Training With Tim

I owe the whole rest of the trip to this guy, Brian Nimmo. With no wallet, no money and no food, I was in pretty sad shape. I seriously would be done without him.

Let me put what he’s done for me in perspective. After cooking steaks for me last night, he got up today at 4:30 a.m. to drop his wife off at the airport. Then he went into work. Then he came back home to pick me up.

He drove me to Omaha’s Bike Rack, where he bought me a brand new pannier bag, helmet mirror and three inner tubes. Then he took me to Best Buy — where I was clearly the only dude in Spandex — and bought me a camera charger, card reader and phone plug. It’s all way better gear than I started with, just like he said he would.

He gave me his GPS. Then he gave me more than enough money to get home. Then he drove me across the Missouri River into Iowa and dropped me off past the sprawl of Council Bluffs.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a dark cloud over your trip because of this,” he said.

I was at a complete and total loss for words. I told him I didn’t know how to even begin to thank him. He told me just mail the GPS back when I get home; the rest is a gift. He said if I have the opportunity to help anyone else in a jam, just pay it forward.

I almost cried as I was pedaling away.

Incidentally, I surmised that Brian is a Republican (not that he talked about it) and I may consider voting that ticket just as a way to return the favor.

I didn’t really get to enjoy Omaha much, but it still represents one thing for me. Just before Jess and I were dating, I got sick and Jess brought me locenges, tea and a burned compilation CD of the Saddle Creek 50. That’s all artists from Omaha like the Faint and Bright Eyes. I knew a girl who will burn you an indie rock CD when you’re sick is something special.

So then, just like that, I’m in Iowa. I have two words for Iowa: Incredibly.  Hilly. Holy man, it does not relent. And, unlike Nebraska, Iowa does not believe in wide, luxurious, bike-friendly shoulders. It was true what my new friend John from Cedar Rapids told me: ”Shoulders are virtually non-existant in Iowa.”

My new mirror probably saved my life several times over. I used to have a mirror, but it sucked and it fell off the first day. Now it’s joining my missing bag somewhere west of Omaha.

Everytime I saw a huge truck come up behind me, I didn’t even mess around. I just got off my bike and walked on the gravel shoulder. Especially on the blind uphills.

I am not ashamed to say I walked quite a few hills. My knee was starting to hurt — yesterday was extremely hilly, too — and I didn’t want to mess around. I also stopped at a dollar store (in one of the two towns) and bought some Omega 3 oil and glucosamine and chondroitin. After warming up, I felt fine.

At least the downhills were as glorious as the uphills were punishing. Let me tell you, Iowa is absolutely beautiful. No kidding. I got the type of immense and spectacular views today that you dream about on these types of trips. I got a taste at the end of RAGBRAI, and this was even better. I don’t miss eastern Colorado.

Atlantic, Iowa

My warmshowers host tonight, Dan, told me I could stop anywhere in Atlantic and get directions to “the guy who wears a bowtie and works at the Jewelry store.” He wasn’t joking. I couldn’t remember the jewelry store part, so I asked one person outside of a grocery store where I could find “Dan who wears a bowtie.” She gave me exact directions.

“I heard you have some great jewelry and I decided to come from Denver,” I told Dan when I arrived at his store. Indeed, he was wearing a bowtie.

“You have to be pretty comfortable in your masculinity to wear a bowtie… or spandex,” he said.

“Or both together.”

Right now I’m typing away at his jewelry store, and in a bit we’re biking 12 miles together to his house. Dan has a Waterford he bought off eBay. Waterford bikes, of course, come from Wisconsin. I’ll take any taste of home I can get right now.

Tomorrow he’s biking with me as far as the Chipotle in West Des Moines. I’m very thankful for the company. It can be very lonely alone on the bike somewhere in the midwest. Except for all the Good Samaritans you meet.