Training With Tim

You remember John. He’s the 70-year-old cyclist I met in Nebraska who attempted to draft off a front-end loader. You can read all about him here.

I wondered how far along he was as I rolled into Cedar Rapids late last night. I was staying there with Jess’s grandma’s cousin’s daughter’s friend’s family. Tina and John and their son Alex were great hosts. As is my custom, I ate them out of house and home (sorry about the ice cream) and drank their beer.

Afterward, I played Guitar Hero and other Wii games with Alex. The kid is a beast on “All the Young Dudes.”

Anyway, I knew John also lived somewhere in Cedar Rapids, so I called up his wife at the number he had given me. I told her she didn’t know who I was, but that I met John in Nebraska and I wondered if I could take her out to breakfast.

“Actually, John is home,” she said. “Would you like to talk to him?”

No way! He was home? Even with the bike that was five times the weight of mine? Sure enough, John got on the phone, sounding rested and glad to be home.

He explained that he really missed his great-granddaughter, so he put together some back-to-back 100+ mile days and hammered it home. He said even his wife didn’t expect him back for another day.

John treated me to breakfast at Panera and we talked bike trips. John went about 1,200 miles in 14 days, just like my plan. But he had a ton more elevation and ran out of water in the remote South Dakota. He said the Black Hills — with up to 15 percent grades — were even harder for him than Colorado’s mountains.

Afterward he loaded my bike up to give me a van tour of the recent flooding devestation. Man, it’s just beyond words. The Cedar River rose to a mind-boggling 32 feet here, completely submerging buildings up to nearly a mile away.

Block after block of abandoned houses looked like the hurricane-swept New Orleans bayou. The downtown business district was a ghost town. Even their capped landfill “Mt. Trashmore” was reopened to try to handle all the rubble.

John told me one story about a friend of his who escaped his house with his son-in-law and dog in a kayak.

John dropped me off outside of town and we bid goodbye, again. I told him to call me up the next time he’s biking to Wisconsin. That may not be long. John likes to bike to Door County, do the Labor Day century ride up there, then turn around and bike back home. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.

Next up, I’m staying with my friend Bone’s former co-worker’s parents. They told me they already have a plate of food and beer waiting for me.

I have 25 more miles to go to Dubuque. To be honest, I’m not really looking forward to the ride. Highway 151 is busy with a minuscule shoulder that’s grated every 10 feet. So my choices are ride in traffic, ride on the gravel or ride over grates. None are appealing options. A semi’s draft already blew me onto the gravel once today.

At least I’m literally on the rode home. It’s hard to believe this is the exact same highway I drove to high school every day. Wisconsin, I can practically smell you from here.