The Grace in Failure- SCAR Swim 2021

 

I fully believe how we define ourselves is not rooted in the good times, but rather in the times of hardship. The times where your spirit is challenged. The times where success is not defined in mortal terms. The times where you cry, laugh, and yell all in hopes that your sanity returns. Those are the moments that define who we are and how we live. Those are the moments that the rest of the world wants to see failure but we find growth and solace. These moments come in MANY shapes and sizes-- for me is was spelled SCAR.

The SCAR event provided me with several moments of hardship. Hardships that my body gave into, that my mind could not process, and that left my soul feeling stampeded. It was a hell of a four-day adventure. One I will never look back on with regret.
Before I tell you the rest I will tell you two very important facts-- 1) I failed to complete the SCAR challenge and 2) I am every bit just as determined to go back.
For those of you not familiar with SCAR, here is the easy description: Four Lakes, Four Days, Forty Miles. The event takes place in Arizona, but do not be fooled one of the biggest challenges in this event is the cold waters.
Now, this story doesn't start with the shockingly cold water I jumped into on day one of the challenge; nope it starts two days prior when we left home and headed to Arizona. Patrick and I made it happily to Arizona BUT our luggage did not. Instead, our luggage was back home sitting at the airport and an hour shy of being put on a different plane headed... well, I wasn't listening well enough to know where it was going to be headed. We went into the luggage claiming area for United, where we encountered John. After me freaking out, shedding tears of frustration, and being told several times by Patrick to take a walk around and breathe, John informed us that our luggage would be found and he would get it to us. Patrick happened to notice that the name linked to our luggage tickets was for someone leaving the same airport but with a slightly different last name. As we waited for the car rental, which is a story with a lot more curse words that I won't get into, John called to let us know our luggage was going to be leaving home and on the 9 something PM flight to Phoenix. Trust me I apologized again to John, to which he told me that I was not the worst customer he had (even that day) and that he was just as frustrated with our experience. By 11pm we had our first confirmation of our luggage safely arriving and set for delivery the following day. In the meantime, I was a little thankful for my paranoia leading to me packing a set of goggles and a bathing suit in my carry-on bag. It was easy enough to find a sporting goods store to purchase an extra pair of goggles and jammers for Patrick so we could both swim the practice swim the following day. 

For the first few nights, we stayed at the Saguaro Lake Ranch. Side note here, if you want to visit Arizona and stay someplace unique and thoughtful you should stay here. The ranch provided boxed breakfast that was better than most hotels pre-COVID. And they did so with a smile, even at 6am. We still did not have our luggage in the morning and we weren't sure about a delivery time so we reminded the front desk that our luggage may be coming while we were gone. I am not sure if they say "bless your heart" in Arizona but the woman working the desk certainly said it with her eyes. I felt like she was going to grandma-hug the anxiety out of me.

Breakfast was our first encounter with a few of the other swimmers. We all know I don't make friends and I am certainly on guard when I feel I have to give a resume of my athletic accomplishments to sit at the table. Turns out this standoffishness was not necessary for most of the swimmer group (the others I did avoid a little because let's be honest I relate to the cacti of Arizona a bit too much at times). The breakfast friends offered us tangerines from their home city of Ojai. GO BUY THEM NOW!!! The couple was extremely friendly, insightful, and a joy to talk with during the entire event. The swimmer had completed SCAR previously but had also struggled at SCAR previously; which made him this pillar of compassion, unbeknownst to him. 

Then came the awkward part-- the practice swim. Some of my fellow athletes will not understand the social differences in SCAR and other events, and that's ok. But what you have to understand is SCAR is not an event you show up to, pick up your race packet, say hi to a few people, sleep, wake up, and race, then go home. You will see these people for the following four days. You will talk about struggles, life, and places to eat over the next four days; and you will be there and accountable every day (if you do SCAR right in my opinion). SO first impressions and all that!! 

Patty's Practice swim in Saguaro was a small gathering of swimmers and kayakers. For me, it was a chance to get in the water, feel the temperature, and get stretched out from the stressors of travel. Turns out the water was great, even after the rains. It was the first time I would notice the oddity of Arizona water. First, the water temp on top is not the same as the water temp two inches down. This means with every stroke or breath your arms and face are going from warm to cold. I didn't think much of it at the time, but later I would realize that this makes it a little more taxing to regulate body temperature (at least for me it seems). Second, the water sucks all the nutrients from your skin. I am not sure if it is the silt in the water or what but my skin felt dryer after the first swim than it does after hours in the saltwater. Between the swim and the "meet and greet" events we met a few other swimmers who were all very encouraging and entertaining. It is always a good time when no one really seems to be sure what is going on but we all follow along anyway. And BONUS, after the practice swim our luggage arrived at the ranch!!! There is just something about the idea of clean clothes and gear that is soothing!!  

Day 1- Saguaro (suh·waa·row) 

Not knowing what to expect from this event what I certainly did not expect was for the event to run on Key's time (the time we experienced when swimming in the Florida Keys, where time was sort of a flexible construct). Now, this is not a bad thing or a negative takeaway, it is simply an observation-- one that over the few days made more and more sense. This would also be the first day that we would get a feel for how the kayakers and swimmers meet up AFTER the start. 

Upon arriving via pontoon to the "staging area" our portion of wave one only had a few seconds to prepare before needing to be back on the pontoon to head a bit up the lake to the start. This was the same for the kayakers in getting ready to launch. In the rush and uncertainty my mind was spinning and unfocused. I hopped back on the boat and yelled to Patrick my goodbyes, as he quickly strapped up his kayak with gear. This would be my last smile for the day, well next few hours. 

I stood on the boat ready to jump, listening to the other swimmers make statements about the cold water. Even those who had done this year after year remarked on the cold this year. Upon jumping into the water, immediately my body reacted to the cold creating a tightness in my chest and tingle in my fingers. Let's be brutally honest right now, the only thing going through my mind was, "fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck." I held onto the buoy line in front of the dam, put one hand there and one hand in the air, then GO was the last word heard before my face was in the water.

My mind went to counting strokes and breaths-- one, two, three, breath; one, two, three, breath. Then I couldn't count and my breath was gone. I was focused forward trying to see when I would see Patrick. I will be honest, I was scared. I felt like my body was rattling and I was coming unhinged. I soon saw Patrick at the first bend but neither my body nor my mind would settle. I tried to get things back under control, focusing myself to push a little further, but I couldn't. I also couldn't or wouldn't communicate to Patrick what was wrong. It could not be possible that my swim was ending only moments after having started. It was embarrassing and frustrating. I was near tears; tears of anger and fear. When I finally told Patrick I was cold I knew it was too late to get warmed back up in the water. 

I took to the shoreline to a pebbled beach area. I made an attempt to dawn the wetsuit I had brought, but the cold made functioning on any level near impossible for me. I made three attempts to go back into the water before calling it. 

Patrick quickly wrapped me in an emergency blanket and gloves, while alerting for help from others. Meanwhile, I shook and cried until the boat came up to help me get to a safer spot. Here I was only a mile into a 9 mile swim and I couldn't go any further. 

On the way to the shore, the boat stopped to pick up another swimmer suffering similar physical and mental hardships. This was the moment I realized that at SCAR it doesn't matter if you know each other, it doesn't matter if you swim at the same pace, what does matter is being there for the victories and the defeats with an understanding heart. Sitting in the back of the speedboat that day I got to know a swimmer who was frustrated and sad and fearful, a person who I realized had a strength greater than her ego or her wants, a strength to call it on a bad day to go back in on a better day. If I could see this strength in someone else then I had to give myself a little credit too. 

That night I made the decision to not jump off the boat the next day, but then to try again on the last two swims with my wetsuit. It was a difficult decision made with heartbreak and defeat. 

 

Day 2- Canyon   

I debated my prior night's decision to not go to the start line at Canyon. But I stood by this decision. One of the race staff hugged me as I cried and told me, "you never know what you are being saved from." These were the most impactful words uttered to me that day. She encouraged me to take a kayak out and go see the lake, to just be there so that I could find peace in my heart. So as Patrick loaded up to go be support for another swimmer, because yes he is THAT amazing. I stood on the shore and let myself accept my decision. Accepting my decision did come with a caveat- I would go kayak and look at this day with appreciation AND I would swim in the lake, even if not the swim I had intended. 

After all the swimmers and boats had left, and I was committed to my choice, I hoped in the kayak to head out across the lake and into the Canyon. Once I was at a point where the canyon walls climbed to each side of me, I found something I was not expecting to find on this day-- a sense of belonging. 

It is funny to have a feeling of belonging when you are all alone. This wasn't about belonging to a group or a single relationship; rather it was belonging in the space-- here. I don't know any other way to explain the calm I found alone between cliffs as I watched the sun ripple off the water. I still didn't know, and never will, what I was kept safe from that day; but I do know that I needed this moment of belonging in this space. 

I don't think we often step outside of ourselves to celebrate what is around us. It doesn't matter what you believe in, when you look around you realize the power and grace of everything surrounding us. In watching the canyon there is an acceptance of the idea that those things we think of as bending to our will, such as water, has the strength to cut down mountains, to crush bounders to pebbles, and then to turn around and nurture life into a flower born in the cracks of those rocks. I have always related to the water, as it has always brought calm even in the storm; but here I realized we are all the rock, the flower, and the water. For me I realized the moments, even in that present, where I looked strong but was worn down over time like the rock; where I have been forced into the cracks of life with the goal of creating something beautiful like the flower, and where I have forged my path against resistance, even if I had to bend I never stopped driving forward like the water. It wasn't the message I had intended to walk away from on this day; it was the message I needed to give myself permission to accept. 

Alright, that heart-felt moment out of the way, I turned the kayak around, more determined to swim in this water, in this lake, on this day. Along the shore near the boat launch was what I like to call the "kiddie pool", a little shoreline for swimming plus a little more to get distance. I swam just over a mile that day and I was okay with redefining this as an accomplishment.

 

Funny story: When I went out to the water to swim, two older gentlemen, asked me if I was going for a swim. Now I am dressed in a swimsuit, swim cap, and goggles with a buoy strapped around my waist; it would be difficult to do any other activity in this getup. I answered, "yes." One of the guys nodded at me and said, "Well, if you see any fish scare them this way so we can catch 'em." I can honestly say this is the first time I have been asked to help a fisherman in his sport while taking part in mine. I laughed, said "will do", and went for a swim. 

 

Day 3- Apache
This would be the longest lake but the night before would be the LONGEST drive. Turns out when there are rock slides that take out roads you have to take the other "highway". Trust me the quotes are necessary. The alternative route seemed strange to look at on GPS, granted everyone called it the "long way around" and sure it was exactly that-- but why was the distance going to take so long, the math was not adding up. With only about 15 miles left to go, we still were 2 hours out-- why you ask. Oh because the last 12 miles were on a winding gravel-dirt road through the mountain landscape with twist turns and places that two vehicles could not pass in the night. Granted it did not take 2 hours, but it was an interesting drive into the sun!!!

While Apache is the longest lake, it was supposed to be warmer than the prior lake. This would under normal circumstances be true, according to those with the race and swimmers who had swum previously. But as we pulled out boat up to the dam rope where we would start there was a mist rising from the water. The cause? The damn dam was open to generate, pouring cold water from the bottom of the other lake into our course. 

As each swimmer jumped in there were a few choice words. It was cold, yep cold is accurate for 52ish degree water, but again in full honest disclosure, it was fucking cold. It didn't even take your breath away since when you jump in you just didn't have breath at all. At this moment let me give you a helpful hint on how to make friends- you swim quickly and with purpose to the start line, place your hands on the buoy and in the air so that everyone can get moving instead of listening to you complain about the cold that we are ALL experiencing first hand.

The benefit of the water flow was giving us some speed to the cold. Patrick and I met up and I was feeling cold but okay. Patrick supplied me with warm tea-- even though trust me when I tell you don't make the tea with Arizona water, it's weird to say the least. We moved along together, in sync with each other. Today was different than the first lake, because while cold my brain could form thoughts to communicate with Patrick about how I was feeling. The cold was seeping in, even in the wetsuit. 

Normally I would tell people to not focus on the factor that this day won't go as you planned, instead focus on moving forward. However, for me just being in the water was the accomplishment. The worry was getting back to where my body was that first day when I lost all control. I was afraid of what it could mean to get cold again, in an act of caution before things could go wrong I alerted Patrick that I was soon to get out. He let the boat nearby know. But told me to keep swimming.

When the pontoon boat came up Kent was on the front, what he said to me was a little unexpected, "I know you feel cold but give me five more minutes of swimming." Without doubt or reluctance, I went for five more minutes. When I popped up again Patrick repeated the message and pointed out a spot to focus on and swim. This would happen one more time before I called it for good. Those 15 minutes were short but defining and I was ever glad to have each of those minutes. Swimming may be an individual sport, but it is a team effort. After 3.6 miles and for the second time at SCAR, I found myself on the same rescue speed boat along with other swimmers. The difference this time was I wasn't mad or scared, I was over the moon thrilled (and shivering).
Patrick helped out for a bit while kayaking back to the boat launch. I had laid in the sun and taken a hot shower to warm up. He then in true Patrick fashion told me he wanted to go swimming, we swam another mile in the cold Apache lake. Like all of the lakes, the top inch of water was warm then turning cold. This may sound pleasant but this water changing makes it difficult to regulate body temp. 

Day 4- Roosevelt 

The shortest lake. The sunset, evening swim. The lake you should not underestimate. 

Funny Story: In order to get to start of any lake at SCAR there is often a pontoon boat involved. As they called swimmer names the swimmer and kayaker boarded the boat. On our boat, there were twelve people. Our boat may have been overloaded and under-powered. We had to travel from the boat launch to the start which was across the lake, around a peninsula. As we all chatted, we puttered across the lake. At an unexpected moment, a rogue wave took the front of the boat causing the front to begin to sink. People started to scramble to get gear and shift weight to balance the boat. As it almost seemed the boat was going to right itself it took a sudden pitch to the side causing the boat to tip at an angle, still headed in a downward trajectory to the bottom of the lake. With a little more maneuvering of people and making close friends, the boat finally righted. There was about 10 seconds of dead silence on the boat and then laughter. Now normally I would not be a fan of sinking boats, there is a long history of that now going well, but at this moment it was the true definition of SCAR-- sometimes you are sinking, it isn't bad or good, it is just a fact; what matters is if at that moment you shift weight and laugh a little. 

By the time our boat, the first to leave and last to arrive, made it to the launch point I was short one pair of goggles (I felt horrible that they were at the bottom of the lake) and depleted of a lot of stress. Having the unexpected hit you day, after day, after day, starts to simply become the norm. Of course, our boat almost sank, why wouldn't that happen. (Good news Kent kindly gave me a new set of clear goggles so I would be able to see at night.)

We prepped on a boat launch, unable to see around the peninsula to the expanse of the lake. However, what we could see, and knew from the boat ride over, was that the wind on the lake was causing a bit of a stir leading to what would be head-on waves that sometimes also came from the side. I was nervous getting into the water. It had nothing to do with the distance or conditions, those were all manageable. It had to do more with the fear of one more day of failure. In a nanosecond, thoughts flooded my brain-- the cold of the first day, the bald eagle on Canyon Lake the second day, the moment the sun touched my shoulders on the third day, but one theme acted as a filter to everything else. Inside the flashing of images was a constant seen every day, Patrick. Over the past few days, I had had worry and fear, faith and confidence, adventure and compassion. When I glanced at him now as I took a deep breath he stopped prepping the kayak and smiled at me, then asked if I was ok. Overwhelmed with the emotion of love I nodded my head. I was going to be just fine, no matter what because I knew every time I glanced up I would see him there. 

We popped the rest of the glow sticks, pushed off the kayak, and lined up to start. I again started in my thin wetsuit, worried that the toll of many months of compounding factors would again influence this day more than the here and now. It may have been embarrassing to be the only person in a wetsuit, in surely the warmest water, but this wasn't about them it was about me. 

The event started and into the water, we went. For the first time the sun was ahead of us and we were chasing. Once again my husband went to the "rescue" of a swimmer to get them back on track. So there was a bit of a delay in Patrick getting along side me. Once he was there I took a deep breath and began counting. No, I am not so obsessive that I count all my swim strokes for hours on end but I find it to be calming, in the beginning, to count and feel control. Every fifteen minutes Patrick threw out my fluids to me and asked about body temperature and how I was feeling. In the first section all I was feeling was that we were never going to make it around that damn peninsula. However, once we did the lake opened up to... well to more lake and more waves.

What many people don't understand about swimming is the pace at which you are moving. Even if you have a strong steady pace you aren't moving as a runner would. For me I can speed walk a mile in eleven and a half minutes; however, it takes me about thirty minutes to swim a mile. What this does in your brain is make you feel like you are not moving at all. That tree you saw on your last breath, guess what you are going to see it for the next twenty breaths--- THAT SAME DAMN TREE. This leads to me asking Patrick in the middle of the lake, "I am moving right." And while slow I was in fact moving. 

In the middle of the lake I suddenly noticed the sky change and the water begin to smooth a bit. The bright blue of the day was fading into orange and pink. At one feeding time, Patrick smiled and asked if I wanted to hold hands and watch the sunset with him. I told him no to which he supplied that I was missing out. He wasn't wrong, so I made sure to take a few extra sips of fluids during the feedings with the sun setting just to catch a glimpse.

After the sun starts to set night comes pretty quickly (well it feels that way). I watched as the glow sticks get brighter, the shoreline dimmer. On one breath to my right, I saw the stars for the first time. As the night got darker the stars shined with a brightness that offered calm and and sense of stillness. It may mean I am a science nerd to be in the middle of a swim and think of how small I am in this lake and how small this lake is on this planet, and how small our planet is in the solar system, the galaxy, the universe. It is sort of a harsh reality check during a swim to feel so small. 

As the stars got brighter so did the bridge we were headed towards, not so much the red light that we were really needing to head towards first. I was struggling with my left shoulder and so I was using that side to breathe more often and pushing harder with my right. This causes me to swim in a bit of an arch and in the night it is very difficult to self-correct; especially when it is already an odd sensation to figure out if your head is above the water or below because the darkness and light refraction is so similar. We don't swim at night back home because that's a good way to get eaten or nibbled on by something, so this was a little daunting. Patrick continued to guide me trying to get me to stay more left. When listening to him didn't seem to be working he swapped sides, moving from my preferred place for him on my left over to my right. This put him behind me in how I needed to breathe but was a very good reminder that "if you won't listen I will just run you over" (his words).  

Now in true fashion of SCAR when you think you are there you aren't there- be it the start line, the hotel, or the finish line. Crossing under the bridge was a relief. The damn thing had been taunting me for hours-- stupid big things that slowly get bigger. But it wasn't the finish line; no that would come in about a quarter of a mile. There ahead of us two pontoon boats sat next to the buoy line before the dam. One with a light shining on the orange rope and Kent on board telling you to touch the buoy then swim around to the other boat. I stopped five feet from the line. Some people would have taken the victory immediately but I needed a minute to consider if I wanted to touch that line. Let's be honest I hadn't touched one yet in the last three days, was I really willing to ruin my streak. Through all of the flooding emotions, I heard Patrick tell me to touch the line. It may have been because he was DONE. It may have been because he saw my hesitation. What I know it was, was a show of support for this whole crazy adventure. With that, after being cold, after feeling defeated, after finding a part of me, after giving up on my terms, after facing the fear to start again, after all the days of failure, I found grace for myself on a buoy line in Roosevelt lake in Arizona in the dark beneath a sky of stars that reminded me that I was small but I was mighty. 

For the last time I boarded the same speed boat that picked me up twice before when I couldn't go any further--- but this time the gentleman greeted me with a smile, "Glad to see you getting on my boat over here today." Me too, I was ever thankful. 

The moment Patrick met me onshore he wrapped me in a hug and he asked, "When are we coming back?" I laughed because of course, we were coming back. 

 

SCAR wasn't what I wanted it to be but it gave me everything I needed in a way I didn't understand and still am note sure I fully grasp. The strength you need for the adventure of SCAR is not made up of only your body but it is an adventure born of your heart and forged by your soul. If you don't walk away feeling this way, I am going to tell you that you are doing it all wrong. 

When SCAR ended a new adventure in Arizona began with petrified forests, volcanoes, ruins, deserts, grandest of canyons, bears, lakes, and bridges. It was an amazing trip-- that I can't wait to share more stories about. 

In closing let me say this if you are driving down Route 66 through past a goldfish pond into a ghost town run by donkeys and come across a biker named Stumpy, trust him when he gives you directions to a great little breakfast place.

A Walkabout at 40

Not all who wander are lost...and not all who are lost wonder. 

Tolkien was right in that wandering does not make us lost, not physical, mentally, or spiritually. You might be asking yourself about the addition to the line-- it's mine (cocky, I know). Today, right now, it has meaning to me, in that just because you are lost doesn't mean you should not wonder. To wonder, to ponder, to think, to question.  I needed to wander the physical space, to wonder in my mind, and to be lost in the action of both. I needed to run from my chaos as much as I needed to run to it. 

Now before I go further I know what you will say. You will tell me that this mental and physical chaos, this need to be lost is simply a side effect of aging, of turning 40. Sure any birthday with a zero is a big one, so I won't disagree with you. But I will tell you that over 40 years and 40 miles, this being lost and found in the chaos and order was much more than aging. 

I wish this story started with "In a far away land.." and ended with "Happily ever after." Perhaps it does...

In a far away land, known as my mind, I decided that I needed a break, a moment to breathe, a pause in what was around me so I could figure out what was inside of me, and where all the pieces of me were going. As it turned out being stuck in the quicksand of life happened for me just shy of my 40th birthday. This timing led to a pinpointed and purposeful moment in time to do something stupid. I decided that for my 40th birthday I would take a walkabout, for 40 miles. Just walk, just wander, just be a little lost, just to wonder. 40 miles, (mostly) on the trials, on the 28th of January.

I would like to tell you that it all went easy-peasy, but I don't want to lie. At 4am, Patrick allowed me to drag him out of bed to start walking. It was dark, it was windy, it was cold... it was actually freezing!! I made the mistake of thinking that since I had run in the mountains in little clothing that I could do that on this morning. I was wrong, oh so very very worng! This was my first life lesson of the day-- sometimes you are wrong and too stubborn to admit it! Off we went in no layers into the trails. After about two and half miles I was shivering so hard that my legs struggled to keep a pace. Patrick, ever the constant support, kindly offered his jacket to me. The problem was I knew from past experiences that my body was not in a good place and would not be saved by his jacket, no matter how much loving warmth came with it. So instead of walking 10 miles and checking in as planned, I headed towards home. 

To say I was angry with myself at this moment would be what ever comes after "the understatement of a lifetime". I was pissed off at myself, I was ready to punch a tree, and I was spinning in the dark feeling lost. In this moment you might think that the right thing for Patrick to have done was to grab me by the arm and drag me in the correct direction home. You would be wrong. Whether he knew it or not he did the most rightest thing, he stood still and waited. Now his reason for this may not have been to help me overcome feeling lost. He may not have intended for it to be a lesson in listening to the silence. He may not have thought that looking back I would find this moment spoke in a voice so loud it would cut out the sounds in my own mind. I would say in the moment, and until he reads this, he had no idea that I needed his silence more than I needed him to drag me along the way. But that's life right, sometimes in the darkness we need those next to us, those who support us, those who guide us, those who speak to us, to stand still and silent, allowing us to find our way home. 5.79 miles. 

Well, I found my way out of the woods and back home; stomping all the way, heated with anger but not warmed. I threw off my clothes curled up on the bed, threw two blankets over myself, and mumbled curses in my frustration as I shivered. After a bit I tried again to put on a few layers and go outside but the moment the cold air hit me it was like I had never warmed up. After a few minutes of letting me stew in my frustration, Patrick again saved me from myself (I guess that's what our spouse do every now and again). He told me, didn't ask me, to put on tights, to get my fleece cover up, and to get back out there (there may have been some extra words). It wasn't received as a choice to be made, it wasn't an option, nor was it a threat. It was simply to be done. With shaking hands, now covered in Patrick's thick fleece gloves, I stood outside again. I pushed the go button on my watch and I walked. 5.80 miles.

The first part of the second walkabout outing was reflective of the first part. I went back to the trail that had sent me home. There I walked. I walked as the first light hit and the sun followed. I listened as the world around me woke up-- cars taking ready people to work, squirrels taking leaps of faith, birds calling out to see who might answer. In the first 10 miles I covered the orange trail. The walk would seem uneventful, but when I came to the point that I had turned around before, I found strength to finish what was laid out ahead of me (I didn't know how often in the day my body and mind would challenge this strength). In this first part of the walkabout I thought about my childhood and the things that I carry with me today. Those traits that formed who I am. My mother would always tell me that I was so my father's child (mostly when my stubbornness turned to her frustration). But as I walked I hoped that my mother knows I was her child, in those stubborn times, as well as in those moment when I found compassion for others or passion for helping others to heal. I thought about how my father taught me to believe that hard work and determination (because he would never call it stubbornness) are nothing without grace. And then my brother popped into mind and I hoped that he knows that through him I learned what friendship could be; I learned that growing up meant challenging the world, even if the world didn't understand (turns out we are all stubborn). For 10 miles I thought of all the people that I learned from in my childhood, all the lessons I learned, and how all of it good and bad makes the good and bad of who I am. 15.79 miles.

Yep, it gets deep people. That's why it's called a walkabout!! 

To me my life has been found through getting lost. For a few miles I moved where my mind took me. I took cut throughs and looped back on myself. Why? In my favorite answer- Because.  18.11 miles. 

At about this point I started to get hungry (yes I had food with me, that I already ate). I decided to make my way to the gas station, which meant leaving the woods. I knew roughly where I needed to be going. And by roughly I mean that I knew which direction but had no clue which trail I needed to actually be on. Here came a reflective moment that made me laugh standing in the middle of a field with popping electrical wires above my head. I got to thinking how often in life we know where we want to be but we have no idea how to get there. Hell, I think I may be in this moment of life right now!! If walkabouts have moments of clarity in the chaos this was one of them for me. This was the moment of admitting to myself that I know where I am in life and I have an idea of where I want to go but the journey there is not clear yet. Yet! I can look at my map from my walkabout and know where I should have turned but in that moment I only knew that I was hungry, I needed nutrient (well, powdered donuts), and I knew where I had to end up. So onward and upward I went, knowing that I was headed in the right direction because I took the first step out of that field and in life. 22.26 miles.    

This part I am going to tell you because you need to know that when you go on a walkabout, no one else get's it. The proof of this is walking into the gas station. I am all geared up (please see the photos). I am walking around the store knowing the only thing I WANT is powdered donuts. But I KNOW I need to get something more than powdered donuts. In this moment it is both my mother's and my husband's voices I hear in my head. "You think that's a good choice?" Well no I don't think getting five packs of powdered donuts is a "good" choice but it is REALLY a choice I WANT to make. Even without them being there their guidance leads me to getting pickles, crackers, and powdered donuts (because, damn it, just because). Now the fun part is going up to the counter, my face fully covered, in walking gear, with my hydration hose flapping, and placing on the counter crackers, pickles, and powdered donuts. I am pretty sure the woman would have backed away slowly if she could have. She asks me if this is everything; to which I nearly respond that "no it isn't because I left four packages of powdered donuts on the shelf because the voices in my head questioned my actions." I said none of this, thanked her, and took my bag of goodies on the road with me. No one get's your walkabout like you. 22.30 miles. 

From here I walked a different trail, not going back to where I had come from. On this trail, a trail only a little over a mile long, it hit me for the first time that I was done. I wanted to quit. It was no longer fun. Even the powdered donuts no longer comforted me. I wasn't hurting. Sure my knee was tight and my hips were nagging, but I wasn't hurting. What I was, was emotionally drained. This I was not expecting. I have run, biked, swam distances, I thought going on a walk would be no problem. The difference was I had told myself this was not a walk, it was a walkabout. To me that change made it more than physical, it was a break from the daily habits and a time to reflect, to assess. This was not a walk in the woods it was a chance to wander and wonder in my lostness. Here my depression from the morning's near failure and anxiety of recent events in my life hit. They hit hard. Here in the woods the tears started and I wanted to quit. I wanted to tell Patrick to ask no questions and just come get me. I wanted to go back home, back under my blankets. I wanted it to all just stop. My legs slowed as my breathing quickened. I had stopped moving but my mind was running through a minefield of emotions. In this moment I text Patrick, "I am never going to be done." He text me back, "Yes you will. Keep going. One step at a time." I sobbed. And then I took one step at a time, just like he told me. Just like he always tells me. 25.13 miles. 

I walked from one set of woods to the other, now ready to take on the next 15 miles. Once back in the woods I took a trail that I know one thing for sure about, when I think I am suppose to turn, I should really keep going. This was a life lesson that time and time again I have to remind myself of-- sometimes I should listen and pay attention to what is said (oh, and actually do it). You see I have gotten myself lost on this trail before by taking a turn too soon, assuming that I was doing it right. This ended in a wet car, soaked shoes, and an angry husband who thought I was lost to the wolves (and may have been hopeful that the wolves keep me). This memory (which happened not too long ago during a tropical storm) flooded back to me as I walked the trail. Just keep going, even if there are obstacles (like trees) in your way. 26.42 miles. 

You are thinking the same thing as me at this point-- is this ever going to end!! The answer is yes it will, but not right now. I will fast forward a few miles. At this point my legs hurt and hips hurt and at the ball of my right foot there feels like there is a pebble, that I know from experience is going to in fact not be a pebble. I found peace walking over a little creek- me and water have a much better relationship than me and land. I made a small uphill climb and a slight turn to the left and BAM!!! This would be the only time I tripped and fell, which if you know me and my relationship with trails this is an amazing feat. The ground came fast and hard, as did the meltdown. I hit my knees, my left shoulder, and my forehead (thankfully the knee and shoulder hits took down the rate at which my forehead hit the ground). My peace was abruptly ended. Once on the ground and fully stopped, I didn't leap up. I didn't roll over onto my back. I didn't even make an effort to check for blood. I laid there with my forehead on the ground. HARD STOP for sure. With tears running down my face, I finally looked down towards my feet to see what tripped me up. I was hoping to find a root that was big and loopy. Instead what I found was a little root that bumped up out of the ground about an inch high. Son of a... I would love to say the tears turned to laughter but both sort of happened at the same time, sounding closer to a wild animal from another planet. This moment was a reminder that life trips you up on the littlest of things. You can fall and HARD STOP. You can cry. Then you stand up, take a deep breath, wipe the dirt off your forehead and move forward.  28.something miles. 

I made it out of the woods with a dying cell phone and worse a dying watch. For those of your who are not stats crazy athletes out there, one's watch dying on a long event is as bad as never getting out of bed and going in the first place. It's not good!! As it frequently happens in my life I text my rock, Patrick. he meets me along the way with chargers and a battery pack. The only reason this is not pictured is because my brain was tired. What I will share is it was making me laugh for the next several miles. I looked cybertronic. 31.87 miles. 

From here I was staying on the roads, no more woods. I guess I felt I needed to connect back with people too at some point. Well, that and I was starting to think that when mile 40 hit I really wanted to be close to home. I first walked a neighborhood that wasn't ours. For some reason it felt like I was still too far from home. I made my way into our neighborhood knowing I would have to pass the house a few times and knowing that I was close but far from done. The last five miles I felt the blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I felt the swelling in my hands. I felt the tightness in my hips, I felt the soreness in my back, and then...then my phone rang and on the other end my mother sang Happy Birthday to me. And again for the millionth time on my walkabout, I cried. For the next three miles my mom would talk to me with my dad piping up in the background. The two people who were there 40 years ago where there now. How does the universe do that? 40 miles. 

Oh you thought it ended-- stay with me. 

I hung up with my parents at the walk way to Patrick and mine's home. After 13 hours 9 minutes and 44 seconds, after 40.03 miles, after 2359 feet of climb (vert), after 93,955 steps, I was home. And I heard the one voice and saw the one person who has fills my life with joy everyday. Patrick stood in front of me and said, "Hi." 40.03 miles. 40 years. 

I needed a walkabout on my 40th birthday not to cope with turning 40. I needed a walkabout on my 40th birthday to find peace in me. The chaos didn't turn to order. I am still lost. I will forever wander and wonder. I didn't fix the world in 40 miles, I did heal a part of me that needed to remember, that needed to cry, that needed to laugh, that needed to be lost and ok all at the same time. 

Here's to many more miles, many more life lessons, and here's to those people in our lives who lift us up and hold us up, I hope I do the same for them.    

And they lived happily ever after....well with a few twist and turns, I am sure.

*The number crunch brought to you by Patrick!!! 

RAGBRAI 2019- The Stories of Iowa

I will tell the story of RAGBRAI 2019 as all stories are told, from the conclusion.
Over the week we rode for 553 miles and climbed for over 21,000 feet. We had five bike mechanical issues requiring shop stops on the way. We had 14 and 13 beer stops, one pork chop, a wood fired pizza, countless pies, cinnamon rolls, pancakes and sausage, cheesecake, cookies, cobbler, homemade icecream, bbq, tacos, BLT, noodles, fresh sweet corn, gyros, pickles, french toast, and I am sure a few other things I am forgetting. We listened to two lines of about 200 songs (and sang the rest of the songs...well I did). We saw cows, horses, kittens, rams, goats, donkeys, rabbits, and one golden retriever (a half mile from the Mississippi). We threw over 20 milkweed balls. We encountered hundreds of people with stories and laughter. We thanked officers and paramedics and nice old church ladies. Well, that's the overview; now for the stories!!!

USAF cycling team- out to help!

Please note the stories may not be told by day- because this is RAGBRAI!!!! (If you don't understand let's go to Iowa the last week of July and bring your bike.)

BIKE SHOPS ON THE ROAD
RAGBRAI is a traveling city of support, including traveling bike shops. These shops manage everything from flat tires (because yes, people on a 500 miles ride forgot to learn how to change a tube or to even bring a spare tube) to broken bikes (no seriously, "here are the three parts of the bike and this piece that is hanging off. Can you fix it?"). No matter what was brought to them the bike shop staff were always smiling. We know this because for the first four days we became friends with the guys at Bike World and then the next three days we rode by getting "hellos" and waves, while they asked about our bikes.
It all started on day 1!! This was our gravel day and the first day we met Brad. Oh Brad!! We were about five miles out from the overnight town when we stopped at a small pass through town on a big hill. After a quick stop I picked up my bike and suddenly it won't roll down the hill. This is not even me being on the bike pedaling, it won't roll down the hill. In this moment Patrick says the best line of the day (maybe the trip)-- "It is operator error or is something wrong?" The look I gave him at this moment I am sure said a bunch of curse words that I won't type out here, but "are you kidding me right now" would have also been communicated in the moment. So I did what any person who has been riding a bike for ten hours would do; I handed Patrick my bike and said here you roll it down the hill. When it stopped and refused to move for him too, he confirmed it was in fact not operator error. Oh good, because I was worried this was going to be a long week of me not knowing how to use a bike (please read that line in the most sarcastic tone with eye roll.).
This led to us going back up the hill with what ended up being a broken spoke. Turns out the gravel may have jostled more than my internal organs. This was when we first met Brad. Brad who was putting back together other bikes with "brake problems", "derailer problems", and "I don't know what happened problems", smiled as we stood there waiting our turn. Brad then looked at my bike and confirmed, again, it was not operator error. Then he proceeded to fix the problem.
Now you might be thinking "great job Brad, way to fix that issue." But this would not be our last encounter with Brad or Bike World and one other bike shop I don't recall the name of, sorry. Nope Brad would go on to fix Patrick's chain and adjust his cables for better shifting up hills; Bike World would go on to sell me a tire (not a tube, a tire-- this will be important later), an the other bike shop would also sell me a tire and fix my bottom bracket making my bike no longer sound like a paint can rattling up hills.
Every time we needed help they were there (or close enough) and they were light hearted with positive words and smiles. We laughed through being close to tears each time we stood at their tents.
And Brad-- you ROCK!!! And I am glad you got to see your mom during the trip and got a good home-cooked meal!!!

GRAVEL
Holy crap super fun day!!!! I was in love with riding the gravel loop the moment my tires hit that slightly muddy, somehow dusty, all bumpy road. However, my riding buddy was not feeling the same way. This was day one of riding and seriously trying not to die or end up with serious injury on day one was a HUGE concern on this 18 mile loop. At about 3/4 of a mile into the gravel course and Patrick announced he was done (there may have been curse words; correction there were curse words). I was now between a gravel road and a tough place, like the end of our adventure on day one. I stood at the top of this little hill, looking at the bigger hill, while Patrick wrestled his demons. But lets be fair I stood there like a three year old with a five dollar bill outside an icecream shop. I am pretty sure I was trying not to smile and bounce and yell, "This is F-ing awesome" (ok so to be honest I may have yelled that)!!!
This moment was not about me; I was ride or die and there was honestly a chance at death since this was a new riding type for us. Patrick agreed to go up the next hill which would put us about a mile into the 18 mile ride and maybe 200 feet of the 1500 feet climbing on this loop done. At the top of the next hill we stopped (me still in three year old  "Can we PLEASE do this" mode). To my excitement Patrick now announced that while this was clearly a bad idea, maybe not our worse idea but a bad one, he was game to go!!! Pretty sure I was fist pumping the air and yelling "they can't take our freedom" as I headed down the hill full speed.
We would stop a few more times at the top of hills with Patrick shaking his head and me bouncing on my dirt packed cycling cleats. We would also make it about five miles from the end of the loop when the rain came back. This added a new component of mud to the course. I was told on several occasions to be careful, even by the ladies at the patch stop (Pottawattamie County, the highest county in Iowa, yeah that wasn't on the description). It seems people know that look in my eye of "I live for danger" and they all try to help Patrick to control this behavior in order that I may not find out where the nearest hospital is in Pottawattamie County (I can tell you it was not going to be on the gavel road we were riding).
We made it safely to asphalt again and Patrick's death grip on his handlebars loosened, high fives were given, and oh yeah, tires were changed (tires that I would carry on my bike for the rest of the day-- I honestly didn't mind the attention, because "hell yeah we did the gravel").
For the rest of the trip any gravel on the road was met with Patrick yelling "gravel" in his best Clint Eastwood raspy voice. Because when you overcome the gravel loop you announce that this is old news to you and you are invincible (well, except for that broken spoke mentioned earlier).

MILKWEED BALLS

Patrick is attracted to oddities (I mean he married me, you have to know this statement is true). So when he saw a tent with butterflies and heard the words "do you want balls" he couldn't deny the intrigue.
Turns out Milkweed Matters is an Iowa group who puts together milkweed balls for cyclist the throw along the roads of Iowa in an effort to grow more milkweed to help the monarch butterflies to thrive in Iowa.
Here's what you do-- you pick up milkweed balls, which are designed with "clay" as a no till natural tilling seeding method, you put them in your pocket, you ride your bike along the roadway, you find an area where other wildflowers are growing, where there is no mowing and no crops, then you toss them out there. That's it! Each day the tents are located on the route and you pick up more balls to throw. (You do get told not to eat them and not to take them out of the area, as this milkweed is specific to growing in this area.)
A few notes- throwing things from your bike is awkward (for me) and you get dirty looks from those who don't know. I explained on more than one occasion that I was not throwing trash on the roadway, I was throwing milkweed. To which the most common response was a roll of the eyes. (Look people I am saving butterflies here. Does someone saving butterflies litter? No, no they don't. They save the fucking butterflies!!!)

JERSEYS THAT BIND US

In cycling events what you wear matters. Things like shorts, padding, gloves, helmet, all very important; but your jersey cements who you are in the minds of those passing or being passed. This is your calling card, it is the story you will tell for the day-- for one day, maybe one mile, but it will forever define you for that person. This is why the jersey is a very important choice.
Jerseys bring out the conversations in people. They are easy talking points- "oh you have a jellyfish on your jersey, I was once stung by one"; "Oh your jersey has an anatomically correct heart on it, does it mean something (the answer is no, it just looked tough)". The conversations go on like this. But there are these jersey conversations that also stick out.
Patrick was wearing his Escape from Alcatraz jersey. We had done the race a number of years ago. This jersey was noticed and remarked on often during the day. We were standing around in a pass-through town when I guy came up and mentioned that he had done the race back in the late 90's. He told of how much we liked the race and visiting California. he then said, "Yeah, I did the race because when I was a kid we were visiting Alcatraz when the escape happened. I remember the sirens and the commotion." At this point all Patrick and I could do was stare at the guy who didn't lead with this part of the story; no it was a casual second thought. I am pretty sure I questioned the guy, "You mean you were in San Francisco when the escape occurred?" He looked at me like he shouldn't have to repeat himself, but very nicely he said, "Yeah we were there on a family vacation looking at the island when it all happened." Then he said the following, "Well, you guys have a nice ride."
Wait!!! What just happened???? Patrick and I just stood there for a minute as this guy walked on to talk to other people. Then I am pretty sure we just started laughing. This is what happens on RAGBRAI, you meet people, they tell you something cool or unique or unexplainable, and then they are gone. 

WE STOP FOR BEER-- WELL, IOWA CRAFT BEER TENTS
RAGBRAI is a drinking game.
We found out from a friend (Thanks, Kevin) that on the route would be these white beer tents- IOWA CRAFT BEER TENT (a mix of Iowa breweries)- and you could get an armband. This armband was the gateway to a free tshirt at the end of the week. Here are the rules-- Get a band; Buy a $5 craft beer or root beer at the tents; You must buy at least ten beers and you have 14 stops to achieve the goal; Only one beer per stop will count towards your total.
The second set of rules that you have to follow is how to get your beer-- Have your money out; pick which beer and learn its number; get in line; walk to your beer's number; grab beer off the table; walk through, handing your money to the staff at the end of the line; scan your armband; find a shady place to sit and drink. It is a super easy process, except for on the first day when you didn't read the sign about having out money, this gets you a few dirty looks that say "bless her little heart". Patrick will tell you the process was slightly different, because for him he walked through the line and told the money taker "she's paying for me." To which I always answered, "I don't know him." And then the money taker took my $10 without any gesture to give me change. 
Now, those are the rules, but the game is really-- "What can Teresa drink and still ride and then what can Teresa drink and not feel that weird pain in her left ankle?" GAME ON.
Each day there were two stops, three on one day and only one on the last day. We made a plan to stop at each stop starting on day one. This was a good plan because the beer stop on day one was after the gravel, a celebration beer for sure.
For the most part the last beer tent was about 10 miles outside of town which gave me a great opportunity to have a dark beer and still be able to get to the night town safely.
We never had a bad beer. A few "not my favorites" but never a bad one. In fact the day I had to drink before 9am (because it was short course day) I had a blueberry pancake beer which was the perfect breakfast!!!
Mostly at the first stop I had a root beer or a cider (because fruit mid morning does not bring about judgement). 
The IOWA Craft Beer Tent would also play a vital role in the State Trooper Story found later in this post.

BUGS OF IOWA

On the first night in Iowa I got bit by a bug on my ankle. I'm from Florida so I get bit by bugs all the freaking time. But this REALLY hurt. The following day my ankle was hurting on the ride, like really hurting. By the following day my ankle was swelling and bruising-- and hurting every time my shoe touched it (which is a lot over 70 miles a day).
Moral of the story Iowa has bugs that belong in Australia!!!!

PIE

I know it is a photo of icecream.

One does not talk about RAGBRAI without talking about pie. Honestly, it is one of the reasons to love RAGBRAI and if you don;t understand this this you missed the point of RAGBRAI. The best pies you will find will be the pie stands with 7 year olds or 70 year olds handing out the pies. There is only one rule in RAGBRAI- eat pie, eat pie often!


A TIRE, A GIRL, AND A COP WALK INTO A BEER TENT
The final story I will tell about RAGBRAI 2019 is a story about the greatness that is the Iowa State Patrol. It was day four (of seven) Patrick and I were set to do the Karras loop which puts the ride miles over a century ride. We had finished the loop and all the hills required to get there. We were ready to get another fruit smoothy and a beer before we checked this day off the list.
During the loop my bottom bracket started to sound like a paint can rattling with every push. I knew I was going to be stopping again at a bike shop tent to figure out this sound, because one thing was for sure it was not a "happy" biking sound. Not to be out done Patrick decided to get a flat tire. Not just any flat but a full tire blow out. This would be his second in the week (we are on day FOUR)- the "other" tire. I am pretty sure at this moment my actual words were, "You are fucking kidding me?" Patrick shook his head, "nope". Then many more curse words got said in that moment.
Given that my bike actually could be ridden I decided to ride ahead to scout out a bike shop tent. Well, there was not one at the first town down the road. I can back to let Patrick know that I was going to rid on till I found the bike tent and I would bring back a tire for him. He was to sit under the tent at Tom the Turkey and get a fruit smoothy. Funny enough he had "ride friends" there who had been on the course and at this stop with us previously.
I rode up about 10 miles and found the bike repair tent. I told the guys about my bike and the paint can noise. "Sure we can look and fix it, but it is going to take a minute." Great, well you see the other problem is my husband needs a tire and is ten miles that way (pointing back down the road). The bike shops guys could not leave and pack up yet and only had the shop truck. I looked around and saw a state trooper vehicle. I asked the bike guy if he knew where the state trooper was located. He pointed up the hill near the beer tent as he handed me the tire I needed to get to Patrick. I told him thanks and that I was going to be back for my bike after I got the tire to my husband. The guy yelled "good luck" as I marched up the hill.

Actual photo sent to State Trooper. Patrick with a bag of unmarked medication.

 

The State Troopers were walking away when I stopped them. They turned around and the only way I can explain this is they looked like "Super Troopers"- mustaches and aviator sunglasses in place. I smiled, I did not laugh. I told them I had a situation. I then explained that they could either take me and the tire to my husband or they could take the tire to my husband. Yep, you heard that right- there was no option to tell me no. They noticed that too and looked at each other like I was a unicorn asking for directions. After a few moments of repeating the request, officer one tried to tell me they could not do it but officer two said they had to call their supervisor. I told them I would wait. Officer two walked away, I swear he looked like he was pretending to dial. Officer one just started at me. I looked over my shoulder to see the bike shop guys watching and smiling. Officer two walked back up shaking his head- not at me but as his partner. I was grinning so big when he told Officer one that the supervisor had given the go ahead to take the tire to my husband.

Loop patches.

As Officer one stood there astonished at the response. I began to tell the Officer two what my husband looked like and where he was located. This took much longer than I intended, as it seems the officers were not familiar with the area. We played a game of"who's on first" when I was telling them I had no idea what the two name was but that I knew he was as the Tom Turkey tent and that said tent was ten miles "that way". The officer rolled his eyes at me. I never lost it wanting to yell at him, Dude I am from Florida. DO you know where Florida is? A hell of a lot further away than your house." But I didn't, nope I took a deep breath and explained one more time where I left my husband.
Oh wait it gets better. The officer asked for my husband's cell number. The issue here is that my husband's phone died earlier in the day and is in my pack on my bike. In full disclosure I told the officer this information. Officer two looked at me dumbfounded and officer one I am pretty sure threw up his arms in a "are you fucking kidding me" gesture. Officer two, after a few deep breaths, looks at me and says, "You know you are making this very difficult for us?" What I didn't say was "if you had left fifteen minutes ago when I gave you the details you would be there by now and not standing here dealing with me." Instead I told him "I know. And I promise I am not trying to but let's be honest cell phones aren't working out here anyway." Then I told him that what I did have was a photo of my husband form earlier today. I actually had a photo of him sitting in the exact spot that he would later be found in!! I also gave the officer a friend's phone number. A friend who I knew was still out of the road, and who I also knew was more than likely not near Patrick, but it was my best chance (the cops never called Kevin).

Kevin and Kelly- TEAM AWESOME

What would follow was 45 minutes worth of me texting with the officer, who turns out gave the tire to his supervisor to take up the road. I am pretty sure the man was irritated in giving me his number but he answered each text with updates. Until the final notice that Patrick had the tire in hand. I thanked the officer for his help and that the people of Iowa, him included, were amazing.
In the meantime, I had gone back to the bike repair tent. I was greeted by laughter form the guys who all talked over each other in disbelief that the officer took the tire from me to go in search of my husband. The guys were nearly done with my bike, so what was there to do but o grab a beer (before the tent closed for the night).
There I sat, with my fixed bike, on the side of the road, drinking a root beer (yeah, I know my limits) as first Kevin can riding up. When I said "Hi" and then "did a cop call you" the rest of the story got told with laughter following. As I glanced over the left at the road left behind, there he was, riding up the hill with a huge smile on his face. We both started laughing as he rode up. "I guess the State Trooper found you?" I asked him. "Yeah, he did. How?" It was a story told again from the bike seat as we traveled the rest of the way to town, laughing at how a girl got an officer to take a tire up the road by the power of demand.
Let me say this in closing of this story- Thank you to the State Troopers who helped us out and kept us safe for not only this one moment but for the whole ride. The officers were amazing being there with support, blaring music, and a helping hand.

There are many more stories to tell of RAGBRAI. Stories of lighting bugs, sunrise and sunsets, award winning cinnamon rolls, water slides, rock bands, and holding hands. But for now this is RAGBRAI!
 
RAGBRAI 2019 has come a gone, but the stories will live forever!!! 






  

RAGBRAI Day 2 - Atlantic to Winterset

RAGBRAI 2019 Day 2 - Atlantic RAGBRAI to Winterset, Iowa
So I took a little writing break and need to get started again. There are still some stories I want to tell from RAGBRAI. It is obvious that my concept of when stuff occurred is WAY off so I took some time to go through our photos, figure out when and where they were taken, and started to piece things together in hopes it would make these posts a little easier to write.

Oh the stories I still have to tell...

Walnut, IA had a theme & a big foot

So Day 2 started with more wind, approximately 68 miles, and 2000 ft of climb. I'm going to declare at this point that every day of the ride, for the entire week involved wind. It was Day 1, while riding through Walnut, Iowa (Walnut Fire & Rescue - best T-shirt on the route according to me) that I decided it was time for Iowa to, "Turn off all those field fans." Iowa never did turn them off. I laughed continuously all week when I thought about my "field fans" joke. Teresa stopped laughing after the 3rd time I said it. I digress.

Practice breakfast in Wiota, IA

We found cinnamon rolls in Wiota, Iowa and refilled our pockets with Milkweed Balls (Milkweed Matters) just outside of Anita. Monarch butterflies lay their eggs exclusively on milkweed, and monarch caterpillars only eat milkweed. We tossed milkweed balls across the state.

Then we rolled into Anita, IA. I'm going to try and paint a picture of what has become the most memorable experience of the entire week. I say this in a completely positive way. The hour we spent here that resulted in this particular story is OUR favorite to tell and we will forever love Anita (and the Huffy's Tavern) for it.

French toast in Anita, IA

We rolled into Anita, Iowa and I was hungry again. The earlier cinnamon roll was what we (I) like to refer to as "Practice Breakfast." A term we coined with other participants in Wiota. Anita was busy. A lot of cyclists were checking out the quaint, historic downtown. Many were in lines for food or other things. I had been eyeing signs for french toast all morning so we found it and got ready for breakfast. It was very satisfying. We enjoyed our food on the back of a big truck with a hydraulic lift as our table. As we were milling around, I heard cheering, so I investigated while Teresa was at her bike presumably getting ready to ride out.

I wandered toward the Huffy's Tavern and saw a fairly large group of people cheering, laughing, and generally having a great time. I walked closer. The cheers got louder. Truthfully, I was hoping for something involving puppies. Golden Retriever puppy Olympics? I hadn't seen a Golden since we left home. Again, I digress. Then I thought maybe wrestling of some sort...it is a bar, so maybe. Mud? Oil? Midget? It was only Day 2 and obviously I was a little loopy and maybe in a slight sugar coma from my breakfast. The crowd parted and I saw it. I blinked. Took it all in, turned quickly, and started hollering for Teresa. I was running in my cycling shoes and yelling for my wife to come quick...and bring a dollar.

My actions told her something was wrong. The plea for money told her I probably found more pie, beer, or cinnamon rolls. It was none of the above. I grabbed her hand, made sure she had a camera, and dragged her back to the side entrance of the tavern. I remained silent as we approached. She could not see through the crowd or glean what was about to take place. We stood behind the group while donations were requested and numbers were chosen. Then the crowd parted and we stepped forward. I smiled. Teresa laughed, pulled out a dollar, and requested a number. We both started laughing as the Vibrator Race began.

I'll let that sink in.

Each vibrator had it's own lane. They were all turned on and set to high. You could hear them raring to go, like race cars at Daytona -- only vibrators. Hot pink, Baby blue, Leopard...it was a battery-operated rainbow. The start barricade was removed and each one vibrated it's way to the finish line. Our chosen number did not win, but we will absolutely always remember the time in a small town in Iowa I stumbled upon Vibrator Races, and we had the time of our life cheering for a six inch juggernaut to beat the others down the track.

I'm not going to be able to top that story, ever. -- AND THERE IS VIDEO PROOF BELOW!

Teresa "was I flirting?" Hess,
climbing on top of a fire truck/pizza oven.

But we did still have almost 60 miles left in the day to ride. Teresa convinced a guy with a Scottish(?) accent to let her climb on top of a firetruck (Dang Brother Pizza) and put her feet in a makeshift hot tub in Casey, Iowa. I had to stop and buy a bar-end plug in Stuart, Iowa (very minor mechanical).

I felt I needed to protect myself

We stopped at a petting zoo/adoption drive just outside Stuart. If they had had the polydactyl kittens out, Teresa would have probably taken one.

For the first 2 days my chain kept popping out of gears on climbs. It was getting frustrating so we stopped in  Dexter, Iowa so I could have a new bike chain installed and get my rear brakes adjusted (gravel ate those brakes alive). As the traveling mechanic checked my chain with his chain checker: "A new chain is recommended when this measures .5. Yours is measuring a .75 and I can actually still move it back and forth." Brad, the same mechanic that fixed Teresa's bike on Day 1, fixed my bike on Day 2. Thanks Brad and Bike World.


After another Iowa Craft Beer Tent stop we made it to the overnight town and enjoyed a fun Taco Night with the Swenson's (Kevin & Kelly) in a Methodist Church basement. Great Times!


 Side Note: I really enjoyed Winterset and their theme. However, I do also feel like they missed an opportunity to do a Game of Thrones theme: Winterset is Coming... Again, I digress.

Thanks for reading. There is more to come!

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