During these last few dayz I have
spent with these fledgling adults, one message to them was to quote from the
great American poet who just recently passed away; namely Maya Angelo— “Most people don’t grow up. Most people age.
They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children,
and call that maturity. What this is, is
aging.”
Appropriately,
I then cautioned them to resist the insidious, but all too common inclination
of modern adulthood. Which is to continuously complicate their lives with superfluous
endeavors and ravenous consumption. I offered several examples as my starting point for
an emotional long-winded rant, one was about the current state of cycling. One of which
was the absurdity of the marketing of shiny widgets and techno-contrivances the
bike industry offers up to the fanatical consuming bikers each year. This year’s gadgets include offering digital
derailleurs that will save you a ton of weight and only cost $800... Ultimately
beseeching my captive audience to join me in my quest to start a Neo-Luddite
movement where simplistic micro-communities reign, where people engage in
face-to-face conversations about books their reading, and where the populace
doesn’t buy into every new and shiny trinket the capitalists’ offer up for mass
consumption…But I digress…
Perhaps
it is a good thing that I have had several weeks to gain perspective on the
running of the tenth Trans-Iowa. On
reflection, one thing that pops into my mind is how hobbled I have become in
the last few years and how much faster the fast guyz have gotten. Back in the day, if the conditions were
doable, I would race the Trans-Iowa with an eye on finishing up in the top five
or at least in the top ten, of course back then it attracted only the most
dysfunctional and marginalized of Midwestern riders—in the early races, normal
people did not sign up for the Trans-Iowa.
It is
to Guitar Ted’s credit and commitment to the absurdly irrational, that this
race still attracts a relative high number of nerd-do-wells, bohemians, and
misfits—it’s why I keep coming down to Iowa every April. I suspect it is also why many of you also come
back each year or want to experience the event in the future. Just think about
it; early on, some ten years ago, back then when GT and his buddies put this
thing into motion, if you were a really talented cyclist with a bright future
ahead of you, you would not risk it on such an unglamorous and potentially
damaging event as the Trans-Iowa! Even
today, where the canvas is a different color; wherein gravel endurance events
have become vogue, and consequently expensive, even extravagant affairs. Where
“the Industry” produces special carbon and titanium bikes made specifically for
gravel; cutting edge bikes that one can pay many thousands of dollars for…All
in an effort to enjoy an advantage over those other old men in one’s age group
and also where full-on sponsored pros grace the tops of the results page. No
the Trans-Iowa is not a glitzy affair or a big production and I doubt it will
ever be and that is just fine by me. And I suspect you agree with me. The Trans Iowa is about defeating ones demons…Defeating them alone with no fanfare or support!
In any
event, this year I rode solely with the goal being to just try and finish the
damned thing. When I think about how
fast the top guyz were going this year, even against very significant headwinds,
including the performance by Troy Krause on a single speed, (not to mention
Barre riding a fixed gear bike), it really puts my forlorn effort into
perspective. It should come as no
surprise, but for those of you that don’t know me personally, I have never been
“exceptional” at anything in my long life, but due to several recent debacles
(this race included) I have grown even more humble in the assessment of my
achievements and yet also more respectful of the really exceptional
achievements of those of whom I have known over the years. In the context of the Trans-Iowa, I am
thinking of two guyz associated with this event over the years. In my mind, Troy Krause and Mike Johnson have
become synonymous with the characteristics needed to do well in this event,
namely mental toughness and physical perseverance. This year they once again
turned in most impressive results.
To be
honest when I think about this year’s Trans-Iowa, essentially three
peculiarities come to mind. The first
two were essentially acts of God while the third involves a reaction or a
manifestation of these acts of God. I
remember strong headwinds. You know, the
kind of incessant wind that make that distressingly disturbing relentless roaring
sound in ones helmet, all the time wearing steadily away at the resolve of even
the most stoic of willful riders. The second
was the rain that came with nightfall. The third was the generosity of cows...
At one
point, well into the evening hours, the rains became torrential and spiteful in
its delivery. At its peak, the downpour was
so intense that Jay Barre and I sought “shelter from the storm” within a large
metal sided barn-like structure. The
large barn doors were locked, but the doors were old and badly rotted away at
their base, allowing for a jagged gap just large enough to allow us the
opportunity to squeeze through, crawling through the barnyard muck on our stomachs.
Once inside we were treated to a small mountain of fresh hay bales and a
gathering of scared calves. I nodded a sincere
salutation in the general direction of our newly befriended bovines, grabbed a
few broken hay bales and fashioned a soft bed. Resting my old bones in the
supine position, I smiled the smile of sweet salvation. Nothing mattered to me
at that brief moment of respite other than the contentment of non-movement and good cheer directed towards my partner. I looked over at the youthful Barre, who was involuntarily nodding,
fighting the good fight to stay awake. I
remember thinking that it doesn’t get any better than this…
At this
late date, that’s what I most vividly remember about the tenth running of the
Trans-Iowa. Hanging out with Jay Barre, late night or maybe early morning, in
that barn with the cowering cows, while the Demons of Despair outside tried to conquer us…
