“A celebration of life…”

 OK. All right. I take it back. Yesterday I was the conquering hero, defeater of Brady Street, vanquisher of fatigue  and all mortal ailments. Again I fall prey to karmic retribution. Rising from bed to head to church I suddenly was aware of the powerful soreness in my quads. Now, I’ve noticed before how my legs handle my regular cycling with ease but on those occasions when I have put a little effort into it, particularly now that I’m riding a road bike instead of a mountain bike or 3-speed, my thighs ache a little.

Lunch: Bourbon chicken and fried rice
and a banana-strawberry smoothie.

 It hadn’t occurred to me before how flat running focuses so intensely on the calves and shins and cycling – and uphill running, I learned – hammers those quads. So today I pay for my audacious gloating. Live and learn. Or, in my case, live and live. Learning sometimes evades me.

Well, as you know, I finished the Bix yesterday. My first Bix. I don’t think it will be my last. Funny sidebar: My mom says today she thought it was ironic that they named the race for Bix Beiderbecke, a jazzman who died young of alcoholism and related effects, a guy who wouldn’t run across the street (unless there was a free bottle, Dad chimed in). Of course the race is tied to the jazz festival named in Bix’s honor and there’s more to Bix than Mom’s distilled take, but it was a humorous observation.

So, the post-race festivities were something else. Several thousand runners converged on the parking lots and lawn behind the Quad City Times for refreshments and story-swapping, camaraderie and music. Drained as I was, the first order of business was hydration. I grabbed a water and a Coke, found a shady spot behind a parked semitrailer and rested. Eventually I meandered about the grounds, grabbing another soda (Fanta orange), a grape freezer pop from Whitey’s and a couple packs of Golden Oreos.

There were some interesting stories and comments as I wove through the amassed runners. The best, I thought, was this from a guy to his friend:

"This is like a celebration of life for all of us here today, just for surviving the Bix."

Eventually my meanderings took me toward the beer tables and what I assume was a beer tent – a huge inflatable dome with open sides, packed with people. The lines were long and it appeared there was no charge for a cup of brew (huh, maybe that explains the lines). I decided to forgo the beer. But as I was hanging out by a leg of the inflata-dome a stocky, tanned, bald guy dressed in black approached.

“Hey, did you pick that up on the race route?” he asked, pointing to the pink headband wrapped around my right bicep.

“Yeah,” I said. I wanted to launch into an explanation of the Street Scavenger blog but held off.

“That’s mine,” the guy says with a laugh, and starts to explain that he and his buddies all were wearing them. He motioned behind him to his two pals, each wearing a matching pink headband and waving back at us.

“Cool. You want it back?” I asked lamely.

“Yeah.” I handed it over with a smile (I really was happy to return it, if a little disappointed, too). “I’ll buy you a beer.”

We laughed and he headed back to his buds. I never got a beer, free or otherwise.

I did still have a thin white headband, not the sweat-absorbing kind but the rubber-backed style for holding back lots of hair. Maybe I’ll wash it and leave it on the free-exchange table in the lobby of my building.

Well, as mentioned previously, I had an awkward encounter with a 6-foot Elmo. In the final mile – I can’t recall now if it was just before the Brady Street descent or just after – I passed Elmo and Grover (I think it was Grover) and I was inexplicably struck with the idea of entertaining the crowd. I did a U-turn, ran up to Elmo and wiggled my fingers in his left side for a second and said, “Tickle, tickle, tickle.”

I turned and continued on my way. But I could hear jeers behind me. What’s this? I thought it was funny. I was trying to bring a little cheer to a guy who was probably pretty miserable in that costume about that point. I guess the spectators thought it was just mean. There were comments about how hot the poor guy must be and a few sympathetic awwws. Feeling like a true schmuck I U-turned again and ran back to poor Elmo and tried to shake his hand and offered a sincere apology and assurance that the tickling was meant in fun and to make fun. By that point I was so embarrassed that I tuned out whatever reaction my attempt elicited in the crowd.

D’Oh!

 After some free refreshments I headed to the mall to write, eat and cool off. I allowed myself to be lured in by free samples and had lunch from Bourbon Street Grill. About $9 bought a huge plate of bourbon chicken and fried rice and a banana-strawberry smoothie. It was really tasty.

As I wrote I received a text from my old friend Paul, who had just arrived at the river and was dipping his tires in the water to conclude the RAGBRAI. Very cool. We had planned to get together and I picked him up at the luggage trucks on the campus of St. Ambrose University. It was pretty awesome to see so many cyclists gathered and unwinding and packing and picking up luggage and unfolding wet tents and whatnot.

Paul and I returned to Galesburg and went to Budde’s Pizza and Spirits to see if I could win that Fat Tire bike. Alas, I won neither bike nor T-shirt. And my attempt to claim a shirt for an absent friend whose name was drawn was denied. I’ll have to see if I can just buy one outright. It’s a really sweet shirt.

Eye of the Tiger, baby!

The Bix is history. I am not. I ran the race and lived to tell about it. I am thankful for that. And before anyone accuses me of taking a jab at the late John Chapman, God rest his soul, I am not. And to those who witnessed my Tickle Me Elmo incident, I was not trying to bust his chops either. More on that later.

 Contrary to advice in the Bix Runner's Guide, I did not get a good night's rest. I worked until after 11, spent an hour and a half getting all my stuff together for today and refueling the iPod with a fresh lineup (running on shuffle, I had been through all 470 tunes on the Nano after Thursday's regular morning jog). So, I didn't hit the sack until 12:30 or so and then I was up at 5:30 to shower and gulp down a bowl of cereal. And of course I had trouble getting to sleep: nerves, mostly about arriving on time, mingling in such a huge crowd (several thousand) runners, being adequately prepared.

But, between the adrenaline rush of excitement for this grand new experience and a Monster energy drink on the drive up, I was ready to run!

First, though, I had to wait in line to use the porta-john. A block away, Brady Street was a mass of bodies -- most in running garb, some in assorted costumes, from Mr. Incredible to a trio of Marilyn Monroes, to Elmo and Grover and more. A guy sang "Proud to be an American" and another the national anthem. The crack of a starter pistol sounded and we were off. Well, those on the street were off. I mean, those on the street two blocks up from where I was standing in the next-to-last group, were off.

Eventually the rest of us started moving our legs. Shuffling slowly, like electrified zombies, at first. Then, as runners began to find their pace and spread out, were able to actually lift feet off the ground. A few blocks on the flats and there loomed the legendary, menacing Brady Street Hill. As we passed the announcing block and the starting line, we were kickin' it to "Eye of the Tiger." Great way to start!

And it was apropos, I thought, as I climbed that short, steep stretch. "Ain't so bad, ain't so bad," I taunted the hill (in my head anyway), just like Rocky did Clubber Lang in "Rocky III," from which "Eye of the Tiger" sprang into the American consciousness to become THE anthem of determination.

OK, so didn't quite kick Brady Street Hill's ass, but it was not as intimidating as I had feared. But it was early. And the early going was wonderful. I had a strong pace; I was jazzed to be doing the Bix. And there is no better motivation than hardbodies, swinging ponytails, great gams and, well, you get the picture.

I have to tell you, my trepidation about the monster crowd disappeared quickly. The crush of runners was a wild experience. Everyone constantly jockeying for position -- not necessarily in a competitive way, because the elite runners who win this race are way ahead in their own division (the leader and his immediate followers passed me on their return at the 2-mile mark!), but just as a matter of finding and maintaining a comfortable pace. Sweaty arms bumped and rubbed past. I juked right, then crossed left, the full width of the street. I pulled ahead of a few then others strode past me. And on and on like that.

The entire race route was lined with spectators, fans, friends and family cheering on runners. And there were bands! I had my iPod on at the start but only heard parts of three or four songs. Hell, it was inadvertently on pause for probably half the race and I didn't notice because I couldn't hear it when it was playing for all the live music and cheering. Water tables and sprinklers helped us keep cool at intervals.

The mile markers are huge banners stretched across the street. They seemed really far apart. :) So it was quite a lift to see one come into view -- especially that number 4, first marker of the return leg. Oh, but the Brady Street Hill wasn't the only rise and fall. There were a couple more, and being farther along they were actually harder on the legs.

And while downhill can play hell on your knees, Brady Street: The Return was a welcome sight. For the bottom of that hill marks the beginning of the end.

Of course, as with any race you can see the finish well before you’re upon it. And there’s a false finish, too, that area with a banner or sign that’s a little closer than the real finish and you’re thinking, “yes! Almost there.” But you know that’s not quite it, and it can be a little dispiriting. But you suck it up because it would be really lame to walk across the finish unless that was your intention or the absolute limit of your capabilities. If you’ve run the rest, stopping early just is not an option.

Coming Sunday: Part 2: The post-race refreshment bash. Wherein I’ll tell the story of the Tickle Me Elmo incident and the Lost & Found incident.

Today's Stats

Temp: 75 degrees F (at start time)

Distance: 7 miles

Weekly Total: 15 miles

Treasure: 2 headbands -- one returned to its rightful owner. The street was too crowded to stop for the Cardinals rally towel and the smashed watch in the first few blocks. Drat!

How I did

Chip Time: 1:10:26

Time: 1:13:14

Split: 3:54

Division (M45-49): 265 of 518

Overall: 4,638 of 11,143? (Announcer said 18,057 at the start)

iPod Playlist (shuffle)

Broken Bed - James McMurtry

Medley: Tales of a Jedi Knight/Learn About the Force - John Williams

An Innocent Man - Billy Joel

A Day in the Life - The Beatles

I Want to Know What Love Is - Foreigner

Just Like a Pill - Pink

Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth) - George Harrison

Running to Stand Still - U2

"Woke last night to the sound of thunder..."

"How far off, I sat and wondered." Actually, it was about 5 a.m., which, while still dark, is not night. And while sometimes the thunder sounded far off and I wondered just how far off, several of the crashes were explosively close, as were the accompanying flashes of lightning. So I got up, thinking I might just capture some interesting video. I love the rain (sometimes) and flowing water. 

A number 2 by a sewer line. Apropos.

I grabbed a video camera, my cheap Flip knock-off from Sharper Image (via JCPenney), called the U-Video, and headed outside. Nah, too dark. That camera just wasn’t up to the task. I went back in and exchanged it for my new Olympus point and shoot. Much better results. Video to come later.

All that bright light illuminated more than the predawn sky. I was struck by a flash of inspiration:

News flash! Blogs are not news. Blogs are entertainment. Blogs may be a source of information. Blogs may spread the word of new stores, new products, old haunts, favorite night spots, etc. But mostly blogs indulge a writer's whims – and give us a chance to exercise our chops – and perhaps a reader's guilty curiosities. Ultimately, though, blogs are entertainment. If you don't find the writing entertaining, read elsewhere. There’s a lot of material out there in the blogosphere.

“One man's trash,” it has been said ad nauseam, “is another's treasure.” That's what I am on the lookout for when I run. Cataloging and commenting on those “treasures” is the point of this blog. And I have found a few treasures. Were they considered trash by someone else? Sometimes. The mattress and box spring I picked upduring cleanup week were on the curb with a lot of genuine junk. And yet, they were in fine condition, certainly better than the 40-year-old set I had. Other items, like the pair of stocking caps that started me on this quest last November, were simply lost to their original owners.

Apropos of nothing. I just happened to run past L.T. Stone, my former
grade school, which is now privately owned and seemingly vacant.

 However, oftentimes one man's trash is simply that. Garbage, Waste. Refuse. And when it ends up on the street, it becomes simply everyone else's trash. Some of it I pick up, usually just the interesting stuff or the things that have some value – aluminum cans, for example – most of it I leave (sometimes I photograph it just because it strikes me as weird). I swear to myself ... someday ... someday I'll make a run dedicated to picking up the trash. Or take a walk just to pick up trash. I even bought one of those reach-extenders – you know, the handle with the pincers on the end of a 3-foot stick – with the intention of doing just that without having to bend over so much. In the seven months since that purchase it hasn't happened.

Old newspapers line the windows in the east
wing of the former L.T. Stone School.

 OK, diatribe done. Had to get that off my chest. But if you’re like me, you really hate when people post cryptic rants and gripes on Facebook, so I’ll tip my hand. The inspiration for this missive came late yesterday afternoon when a co-worker sent me a screen-cap of a Facebook post railing against my previous blog entry. As I have joined the stable of Register-Mail bloggers at galesburg.com, I am apparently catching a few more views. One reader took offense at my subject matter (I doubt he really read the whole thing but was mostly turned off by the photo of a condom on the street). Not sure how my co-worker found the FB post but she noted the person’s page was public. Here’s what he had to say in the comment accompanying the link to my blog, which he so kindly posted for all his 600+ friends to check out. Thanks! Two of them actually read the blog but found it confusing. C’est la vie.

“I want everyone to see the kind of TRASH our newspaper is putting out and calling news.”

So, the purpose of today’s blog steps beyond simple, base entertainment into the realm of education. Let me be utterly clear: blogs are not intended as news (at least not this one). If you do not find this entertaining, the please don’t waste your time here. Ironically, in addition to trash like my blog, The Register-Mail publishes a lot of other stuff that it does pass off as news, like the two-thirds of a page we devoted to this guy recently. So I guess newspapers aren’t a total lost cause.

Today's Stats

Temp: 81 degrees F

Distance: 3.6 miles

Weekly Total: 9.1

Treasure: 1 number 2 on yellow plastic; 27 cans.

iPod Playlist (shuffle)

Somebody’s Baby – Jackson Browne

Owner of a Lonely Heart – Yes

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite (Anthology) – The Beatles

Bold As Love – The Jimi Hendrix Experience

Detox Mansion – Warren Zevon

Part I – Festival Junction(Live) – Duke Ellington (This piece from Newport is amazing!)

Good Times Bad Times – Led Zeppelin

Save a Horse, Ride aCowboy (Dance Mix) – Big & Rich

Everybody Needs Somebody to Love (Live) – The Rolling Stones

Hasten Down the Wind (Live) – Warren Zevon

Mr. Roboto – Styx

Plaid Jam – The Rogues

A bridge too far ... or, I don't know where I'm going

But, I sure know where I've been. Hell and back I think it was. But that was before Tuesday. Nothin' to do with the run, really. The point is, I started out knowing only that I was headed north. Would I stay on Seminary Street all the way to the Seminary Square shopping center by U.S. 34 at the north edge of town? Or would I veer off and take another route? As I approached Losey Street I thought I'd keep running north. As fate would have it, the light was red and I decided in an instant to not wait for the change.

Turning right, I ran for Farnham Street and the bridge over the BNSF tracks. A little hill would be good for the legs as the Bix looms. That bridge, in its modern, concrete configuration, doesn't have the grade it once did. No obstacle there. 

Where the rubber meets the road...

On south toward the other end of town and Fifth Street. Near the intersection of Farnham and Fifth I came upon the first noteworthy find of the day -- a condom. No, I did not pick it up. No, I did not even examine it closely. My first thought, though, was that a used condom was a good sign. After all, Knox County has been plagued with unenviable STD and teen pregnancy rates for a number of years. And while there have been occasional reductions in those alarming rates, the fact remains that too many kids are doing the nasty without thinking about the possible consequences. And with the STD rates we've seen around here, I'd say "the nasty" is an appropriate euphemism, as it were, for S-E-X.

Anyway, further contemplation of this odd discovery on the pavement left me in doubt. The thing looked pretty rolled-up, like perhaps fresh out of the wrapper and unused. So maybe my optimism was merely wishful thinking. Either way, it was just another piece of litter. And that really has no up side.

I continued on, pondering the probability of Galesburg's youth coming around to the notion of "safe sex." And spare me the diatribes about abstinence. I'm with you. I agree that we should encourage abstinence and it is indeed the only 100 percent effective method of birth control and nearly 100 percent at STD prevention, but reality calls for pragmatism not Pollyannism.

On west I headed down Fifth Street, past H.T. Custer Park to Seminary Street, then back north again. I was considering a further westward jog over the W.C. Jackson (Fourth Street) Bridge, but it was not yet a certainty. That bridge has a bit more of an incline. It was starting to get hotter. I had work to do. At the Fourth Street intersection I paused momentarily ... again, in an instant the decision was made to do it. Left. Westward ho!

A couple  blocks of flat and I was on the hill. I remembered my youngest daughter's words, echoing her cross country coach Rodney Blue, "knees high!" But that only got me so far. About 20 yards from the crest I slowed to a walk. I know, it's sad. The Bix is gonna be a bite.

Once at the plateau, I picked up the pace again, stopping briefly to photograph trains -- some sitting in, some chugging through the yards. Then on I ran. Across the bridge. Down the western side. Another decision: Do I continue a couple blocks to Academy Street or do I turn north on Cedar and cut through the Knox College campus?

I guess I wimped out. Knox presented the shorter route. A slight detour to bypass construction and I was through and on city streets again. A few short blocks (OK, what a silly phrase; they were normal small-town blocks) and I was home.

As sometimes happens, the best finds of the day came after the run on my bike. Back up Seminary Street I picked up a small plastic cutting board, blackened and scarred by tires and gravel, and a CD, which turns out to have about a dozen songs on it by various hip-hop artists. Not my bag, baby, but it's something.

The lesson today: We don't always know where we're headed; sometimes we just have to see where the road leads and where out feet decide to trod.

Today's Stats
Temp: 75 degrees F (85 by end)
Distance: 5.5 miles
Treasure: 13 cans; 1 spoon (later lost); 1 cruddy CD; 2 small bolts; 1 plastic cutting board (small); 1 CD-R in good condition (contents: several hip-hop songs).

 iPod Playlist (shuffle)
Take On Me - A-Ha
Scuse Me? - The Rogues
How Far We've Come - Matchbox Twenty
There's No Other Way - Blur
Polythene Pam - The Beatles
If I Fell - The Beatles
God Bless America (Pat MacDonald Must Die) - James McMurtry
The Woman He Loves - Alabama
Walter's Walk - Led Zeppelin
Woodstock - Joni Mitchell
Old Dan Tucker - Bruce Springsteen
Hear You Me - Jimmy Eat World
Givin' The Dog a Bone - AC/DC
She's a Beauty - The Tubes
I Don't Want Your Love - Duran Duran
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Jack and Diane - John Mellencamp