I patiently waited my turn in line. Finally I was at the edge of the river and I positioned my bike, the old Trek, with both tires just into the water. Folks were laughing and snapping pictures, enjoying the moment. I was quiet, introspective, holding on to my emotions. Handful after handful of that Mississippi river water I lifted and carefully washed the frame of the bike which had so gallantly carried me from one river to the other. The top bar, the front forks, the rear chain stays all received a washing, almost a blessing as I mumbled under my breath once again, “ride your own ride,” and, “I can do all things through God who strengthens me.” I recalled the similar actions just days before on the bank of the Missouri, the other river. That day I was alone and quiet, but expectant. This day I also felt quite alone, but was jostled and pushed by a huge crowd. I was again reminded being alone is a feeling, not a literal reality. I kept my sunglasses on.
Then I quickly rose as my turn at the river was completed and I walked the bike up through a waiting crowd. I did not look up, rather kept my head down and moving toward the top of the ramp. Without thinking I moved to a place on the rocks next to the river just downstream. There I dropped the bike and sat on the rocks while I wept for some time. It just came out of me, the emotion, the feelings, I could no longer contain.
My thoughts centered to the sacrifice which allowed this bicycle adventure to be competed. Yes, I trained and put my body through some difficult, even painful days. But my sacrifice was not on my mind, mine seemed the easy part. My thoughts were to the sacrifice of those who rode with me; or more clearly, the sacrifice of those whom I carried in my heart across the state of Iowa. I carried my wife, who cried as I prepared to leave, making me promise to be safe. I carried my family; my sons and their wives and their children. I realized how much I missed them. As a witness to my family I wore tie-dyed shirts from Molly and Ellie. Daily those shirts reminded me of family. I carried my church staff, who are never far from my mind or my heart. I carried my training partners who instructed me and pushed me to go further, farther, faster than I would have on my own. And in my heart, I carried a couple persons who could not ride. Particularly, I carried Bruce Bryant whose tragic bicycle accident last 4th of July changed us all. I carried Bruce with me down every hill. I also carried Randy Osborn whose ongoing battle against cancer inspires me and offered me hope to gain the top of every hill.
It was crowded on the rocks along the riverbank as I sat and wept. Oh, I was all alone, as even the one fellow standing behind me moved along when I began to cry. However, I was in the midst of all these precious ones whom I carried with me, first as I invested mile after mile in training, and finally on the trip across the state itself. As I unpacked my emotional baggage along the river that day, not surprisingly, I also found a familiar small still voice speaking to me. “You are never alone David, I am with you always.” As the tears fell, I offered this simple prayer, “Thank you Lord. I know it, Thank you.”
I rode every mile, climbed every hill. Slept in a tent and showered from a bag. This was glorious and I was never really alone.
After I sat for a while, I went exploring and found our team truck. It was then that the leader of our charter asked if I had any pictures taken by the river. And so I lifted the bike above my head in fine Ragbrai fashion.
