Relative Something

The Sunday of our ride falls on “Father’s Day.” After breakfast this day, we received a special treat: the daughter of our baggage handler and her friend sang a song they composed for the occasion. It brought tears to the eyes and received an immediate and emphatic standing ovation.

It wasn’t raining when we started out, but it was soaking wet from non-stop overnight thunderstorms. We were provided a police escort out of Worthington which moved so fast ahead of us that we could hardly keep up. Out on the open road, we eventually ride into heavy rain again.

Our lunch destination was far enough away that two rest stops were established ahead of it. The 20-plus miles to the first stop seemed long. The 20-some miles from there to lunch felt even longer. I think it was the wind. Rumors could be heard that flooding was causing road closures

Despite the hardships, I had several opportunities to visit with other riders, which is one of the most precious aspects of this ride, and helps toward achieving miles unnoticed. By the time we arrived at our lunch stop, the sky cleared and we were able to enjoy warm sunshine. It felt disorienting, because all around us there seemed to be standing water, and rumor had turned to fact, as news of a dam breaking on the Rock River was confirmed as the cause of roads being closed.

Under the beautiful blue sky, our freshman leader was forced to ad-lib a solution to a very fluid problem. Roads that might be open one minute, could close in an instant. He plotted solutions with 4 different agencies simultaneously, sometimes receiving conflicting reports from each. For a while, even the interstate highway was shut down.

In the middle of that drama, an isolated squall passed by, making sure we stayed aware of the fact we remained at the mercy of momma nature. Then a most spectacular solution unfolded before our eyes. One of the local support people called in a favor and rousted a brother with an 18-wheel tractor/trailer rig. They would put our bikes in the truck, and the riders in buses and cars, to shuttle us around the flooding in order to get us where we needed to be.

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I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been standing right there. The truck arrives and the trailer has “Cycle Country” painted across the side. The driver didn’t seem to notice, reporting that he bought the used trailer simply to haul junk and scrap that he rips out of demolition jobs. A random few of us hop up to catch bikes being lifted up, handing them forward to others who took initiative to delicately position the precious cargo for best protection and fit. A hundred-some bikes, tangled together so there was nowhere for them to fall, filled the trailer right to the end.

The truck pulled away to a smattering of jokes about the probability of the cargo being sold off to the highest bidder in some other town down the road. Someone showed up with beer to add to the festive feeling of the unfolding events, and we awaited the arrival of shuttles.

Even before it had completely played out, this day was becoming legend. No matter what else happened to us during the rest of this ride, we already had one very unforgettable event that would join famous stories from the prior 39-years of this biking/camping group.

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