a celebration of physical fitness.

“I wanted to do something big and fantastic,” the Parkland imaging specialist recalls. “Some friends of mine and I were talking about bicycling, [something] I hadn’t even thought about for a while. I hadn’t been on a bicycle in 20 years.”

So Hodge immediately began training — but not for the LSRFA.

“We have a similar ride in Atlanta,” he says. “The name of the event is the AIDS Vaccine (AV) 200 and [it benefits] the Emory AIDS Vaccine Center. I [started participating in] 2006.”

As the name suggests, the Atlanta ride covers 200 miles, about 20 more than LSRFA. It also takes place in late spring (May) rather than late summer (September).

Hodge’s resume also includes two appearances in the seven-day AIDS LifeCyle Ride, which takes place every year in June. The route covers approximately 600 miles between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Hodge officially began riding with the LSRFA just last year, when he moved from Atlanta to Dallas. But already he’s doing double duty as the captain of one of the oldest teams to be saddling up for the event: E-racing Stigma, the LSRFA Positive Pedalers team.

“The whole concept [for the team] came from [a desire] to get the word out,” he says. “Just because you have an [HIV] diagnosis, that is not a death sentence anymore so long as you take care of yourself. You really can be an active member of society and help out anywhere you can.”

As team captain, Hodge fulfills a number of important duties.

“[I’m] the person who gets all the information out, whether we’re having social events or training rides,” he explains. “[I also have to] keep people motivated to get their fundraising done. [Our] team is also very involved in the closing ceremonies.”

Participating on a team like E-racing Stigma is a lot like riding with family. Members bond through similarities — in this case, positive diagnoses. At the same time, they also take care of each other on the road.

Says Hodge, “In the bicycling community, when you go and out and deplete your body of every ounce of water and electrolytes and food, [you’re in danger of] ‘bonking.’ Your fellow riders watch out for those kinds of [potential problems].”

A potentially deadly disease may reside in Hodge’s body, but so does an equally passionate dedication to cycling for the community he loves. In May, the E-racing Stigma team captain returned to Atlanta to participate in the 2011 AV200; and recently, the odometer reading on Hodge’s current bicycle slipped over the 4,000-mile mark.

“[The cause] is something that’s very dear to my heart, so that’s why I keep doing what I do and cycling as many miles as I can,” he says. “It’s in my blood now and I can’t stop doing it.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS will be held Sept. 24-25. To donate to an individual rider, to a team or to the Ride itself, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer

Many riders find themselves becoming gradually more involved with the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS over time. But if you’re on achievement overdrive like freshman cyclist James Esh, you’re going full force right out of the starting gate.

The ex-Marine-turned-lawyer first learned about the Ride in 2010, three years after he moved to Dallas from Arkansas. His interest was sparked by the complacency he’d seen around him regarding the AIDS crisis.

“I was really young when I heard the term ‘gay cancer,’” recalls Esh. “In the early ’90s, Ryan White brought it back to the everyday American. But [when I started college in 2000] and the subject came up in the courses I was taking, it just wasn’t a big deal to most people.”

The nonchalance he’s witnessed came about because medical advances made the disease easier to control. But those same advances have sometimes come at the cost of sweeping HIV/AIDS under the rug and out of sight.

Ever the vigilant military man looking to set a positive example, Esh decided to take arms against apathy, ignorance and silence by saddling up for the LSR.

And like a good soldier, he went on a reconnaissance mission to learn about the event and its sponsoring organization. The data he gathered met with his wholehearted approval.

“All the money from the LSR is [earmarked for] local agencies,” says the ex-Marine. “So the bang for your buck is a lot higher because all the money goes back to the community.”

The organization impressed him so much that he volunteered to become an LSR board member.

Explains Esh, “Participating on the board was not a decision I made in the beginning. It was made after I had already decided to ride. So when the opportunity presented itself, it just kind of worked out.”

The freshman cyclist expects to pedal 150 miles in this year’s Ride. His goal is an especially lofty one given that he admits that a busy work schedule has not allowed him to train as regularly as he would like.

“I started [preparing] in February but fell off the bandwagon for a few months,” he says. “Then I had about two weeks where my bike was in the shop. I’ve been hitting it hard this past month, though, and will continue to do so because the LSR is less than 60 days away.”

Esh also admits to not having cycled with the Texas sun full on his back. The toughness he cultivated during his time in the military will serve him well, especially if the current record-breaking heat wave continues into September.

“It was 104 degrees the other day when I went [cycling] around White Rock Lake,” he says. “I was a little crazy for doing it [but] I did grow up in the West Texas Panhandle so I’m not too unaccustomed [to the heat].”

As much as Esh has reintegrated into civilian life, it’s clear that he’s still a Marine at heart: semper fidelis (always faithful) to a cause regardless of the challenges he encounters along the way.

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

Michael Smith and Benjamin Mussler

Longtime partners Smith and Mussler say training together for LSR has strengthened their bodies and their relationship

M.M. ADJARIAN  |  Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

Michael Smith and Benjamin Mussler are just entering their 30s, in peak physical condition and with bright futures ahead of them. They have it all: youth, health and success.

But these two Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS cyclists also have something else to envy, and that’s a loving, longtime relationship with each other.

The men joined LSR as a couple in 2007, starting out as pit crew members. On the first day, both were part of a Bachelor-themed pit stop.

“There was one ‘bachelor,’ and everybody was fighting over him,” Smith, a Dallas-based Farmers Insurance agent, says of the pit stop theme.

The second day, the pair got to live out their fantasy of going back to school at the Hogwarts Academy, the school for young witches and wizards from the “Harry Potter” books and movies.

Those manning the pit stop all donned their witch and wizard robes and grabbed their wands to help keep the cyclists hydrated.

The two men say they enjoyed every minute of their time “in the pit,” refilling water bottles and  cheering cyclists onward. But as they tended to the sweat-drenched riders, Smith and

Mussler say they felt the road — and ultimately, LSR — calling to them to make a deeper commitment.

“We saw what a great cause it was and wanted to help out more,” says Mussler, a marketing manager for Sabre Holdings. And so, they registered to ride.

But to be able to experience the event on two wheels rather than two legs meant training — and lots of it. Both have dedicated many hours every weekend to preparing for the event, on their own and through LSR-sponsored training sessions.

But neither of the two has any complaints about the loss of free time. If anything, they say, becoming cyclists for the ride has actually drawn them closer together.

“It’s something that we can do together that’s healthy for us; it’s definitely exercise!” remarks Mussler. “[Cycling for the LSR] is also just something that challenges us to keep up with each other.”

The two men’s commitment to the event mirrors the even deeper one they have to each other. They are family, and proud to share that fact with their community. Smith and Mussler are even more proud that their efforts on behalf of LSR have brought their nearest and dearest into the larger “Ride family.”

Says Smith, “ Last year, my mom became part of the medical crew. This year, 10 of our friends — including my mom — are part of the event.”

Born as they were in the early 1980s, Smith and Mussler did not experience firsthand the devastation that the early days of AIDS caused in the gay community. But they are still keenly aware that they are part of the first generation to benefit from those who struggled through the epidemic and who fought for the greater social freedoms both now enjoy.

“I feel like the gay and lesbian people that came before me paved the way to making our lives a little easier,” Mussler says. “I don’t want to paint HIV/AIDS as something that only affects LGBT people because it definitely [affects others, too]. But I do feel like [I am] giving back to the community, and I take pride in who I am. It’s a real motivating factor that I can do this with my partner through the Ride.”

Smiling his assent Smith adds, “It’s important for the community to have positive role models of people [like us] who do things together.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

TWO GENERATIONS | Regina Watson, left, and her son Ivan formed Team Mother and Son to participate in the Lone Star Ride. (Photo Courtesy of Regina Waston)

Regina Watson and her son Ivan are looking forward to their first year together as Lone Star Ride cyclists

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

Regina Watson rides a mountain/road hybrid; so does her son, Ivan. Where their individual tastes in bicycles are concerned, the apple clearly does not fall far from the tree.

This year, the pair are joining forces to participate in the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS as Team Mother & Son.

Regina lives in Weatherford and manages the toy section at a department store. Ivan lives in Fort Worth and works as a Wells Fargo banker.

Ivan was the first to volunteer for the LSR in 2002. He signed on to do route marking, the duty he carried out for several years after.

“I wanted to give back to the community and get involved in something worthwhile,” he says of his reason for volunteering.

Regina joined to support her son, who also happens to be HIV-positive. The first time she volunteered was in 2005. But as luck and foul weather would have it, she and Ivan both pulled out of the ride that year because of Hurricane Rita and the delays it caused.

Six years later, mother and son have come together again to participate in LSR, only this time as cyclists. It will be a year of firsts for both: Regina will finally have a chance to take part in the event from which she withdrew in 2005 and Ivan will take to his bicycle, a silver carbon copy of the gold-colored one his mother owns.

Mother and son eagerly await taking to the streets on their bikes for this year’s ride. But Ivan does have fond memories of the time he spent on the route crew and the friendships he formed with people he worked with then, largely under cover of darkness.

“We didn’t really get to participate much in the actual ride because we were out there on the job [hanging up signs, marking turns and highlighting road hazards] most of the night,” says Ivan. “But on the last day of the ride, we got to enjoy some of the event and I got to see the way riders come together. I was really impressed.”

Rider camaraderie was in fact the very reason Ivan decided to pedal — rather than spray-chalk — his way through another Lone Star Ride.

“They’re high-energy, caring and compassionate people,” he observes, “who are just fun to be around.”

And who don’t lack for any sense of humor.

“They give you stickers to pee” when you stop at pit stop, says Ivan, beginning to chuckle.

His mother is immediately infected by her son’s laughter.

“It’s a reward for peeing,” she giggles. “You’re staying hydrated, so you’re getting rewarded with stickers.”

Regina pauses to catch her breath.

“I think it’s the goal for some people to get covered in stickers from all the different pit stops,” she adds with a grin.

The Watsons are more than aware that as cyclists riding in the hot Texas sun, they will experience not only thirst, but also the muscle aches and pains that so often come with a rigorous physical workout. But both — and especially Regina — are looking forward to the massages that will be available at every pit stop and to all riders who want them.

“They sound really nice,” she says dreamily. “So do the people who give them to you.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

It takes all kinds of people — and all kinds of bikes — to make up a Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS.

Most riders prefer bikes that are lightweight — lean and fast. But others prefer something with a little more heft and horsepower.

Deanie Sewell is one such participant. She wouldn’t dream of taking to the road on anything other than her Honda Shadow 750 motorcycle.

Sewell, an accountant, has been with the LSR as a member of the motorcycle — or “moto” — brigade since the ride began in 2001. She and her fellow bikers patrol the event route to ensure that their cycling counterparts travel in complete safety at all times.

“If bicyclists need help getting across an intersection, [the crew] will be their eyes looking behind them,” she says. “And if we see a rider out on the road having problems, we can usually stop and get to them quicker than a vehicle.”

Sometimes, though, what’s called for is more along the lines of a pep talk. And brigade members are more than happy to slow down for a spell and oblige.

“You can ride right next to someone and give them a little encouragement,” says Sewell, who also serves as crew chief.

She adds, “Those cyclists really become your own; you get to know a lot of them out there, riding and watching out for them.”

Sewell knows very well how difficult cycling can be. She rode in the 1999 Texas Tanqueray AIDS Ride, a 300-plus-mile event that traveled across Texas and ended in Dallas.

“I rode all four days [of the TTAR] so I can say I did it. But after that, motorcycling was looking pretty good,” Sewell admits with a grin.

The moto crew chief and her merry band of bikers also help maintain route visibility. With cans of spray chalk carefully packed alongside the rest of their “road survival” gear, they make sure that all road markings — and especially the turns, which riders can easily miss — are clearly marked.

“We have a route-marking crew that goes out and marks the route,” Sewell explains. “After cars have driven over the chalk on the road, sometimes the markings can get a little faint. So we stop and re–mark them.”

Being able to cruise around for two days on her Honda in the company of other motorcycle enthusiasts is just one of the reasons Sewell loves her job. Another is being able to participate in the mass ride–in that closes each day of the event.

“On both days, we wait for the last rider,” Sewell says. “Then we follow that person in [with all kinds of] fanfare. And then on Sunday, the last day, we get into formation and, with horns honking and lights flashing, we bring all the riders in for closing ceremonies.”

Like so many other LSR volunteers, Sewell has compelling reasons for getting involved. She’s lost several close friends to AIDS and knows others who live with the disease.

“Most recently, I had another friend who moved back to Texas and who will be a client at the AIDS Outreach Center in Fort Worth. And I want to make sure that we can get additional funding that’s unrestricted and can be used for clients [like him],” she says.

What’s kept her coming back year after year, however, transcends any personal stakes she may have. For Sewell, the ride represents a manifestation of what’s possible when people put aside ego and selfishness and work together for a common purpose.

“‘If you are too busy judging people,’” says the moto crew chief, quoting Mother Teresa, “‘then you don’t have time to love them.’ And on this ride, there’s no judgment, there’s no us and them, there’s none of that at all.

“For two days, everybody is taking care of everybody else — and that’s just the way the world should be.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

Janie Bush calls the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS her “baby,” a term that suggests deep affection for the event.

But get to know her and you’ll see that “baby” isn’t just a figure of speech. It’s a word that identifies the Trinity River Foundation office manager for what she is — the birth mother of the Lone Star Ride.

Conception wasn’t a solo act for Bush; she had help from a few men she names as Ride “fathers.”

The first was Larry Townsend, who, like Bush, had been affiliated with the LSR’s predecessor, the Texas Tanqueray AIDS Ride. His profound disappointment at how little money TTAR had raised for its beneficiary agencies mirrored Bush’s own.

“So we put together a proposal and said, ‘We can do this,’” recalled Bush. “[After talking] with Don Maison at AIDS Services of Dallas and Mike McKay, who was the AIDS Outreach Center of Tarrant County executive director at the time, we kicked [the proposal] back and forth and decided to go for it.”

Bush then took over as the first Lone Star Ride event manager in 2001, a position she held for five years. Like all new “mothers,” the ardor she had for her “newborn” was boundless; and so she signed on as the first rider, only to discover she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

“[I had no] clue what the LSR was going to be like,” she laughed. “I thought I’d have plenty of time to train in addition to creating the Ride. And then I found I had no time to get on my bike for the event.”

Her background as an investment banker and non-profit professional made her the ideal person to guide the LSR through its sometimes-turbulent infancy and early childhood. That Bush had also been a witness to the deaths of numerous friends afflicted with AIDS served as her own painful private goad.

“I lost my first two friends in 1987 when they were still quarantined at the hospital,” she said. “It was pretty horrific.”

During Bush’s tenure, not a single penny — whether earned or spent — ever went unaccounted for, she said. Her hard working ways and tightfisted fiscal conservatism put the organization on solid financial footing in short order.

At the same time, both traits also became the focal point for some good-natured personal ribbing.

Remembered Bush, “I was pretty well known for only getting a few hours of sleep in the last couple of weeks prior to Ride, because I would stay in the office until really late. So the first night [after a ride], I would fall into a very deep sleep at camp.”

One year, a few participants decided to play a joke on her.

“More often than not, I would sleep in my car because the seats reclined,” she said, clearly enjoying the memory. “Some of the riders and crew went out to my car and totally wrapped it in toilet paper and caution tape. They were waiting with cameras for me when I woke up.”

Here Bush began to chuckle. “[After I came out,] they said to me, ‘We spent our own money to buy the toilet paper. It’s not ride TP!’”

Although she retired as event manager in 2006, Bush has continued to nurture the Ride in less direct — but no less impactful — ways; a child may grow up, but a mother always remains a mother.

“I’m [always] available to answer questions,” said Bush. “And [new event manager] Jerry Calumn and I have spent a lot of time talking about stuff. As long as we continue to increase the amount of money brought in and stay somewhat steady with the ridership, [I’ll be glad].

“But I would absolutely love to see him blow that out of the water,” she added.

Pride, and a certain wistfulness, characterize the way Bush describes what she and her LSR colleagues have done to help her “baby” find its way in the world. It’s an experience on par with childbirth — or even volunteering on behalf of the Ride, for that matter.

“Every muscle in your aches, including muscles you didn’t know existed,” she said. “And then you forget it. And then you’re ready to do it again.”

David Smith

LSR much deeper than a dare for rider representative — even if it started that way

M.M. ADJARIAN  |  Contributing Writer

If there’s one thing David Smith has learned, it’s this: Never underestimate the power of a barroom promise made in the presence of a friend with a videophone.

Thanks to both — the promise and the incriminating recorded evidence — Smith had all the incentive he needed to sign up for the 2010 Lone Star Ride.

Not that Smith wouldn’t have signed up for the Ride … eventually. But as it so happened, the person who recorded the IT consultant’s vow was in the process of training for the event himself.

“And I said, ‘You know, I might like to do that one of these days,’” recalls a grinning Smith. “That’s when he made me commit to it.”

His reasons for participating in the Lone Star Ride go much deeper than simply wanting to follow up on a dare, though. He’s seen firsthand just what the funds raised through the event can do for people in need of  HIV and AIDS services.

“I’ve had numerous friends over the years who’ve come in contact with the three [agencies the Ride benefits],” he says. “And I’ve seen through them a lot of what the LSR does for the community.”

Smith is also a man of conscience. He came out in the late 1990s, just as the worst of the AIDS epidemic had passed. By contrast, his partner, who’d been out since the late 1980s, had directly witnessed the devastation AIDS had wrought in the gay community.

“I see the emotion in his eyes when he talks about losing [so many] of his friends to the [disease],” says Smith, his voice breaking. “And so I feel like since I wasn’t there to see that, this is my way of giving back.”

He also believes that the LSR is an important symbol, especially for LGBT youth and young adults. Despite the great strides medical researchers have made in combating the AIDS virus, the epidemic continues.

“When you see advertisements for HIV medicines in magazines today,” he remarks, “you always see very healthy people. But in the ’90s, you’d see people moving past the bars down Cedar Springs with walking canes or in wheelchairs. [Twenty-somethings] have no idea what it means to have to go through that.”

Prior to joining the LSR in 2010, Smith had been one of the many casual cyclists you often see riding around White Rock Lake on any given day. He has since traded in his $200 bicycle for the leaner, meaner road bike he initially borrowed from the LSR Locker, but which he now owns.

Participating in the Ride for just one season has also converted Smith into a committed LSR volunteer: He is now LSR’s rider representative. Part of his work involves counseling new cyclists, especially those feeling uncertain about their ability to do the event.

Says Smith, “People ask me, ‘How can you ride 40, 50 or 60 miles — that’s just too far!’ But if you’ve ever ridden your bike once around White Rock Lake, which is just shy of 10 miles, you [begin to] realize just how easy it is to do.”

As the LSR rider rep, Smith also leads individuals and groups on unofficial training rides.

“One of the things I learned along my training path was that if I’m riding with somebody, it’s easier than if I’m riding by myself,” he explains. “Their energy pulls you along and yours pulls them along.”

And that energy is crucial, especially for new riders who haven’t attempted long distances before.

“There’s a [back-and-forth] mental argument you end up having with yourself,” Smith says. “It goes something like this: ‘No, you can’t give up’ and,  ‘It’s too far.’ But if you push, you do get there.”

Smith pauses and smiles. “And then you realize — wow, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org. If you are interested in talking to David about the ride or want to schedule an unofficial training session, you can contact him at david@davidsmith71.com.

M.M. ADJARIAN | Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

As one of the first “route architects” of the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS, Richard Treat can tell you that one of the most crucial elements in route planning is variety.

He can also tell you that he’s one of the proud and hardy few able to say that he’s ridden in all 10 of Lone Star Rides.

A veteran of the 1999 and 2000 Texas Tanqueray AIDS Rides organized by Palotta TeamWorks, Treat jumped at the chance to become involved in the Lone Star Ride, which emerged from TTAR’s controversial ashes.

“[TTAR provided] a limited percentage of return to its beneficiaries,” Treat says. “And the beneficiaries felt they could do better if they took it upon themselves to conduct their own event. I had at that point expressed an interest in becoming involved in the [LSR] steering committee, and my role ended up being route planning.”

In the beginning, the routes took cyclists from Fort Worth to Dallas or Dallas to Fort Worth. While riders could never be sure from year to year of the actual roads that would comprise the ride, they could always be assured of one thing: Diversity.

Says Treat, “It was always a challenge to come up with a good route. [It would have to have] scenic elements to it, preferably on lesser-traveled roads. [And it] would also have to have a physical challenge to it in certain spots.”

Starting in 2009, the more or less straight-line trajectory of the route changed. Now each day of the ride begins and ends at the American Airlines Training Center in Fort Worth, on Hwy. 360, just south of Hwy. 183. One leg of the ride typically takes place in Tarrant County and the other in Dallas County, giving the route a figure 8 shape.

It’s a mild twist of irony that Treat has traveled down a varied life road himself. The self-described “war baby” was born in Fort Benton, Mont., one year before the formal surrender of Japan in World War II.

“Right after graduation from high school [in Billings, Montana], I decided to go to Abilene Christian to do my bachelors. And that’s how I got to Texas,” he says.

From Texas, Treat’s path wound through Mexico, Columbia and Argentina, where he did church work for almost nine years.

He then returned to Texas and became a New Testament translation consultant for an organization in Fort Worth. From there, he migrated into a position at Verizon and later, one at Marcus High School in Flower Mound, where he taught Spanish.

He has now retired from teaching in public schools.

Although Treat has participated in other charity rides — such as the MS 150 — LSR is especially close to his heart.

“[I do it for] friends who are HIV-positive [or who] have died,” he explains. “I’m committed to the work of the agencies involved [in putting together the LSR].”

After a moment’s reflection he also adds, “I myself have also been a recipient of services that [the agencies] perform with community.”

Treat points out that unlike the Texas Tanqueray AIDS Ride that preceded it, the Lone Star Ride began as a local event in which every dollar earned went straight to the beneficiaries. Now the goal is to make the LSR a larger event. But to do that, it will need, in part, to draw more mainstream cycling enthusiasts from the Metroplex.

“I think a lot of people in the cycling community perceive it as a gay event, and there’s perhaps a certain amount of stigma [attached to the LSR] for that reason,” Treat observes.

Still, the Lone Star Ride is growing, albeit slowly. Any apparent obstacles it encounters along its own path are simply part and parcel of a bigger, more important journey.

“It’s just the challenge of the route,” Treat says.

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.

Derwin Hall

Derwin Hall likes the athletic side of LSR, but what he loves most is the chance to give back to the community

M.M. ADJARIAN  |  Contributing Writer
editor@dallasvoice.com

At 41, Derwin Hall is a man in the prime of life. But with a full decade’s experience under his belt as a Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS participant, he is — at least in LSR terms — an “old timer.”

For nine of those 10 years Hall, a Merck pharmaceuticals community liaison and HIV/AIDS educator, has been a cyclist. The one year he didn’t ride, he served as a delivery driver, bringing food and water to the LSR pit crew members.

As an event, Hall says, the Lone Star Ride speaks to his earliest love: Sports.

“I’ve been athletic my entire life,” Hall says. “[I had] college scholarships in track and field. I was a [sprinter].”

Hall first participated in the final Texas Tanqueray AIDS Ride in 2000, the year before the Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS organization held its first event. A gallant thrift store 10-speed took him the full distance — 325 miles — between Houston and Dallas.

The memory of an HIV-positive man Hall dated in the early 1990s help stir him to become involved with both rides. That relationship rocked Hall’s world; what he learned about the disease and those who live with it changed him forever.

“Because of [this man] and my love for him, I ended up volunteering and then working in the HIV field,” he recalls. “Every job I’ve ever had [since] in my adult life has been with AIDS service organizations.”

The LSR is one ride Hall says he would never not do. What the event stands for is what keeps him coming back year after year.

“[The Lone Star Ride gives] dollars to agencies that provide services to the population that has been impacted by a devastating disease,” he explains. “And since [fighting HIV/AIDS] has been my passion and career pursuit, that’s why I’m here.”

Hall’s commitment to Lone Star Ride has not stopped him from finding other ways to give back, not just to the LGBT and HIV/AIDS communities, but to the community as a whole.

“I’ve done a number of local rides that may not be HIV/AIDS specific,” he says. “They can be for multiple sclerosis, they could be for cancer. They could be for anything.”

Hall’s penchant for helping others is clearly visible in how he approaches LSR itself. For example, when it comes to some of the event’s notoriously difficult hill climbs,  Hall has made it a point to assist the less nimble among his fellow riders rather than peddle and pump to the top and continue on alone.

“I’ve turned around, gone back down and helped coach and motivate other riders that might be struggling a little more to get up the hill,” he says. “It’s not a race, [after all]; it’s a ride.”

For all that Hall has given to the LSR as a fundraiser, volunteer and “hill climber’s angel,” he has also gotten help himself during the course of this event. One year, this most seasoned of riders found that somewhere along his path, he’d somehow taken a wrong turn.

“Although I was lost,” Hall says somewhat sheepishly, “people were out there looking for me. [They] eventually found me and got me back on the right track.”

With so much support available to LSR participants regardless of who they are, it’s no wonder that Hall loves the event as much as he does.

“I have seen people of all races, all ages, all sizes, heights and weights doing this bike ride. So it’s not just for the physically fit. It’s for those interested in giving back to the community.

“Or,” he adds, a warm and knowing humility inflecting his voice, “those who just want to be challenged.”

Lone Star Ride Fighting AIDS takes place Sept. 24-25. For details or to donate to a specific rider or team or to the ride in general, go online to LoneStarRide.org.