RAGBRAI--Tour of Triumph

Photo taken by Mary Chind of the Des Moines Register

He appeared feeble. Coffee dribbled from his lips. Wooden tables supported the weight of six--five and a half really.

"Five bulls and an old man," we thought.

"I've ridden RAGBRAI for 37 years," he said as we chewed.

Cyclists numbered hundreds around us, but the table dimmed as if in a Monastery. Strong young men and women sat with us. It was only mere seconds earlier when the lot of us judged an old, bent, coffee stained man with Elvis side-burns.

We hesitated...,"How old are you?" asked one cyclist.

"Eighty-four," is all he said.

Whispers and triumph walk hand in hand.

One and a half hours before my spot opened at the picnic table, pale fog rested against the morning sun in the flaunted hills of Iowa like water in a farmer's bucket. One by one, two by two and by the hundreds, silhouetted riders charged into the screen. Pedaled bulls. Breath and breaths poked minor holes into the foggy heaven, but as quickly the holes repaired into thickness. I heard them breath. I heard the bikes whirr. I felt them spin past me and I felt space fill as I passed them.

RAGBRAI-- the raconteur's happy place.

Layer by layer the fog lifted as if God himself sipped from the mighty bucket. One hour. One day.

"May the road rise up to meet you," Dad recited each morning of last week. The Irish Blessing, a team mantra. The road rose.

"You must love hills," said one RAGBRAI teammate, "You really push those hills!"

"I'm desperate to get to the top," I said. "Don't exactly dig the hills."

Tires flattened, spokes broken, derailleurs busted, ankles cracked, elbows, knees and heads scraped and none left wanting even for a moment. Cyclists in blips and seconds moved from taming the road to soothing the sores and souls of the wounded.

"Do you need help?"

A man and his son stopped to assist my wife. Her tire blew.

"I don't know much about fixing things, but I can try to help," he said. "Do you need a tube? I've got one here."

"I think we'll be alright," I replied, "The fact that you stopped helps already."

He left. He even expressed regret that he couldn't help more than what he did.

"Did he really just offer us his gear?" I wondered.

We got as far as we could really, but I couldn't get the outer tire over the new tube we'd bought days before. A minute later another two guys stopped to help, guys who knew something. They gladly taught us how to roll the rubber over the tube and the rim. One of them even used his own CO2 capsule (not cheap) to fill her tire up to about ninety PSI, forty PSI short of full.

"Thank you so much," said Monique.

"Whatever we can do," he answered. "You sure you don't need anything else?"

"We're good," I said, "Thanks a million, man we're grateful." They left us shaking our heads again.

We were stuck there a bit longer. We'd called teammates and knew several of them had portable air-pumps. Two air-pump carrying teammates would arrive soon. Others rode by in the meantime and asked if we were ok.

Finally our two friends rode up and pulled over. We used his air pump and filled her tire to one-hundred and twenty PSI. I think our friend nearly burst a blood vessel airing her tire. Portables weren't exactly meant to push one-hundred and twenty PSI. Takes strength. Add vessel-bursting effort to a seventy-five mile ride. Says something about a man.

Then we continued our ride.

We blew three tires last week and have similar stories to tell about all of them. My spoke broke and while it was repaired I helped another woman make a decision about one of her own bike problems.

Nothing's paid forward, they're simply paid.

Jesus Christ knows something about that.

The day of the "picnic table incident" A woman flew head over apple-cart into the ditch and shot straight up to her feet like a canon ball, hands thrust upward like a gold-medal gymnast--a human cat with nine-lives. She didn't seem to even realize what happened. It all happened so fast. She made me giggle. No, she made me laugh. No one could believe they'd seen such a perfectly executed flip into the ditch--10.0 on my card. She'd ridden into a crack, lost her balance, hit another rider and took a flip-n-roll.

Several of us stopped to make sure she was alright and to re-tell the tale. Others, including my wife used our own bandages and salve to patch up the other rider, a 16 year old girl who was stunned and hurt, but able. The road scraped and bled her. No sooner though had we patched her up, put our arms around her and prayed our thank-you's that she rose up to the hill, hopped atop her bicycle and headed out, taking her worried mother in-tow. I understand the gritted journey.

An army of wheels and cyclists left no man behind.

Cyclists rode with radios attached to their bike. The classical guy, the metal guy, the folk guy, the German pub guy, the Christian Contemporary lady, the country girl, the rap couple--they were all there. We had so much fun on the route. One of them rode past Monique and a a catchy country song with lines like "God is great, beer is good and people are crazy" played on his radio. Maybe you had to hear the song to wrap your brain around where you were. Monique did. He was a fast rider but Monique yelled, "Hey sir, could you slow down because I love this song and I'm wondering if we can ride together until it's over?" The faster rider slowed and they enjoyed a great song before he rode off into the wind once again.

One minute, one hour, one day. If cyclists were lucky, they caught up to the guy in the banana suit or the asian dude in the bear suit. Maybe riders heard like I did, one of the twenty-four wiener balloons in one man's helmet pop and laughed. Maybe they found "Team Pie Hunter", a group of riders wearing helmets shaped like pieces of pie, or maybe riders rode with the couple dressed as clowns. Maybe they saw the ladies with colorful wigs and parrot beaks taped to their noses.

They might've pedaled around the young lady who rode a mountain bike and only seven gears through Iowa, and maybe they paired up with another who took her mountain bike through every mile possible. Maybe cyclists met the sixty-five year old man who recently completed a two-hundred mile tour...in one day, and that through Utah mountains. Maybe they saw the guy with a deformed leg, the oversized shoe turned outward and the large custom pedal made just for him, ride through the Iowa hills, smiling and pedaling. Maybe. Maybe they rode with the man who weighed over three-hundred pounds last year, but who trained six-hundred miles, lost a bunch of weight and hit the road. Maybe you rode with the sixty-two year old man who rode ten-thousand miles last year. Maybe bikers heard the mighty cry of the Marine team, "Hooahhh!"

Maybe they rode in line with dozens whom one by one assisted an old man with an extra handle on the side of his bike and a sign on his back that read something like, "Help me up the hill please?" New strangers-turned-friends formed behind him day in and day out, but the line remained. Each rider took hold of the handle and rose to the hills with him a couple hundred feet before drifting off to the back of the line, allowing another rider to take their place another couple hundred feet. Maybe riders saw their privilege.

Maybe it takes might and vulnerability to be the best.

Maybe cyclists rode with the woman who only two years ago had not picked up a bike in twenty years, but whom this year decided she could do the optional one-hundred miles on day five.

My wife rolled into camp 107.6 miles later.

Maybe. Maybe they rode with the man with Spina Bifida whose doctors couldn't have dreamed he'd walk let alone ride his bicycle over almost twenty-four thousand feet of hills in one week.

We all rode with the thousands in the rain. Bikers stopped with hundreds at a warm church to take some coffee and sugar and an excellent breakfast. Maybe they were there when the church lady opened an oven so that cold, wet hands could warm. Maybe they were one of the many awed by the generosity of the janitor who would clean up the next day. Maybe the same home-owner opened his garage to others as he did for my wife and some teammates so they could again escape the rain and warm up.

Maybe. Maybe their support crew humbly, joyfully and unabashedly kept them in tip-top shape. And maybe their support blessed them as ours did us before we left in the morning.

I saw him the next day, I did. Deep, white side-burns defied a feeble cover for the giant inside--a silhouette of other days--the good 'ol days whether they were or not. Bony knees shook as small feet and small stature clipped in. His bicycle swayed left and right as balance eluded him for three seconds. Then there he was, all 84 years of him headed out of another town, down another road. I remembered the coffee stains and the judgement and I rode behind him for a minute, hardly daring to pass such a hallowed road bull headed away from pasture. He's now held together by patience and the wisdom of the journey.

I'm a young bull. I will rise and meet the road that rises with me. But my nostrils flare by the example of the mighty and the unafraid who's courage ne'er wanes and who's life remains unfeigned.

Whether they rode last week with balloons in their helmets, or rolled with the hearts of hosts of angels, they revealed the wisdom of our years, the tenacity of spirit, the practicality of skill, the happiness of laughter, the satisfaction of effort, and enabled the vulnerability of joy.

And even when they whispered, I engaged in and witnessed a tour of triumph.

Ready to Ride--But not in the rain?

"How you doin'?", I asked my wife Monique.

"My legs hurt, but I feel great," she replied.

"Me too," I said. "Only a handful of us believe it's possible to get it done."

"I don't mind being part of the handful really," she said. "But riding in rain, I just can't do it. Too dangerous." Pause. "No way I'm goin' out in the rain. You can't make me," she continued. Then an afterthought, "Impossible."

Today she rode in the rain.

The posts are few and far between--I'm off on the nearly 500 mile bicycle ride across Iowa this week. Sounds kinda crazy, I know. People have called me crazy for years and I figured it was time to walk the talk. However, one gentleman is roller blading across Iowa, another is riding his Unicycle. One woman is riding with one wooden leg and another with only one arm. An 81 year old man is riding this week with only one gear, my wife rode in the rain, and the rest of us are riding with one big pile of guts, fear, pain, joy, pride and satisfaction. One man, Wes, rode the first three days...the first after discovering his nephew was killed in a motorcycle accident. He leaves for the funeral tomorrow morning. We've all got stories. Between my wife and I, we've popped two tires and broke a spoke. In all that I've told my story at least once already, and to a perfectly random stranger who overheard a conversation.

We're all a little crazy I suppose. But I'm off on another day of doing the impossible and that feels quite normal. All the days are them that the Lord has made and the lot of us wake up to see as much of it as possible.

Thou Shalt Not Litter

I don't have writer's block really. I can't seem to focus on a subject. In fact I have too many of them. Too many questions. In one single minute on Sunday I had five random thoughts, most of them somewhat deep and all of them taking me down a different rabbit trail.

Scripture says in Ecclesiastes that "there is nothing new underneath the sun...". Yet all of us respects originality. We respect new fashion, original ideas, new stories, personality changes, original parenting techniques, original tattoos etc.

Wisdom given to any of us by parents, mentors or friends often pares down to, "Think outside the box." If nothing is new underneath the sun, if there are a specific set of rules, if there are boundaries that are not to be crossed, then what does it mean to "think outside the box?"

I was born with a birth defect that might've killed me, shouldn't have allowed me to walk and most certainly could not have allowed me to get rid of my leg braces. I have limitations--I'm not the fastest Joe in the world and I'll never win a balance contest. However, if you want me to teach you how to fall properly, I'm most certainly an expert! Is that thinking outside the box? I'm within my circumstances, but have learned how to use what I have somewhat originally. Do you want to learn how to fall properly? My services are cheap but I don't pay your hospital bills should your "trip and fall" learning curve be steeper than some.

SO I won't win a marathon or a sprint...but what happens if I didn't have to be on my feet? Bicycles! Motorcycles! I know my limitations--I'm not great on my feet, but I'm awesome off my feet. I know my limitations--my calf muscles are small and insignificant, so in order to ride well I need to develop my hamstrings, quads and my thighs. I know my limitations, I know my boundaries. I need a car that sits a little higher and that has excellent back support--or I need a motorcycle. Sounds weird, right? Think outside the box--I can lean into the bike, my back really has no support but it's allowed to stretch and lean and I'm allowed to move relatively freely. I don't have to lift myself out of a motorcycle in the same way that I have to lift myself out of a car. And, with a little adjustment of the shifter, I can adjust the bike to fit my right foot.

I fit within my boundaries--it's just that one or two of those boundaries are flexible. I won't murder, steal or cheat on my wife--those are fixed boundaries, but I can't see myself in a box from which I just think my way out of. I'm going to ride my bicycle 500 miles in one week, in just over a month. What's so amazing about a Spina Bifida on a bicycle? Everything and nothing. I ride as if I know I can. I ride because God gave me legs. You're amazed, and I'm just doing what I can. Maybe I'm limited in my scope? Being on a bicycle is normal to me...an absolute joy for me...then what would be thinking outside the 'box' for me?

Gravity is a rule right? Even astronauts must succumb to limitations caused by atmosphere and gravity. They can't enter or leave the atmosphere at, or from, any angle--astronauts follow a very particular flight path. I have Spina Bifida, I can't escape that. Therefore everything I do, including a bicycle ride, must follow a particular regiment - a specific "flight path" - in order to successfully navigate the limitations imposed by Spina Bifida. Because I know those things, I'm rarely held to any particular distance or dissuaded from many challenges. I'm on a bicycle all the time. I've biked all over the world--Alaska, Amsterdam, Adel (IA), Ashworth Road (nothing significant about Ashworth, I just needed a fourth "A" word). Boundaries stretch.

So nothing is new under the sun, people haven't changed much, the world hasn't changed much. Everything is, at the very core, familiar. Denise at her blog called "A Sacred Longing" said, "I tend to cling to the familiar. Hide in the usual. Wither in the expected." I'm not distressed by the common. I enjoy my routine. But within the common routine, realize that some inescapable boundaries are also stretchable. Our lives are made of moments that look much like slipping on a littered banana peel that you yourself threw to the ground and stepped on--on purpose!

We turn "life-litter" into walls, impassable boundaries. We slip and trip, then retreat. We can't seem to move beyond them, most often because we fear everything beyond them, even though the self-devised boundaries, your walls prove more damaging than anything beyond them. Thou shalt not litter!

I'll never become a ballerina--my boundaries don't stretch that far. But I'm going to eat my banana, and I'm going to throw the peel in a can well off my path. Then I'm going to gear up, clip in, and ride.

If you are interested... here's my first RAGBRAI ride:

THE ABATE TOYS-FOR-TOTS RUN--Hear the Thunder?

The years of the bikes. I believe we've entered an era in our lives. Does that happen to you? It's not quite a mid-life crisis. I don't feel a crisis. It's an era.

Last year Monique and I experienced the quintessential accomplishment either of us have tried. We broke through several glass ceilings that week and many of you know which ceilings were shattered. This year we did something again! I can't say that the experience of last Sunday reached to RAGBRAI heights, but I can say that we broke yet another ceiling.

We and our friends Dan and Stephanie participated in our first bike rally on Sunday! The ABATE toys-for-tots run occurs every year. ABATE dedicates itself to rider education, rider freedom and watching and defending rider rights in the political realm. TO some rider freedom means you don't have to wear helmets. To some rider freedom means you have the freedom to gear up to the max. To some rider freedom means you don't have to do anything about your own hygiene. I mean really.

Actually there were people of every kind there. Our friends Dan and Steph invited us to attend and, while intimidated, we decided we'd take advantage of yet another opportunity to experience something we'd never done! RAGBRAI gave us untold confidence. So, we went to church, came home, changed clothes, made sure we had our toy for the tots and geared up. Dan and Steph showed up and so, we planted our crazy butts onto the seat and headed down the interstate to a parking lot just east of the Capitol. We got there early and so we took off again because Dan had to finish off his biker repertoire with a soda and a cigar. I succumbed to peer pressure (not really much pressure) and found myself a cigar.

We returned to the lot and watched the bikers and their bikes roll on in. There were cruisers, choppers, sport bikes, crotch rockets, and well, there were what could best be described as "beasts." There was a three-wheeler harley which I found out there that they had reverse! He backed right into the spot. How easy is that? I just have to believe that every time I walk my bike in and out of spots that I'm working on my conditioning. Anyway, we saw bikes...one with a barbie doll strapped to the front (say what?), we saw older bikes with side-cars on it. Some were shiny and chromed and others were just wicked sweet. We saw bikes that hadn't been washed in 30 years! Supposedly there's a group of bikers who believe it a badge of honor to have a hardcore bike. Beer Bellies, Black Vests, holey jeans, and dirty freakin bikes makes one more bad-ass. Oh well...I could take 'im. There was an older woman who'd obviously been riding a long time. She was geared up in black leather and jeans and rode a yellow Honda Shadow. It was a cool bike and a cool chick.

One chopper was painted yellow and the tank was overlayed with a spider web, home to a menacing black widow...very cool. The "official" bike was attached to a sleigh, a symbol of the charitable event that would give many young but struggling children something to enjoy. In fact it felt good to be part of something where this many people gathers together in order to make a child's day, and maybe even change their perspective on life. We don't get to meet the tots, but we gave ourselves a chance to pray for them. Monique and I got some molding clay and a stamping package. The kids might make a mess, especially with the clay...but I hope they enjoy themselves.

Everyone walked around and checked out everyone's ride. I was checkin out the rides but you wouldn't believe some of the people either! One of them was dressed up as Santa Claus. Another leathered and jeaned man who looked like he seen more tussles than operas in his life, was wearing reindeer antlers! Huh? I laughed.

Some people were clean cut, others were hardened. Some were in good shape and some had beer advertisements for stomachs. But everyone was there for the tots! It's ironic how quickly we judge those who look a mess, but these people of every kind were ready with their big stuffed animals and play-do and I was inspired. And the people we talked to were cool. And I find it interesting how many American Flags I saw attached to bikes, or helmets or fenders...good stuff.

Before the walk around Dan and I sat on the grass, talked politics and bikers and smoked cigars. Dan's just a bit older than I am. Why is that important? It isn't. I just wanted to feel young again. Either way, I give him the credit for giving me the impetus to finally purchase a motorcycle. He'd been turning me in that direction for a few years now! I've wanted one for over 20 years. Monique never thought about it until I mentioned it one day. What kind of brain-fart coerced her into believing she wanted to take the Motorcycle course, I'll never know. But I'm so glad her brain farted. Monique is so awesome and I'm proud that she's in a place where she can enjoy this. She's stoked that Steph also has her license. Some day they'll hit the roads together on their own bikes. I just know it.

The triumph got a few hard looks and one biker dude used to own a Triumph and wished he'd never gotten rid of it! I think he was kinda checkin Monique out too, but I'm a biker dude now too which I believe gives me the natural ability to use numchucks. I didn't know where I was going to get a pair of "chucks" but it was alright...after googling awhile, He moved on without incident. Either way, Dan, Steph and Monique and I were getting more excited by the minute.

We were in the parking lot a bit over an hour until 1 o'clock, the time that everyone was to fire up the bikes and proceed to the destination where everyone would drop off their toys for the tots and party it up! We did, the noise came all at once! Exhilarating! You could feel the rumble in your feet on the ground. Big time whoa. I let Dan lead me into the line of probably 2000 bikes and we rolled out of the east parking lot into the Capitol City...a place we would rule if only for 1/2 hour.



We headed down the road, a regular city road. Cops were at every interesection holding traffic in toe while we rumbled through, 3-4 or 5 wide! We rode through stoplights, stop signs and every kind of normal traffic obstacles. I laughed at the prospect that the cops who are usually chasin some of these people, were actually helping them avoid traffic laws! Totally sweet. I couldn't dreamed it. It was a triumphant procession made up of 2 miles of bikers. One looked down the road, looked left and right and all you saw were bikes and riders! We were so nervous but it was 10 seconds and Monique was raising her hands, fingers in the victory position and screaming...WOOO HOOOO! YAHOOOOOO! TOTALLY COOOOOOOL! Steph was doing the same thing. I was near euphoria amongst the noise. I've seen miles of bicycles on the roads of Iowa and now this! It's not the same accomplishment as RAGBRAI, but could you see us 4 wide, rolling down the road at 45 miles per hour on a motorcycle? Neither of us could explain to each other how accomplished we felt through the ride and through the event itself.

Put into perspective, we didn't save a life, we didn't build a house, we didn't get a job..., but there are children who will know that there are people out there who have their backs. And we had fun, so much fun. All we did was give a toy to a tot, and do something we'd never imagined doing. Ever. But in my mind there are many ways one contributes to society and doing good things that build confidence allows me and us to inspire someone else to do something they've never done. It's also given us ideas how we can inspire people who've come through years of struggle or had to overcome a recent tragedy. That's important I think.

The ground thundered under thousands of two and three wheeled roaring machines. The lot of us were in our element. We stopped at the south edge of town and added ourselves to the throng of toy-tossing ruffians. Most stayed for a meal and some drinks. Everyone was standing around talking and enjoying themselves. We knew why we were there. It was simply a charitable thing to do. But these freedom loving people find many reasons to get together. They love being around eachother. I find the culture interesting. There's honest respect between bikers. Many will go out of their way to assist you in any way and others can't wait to talk bikes with someone. Car people just don't understand. I don't either really, but I'm learning. I take that back, the classic car culture knows what I mean. Cyclists know what I mean. There's an intangible something about camaraderie. When you meet another biker on the road, most will give you the one or two finger wave. They always know you're there. I love it. And there are quite a few events in and around town that we think we'll find time to attend next year.

One year, RAGBRAI. This year, ABATE Toys for Tots. Next year we're putting them both together! That'll be great eh? A single year full of two-wheels, antlered bikers, whirr and roar. Amazing. You're welcome to join us. Please do. In fact I full hope you would.

For another perspective on the event, read Stephanie's blog by clicking HERE!