Last week, I and 50,000 of my closest friends bicycled across the state of Iowa. It starts with dipping the back tire of the bike in the Missouri River and ends by dipping the front tire in the Mississippi River.
My family, along with many friends from McCook and North Platte, has done it for several years and this year was one to remember. We biked more than 500 miles in seven days, sometimes out on our bikes for 12 hours a day. But that is just the start of the adventure.
Just six miles in, my friend Candy Crosby hit a cone and wrecked her bike. It required surgery, a two-day stay in the hospital and meant her bike ride was over.
A few days later, another member of our biking party was playing around on a scooter when he wrecked it too, requiring another trip to a medical center for bandages and wraps. Upon returning home, he learned his foot was broken in two places.
And from the first day, the temperatures hovered on either side of the 100-degree mark with the Iowa humidity just as close to 100 percent. We all struggled to consume enough water to stay hydrated throughout the day. Showers were non-existent because although we would have liked to have washed off the sweat and grime from the day’s ride, it was pointless as you started sweating again as soon as the shower ended. And the relentless sunshine beating down on our backs meant slathering on sunscreen and chapstick in thick layers several times a day.
Along the way, I had to tell myself several times to “embrace the suck,” which means there is nothing you can do about what is bad in the situation so you might as well use it to get through.
There was nothing we could do about the 100-degree temperatures, so we just stopped under every shade tree and enjoyed each other’s company. There was nothing we could do about the relentless humidity caused by the surrounding acres of corn, so we in turn ate corn-on-the-cob on a daily basis. And there was nothing we could do about the never-ending hills, so we just peddled up one and down the other side and smirked as those from other states lamented that they thought the midwest was flat.
As I recounted the week to others, many wondered out loud, “Why do you do it? It sounds awful.” That is perhaps the “why.”
Because it was awful…at times. Because it was hard…at times. Because it wasn’t perfect…at times.
But at other times, it wasn’t awful and it wasn’t hard. And there were many times that it was perfect.
Because it is impossible to have the good without the bad.
We had to withstand somewhat dangerous heat but in exchange, we got to sit under a giant oak tree on a courthouse lawn in a small Iowa town enjoying our sixth piece of pie for the week.
Our thighs were burning from the strain of peddling up another steep hill, but in exchange, we got to soar down the other side, giving our legs much-needed relief.
And we peddled from one town to the next and past one farm after another and found perhaps the best example of the good outweighing the bad: the people.
It was the people handing out bottles of water, positioning their sprinklers for us to ride through, setting up slip-n-slides to cool off (and just have fun). It was the people welcoming us to their communities with open arms despite the heat. It was the people who wanted to share (and show-off) what made their small town unique and special.
Ultimately, our lives are not perfect. Our families are not perfect. And our communities are not perfect.
But we need to recognize what is not perfect and do something about it. We need to things knowing it will come with the good and the bad. We need to do things so we have stories to tell. We need to do things knowing it won’t be perfect, but also knowing it just may be close.
