Relative Something

A few days ago, I unexpectedly received a photo from a cycling friend, Curt. It sparked a brilliant bout of serendipity for me.

In the photo, I am playing guitar, surrounded by people I recognized from years of riding the annual June “Jaunt with Jim” bike adventure. The image failed to trigger any specific memory of the moment depicted. Curt texted that 2003 was written on the back.

The bearded fellow over my shoulder is Doug Willhide, who happens to write and share regular snippets of his own “take on things and experiences,” which he calls “Nutshells.” For some reason that I’m not overtly aware of, I decided to share this picture with Doug. The response I got back was not on my radar.

He wrote that he believed that picture was from Ladysmith, WI, and included “notes” he’d found about that second-to-last day in 2003. A mere six paragraphs depicting in detail the entire day, from breakfast to crawling into his tent that night.

To my utmost surprise, Doug’s notes captured the place and moment when Jim Klobuchar gathered everyone on the lawn of the church outside of Catawba after lunch to read a poem I had written about the trip. That was a memory that I had lost all specific details of, beyond how it felt to be standing beside him as he read it, and the wonderful responses from folks afterward.

The serendipity of Curt randomly sending me this photo, my arbitrarily passing it along to Doug, the picture being from that very day when Jim read the poem to the group, Doug having found his notes from that year, and his capturing the pertinent details… it gives me chills.

It makes me feel like we are all more connected than we tend to notice.

Backstory:

On the Friday night that all the riders gathered at the start in 2003, I had asked Jim if I could read my poem to the group. He took it from me, pocketed it for the moment, and wandered off to greet others. The next day, he approached me and said he liked what I had written and wanted to read it to the group himself.

My first reaction was resistance. Would he get the cadence right? Was he unwilling to share the spotlight for even a brief moment? How could he even ask?

But just as quickly, my respect for his reputation as a writer and his journalistic credentials had me thinking, “Jim Klobuchar wants to publicly recite poetry I wrote?!” I was definitely honored. I had no idea he would end up making me wait until the following Thursday. I also had no clue that he would call me up to stand beside him while he performed it.

Between struggling not to blush too much, I was rewarded with seeing the reactions on people’s faces.

He couldn’t have timed it any better. It’s long been one of my most treasured moments.

I eventually wrestled that prose to fit into a melody and turned it into a song with a sing-along chorus. A friend helped me record a multitrack version of the song, which I combined with a slideshow of photos from the bike trips.

It was a special day when I knocked on Jim’s door to present him with a video about the bike adventures he conducted for 39 years.

.

.