Dips in the Road
We camped that night in Oberlin at Terrace Gardens RV park. The owner was a disabled veteran who had spoken to Tiffany prior to our arrival. He put us up for the night for free, and it was just the first of many ways that the people of Oberlin cared for us during our short stay.
During our trip, when we did go out to eat dinner, we always preferred to find a “mom and pop” restaurant so we could enjoy the true experience of each local community. In Oberlin, we found a small place on the GPS called the Frontier Family Restaurant, which sounded perfect.
As motorhome newbies, one of the things we were most concerned about was having a major catastrophe mechanically with the RV. We knew one problem could put us completely behind schedule. The very first thing we noticed as we traveled through the old residential neighborhood, especially as we made our way through the small side streets following the GPS directions, was that at each intersection, the road had deep divots at each crossing. It looked to us like they were there to allow for runoff and drainage from heavy storms. Crossing the first one, Tiffany took it really slow and crossed it with no problem. Our GPS, just like the online maps we’d used before, didn’t always turn out to be perfect, so we made a couple of turns that weren’t necessary, slowly navigating the deep sections of the roadway in an attempt to avoid dragging the bottom of the RV against the road, but we heard it bottom out and scrape a couple of times.
We missed the entrance of the restaurant the first time by, so we had to circle back around the block again. As we made our way through the first turn, everything seemed normal. But when Tiffany made the turn on the street directly behind the restaurant, she noted what looked like a fresh stream of water on the road, and it was following the same path we had just driven. Around the next turn, sure enough, the same pattern of water led the way. By the time we made the last turn and pulled into the restaurant parking lot, we knew we had a problem.
We both jumped out of the RV and could immediately hear water pouring out from under it. I ran to the back, looked underneath and saw that the gray water pipe, which carries water from the sink and shower to a holding tank, was cracked and spewing water. Panic began to set in as we realized we were in a small town where we didn’t know a soul, and we were concerned about what was wrong, how quickly we could get it repaired and how we would be able to afford the cost.
About this time, the manager of the restaurant stepped outside, almost assuredly because he was concerned we were dumping sewage into his parking lot as if I was Clark Griswold’s cousin Eddie in the movie Christmas Vacation. We assured him the leak was water coming from a busted pipe from the gray water tank, and then voiced our obvious concern about getting it repaired. At this moment, an angel stepped out of the restaurant to show us exactly what small town America was all about.
“I see you have a problem,” the lady said as she walked out. “How can I help?”
I explained our situation and our mission to her.
“Let me call my husband,” she said.
She stepped away from the RV for a moment, made a quick phone call and came back over to us. “My husband, Jim, is on his way.” She introduced herself as Ruth and tried to ease our anxiety, assuring us that the RV could be repaired.
Five minutes later, her husband arrived and said that he had placed a call to a plumber who would be there shortly. Jim was a member of the local American Legion, and just as his wife had done, he assured us that everything would be taken care of. After another five minutes, a young man pulled up in his truck and immediately got under the RV to inspect the problem. Within minutes, he pulled out his tools, including a reciprocating saw, climbed back under the RV, cut out the section that had cracked, replaced it with a new pipe and fittings and verified everything was in working order. The whole process could not have taken more than 30 minutes from the time we pulled into the parking lot to the time the repair was completed.
As he put his tools back into his truck, I asked him what we owed him for his service.
“Don’t worry about it,” the man said. “Because of what you’re doing, I’m donating my time, and the American Legion is picking up the tab for the parts. I’m just happy to help you guys on your way.”
I shook the man’s hand, thanked him for everything and turned back to Jim and Ruth, who while the plumber was working had listened intently to the story of our journey and shared stories of Jim’s own service in the military.
“Now go on inside,” Ruth said, “and get yourselves a bite to eat. Dinner is on us.”
What we witnessed that evening was the reaffirmation of the American spirit, and how so many are willing to step up and help out when someone is truly in need. We enjoyed a great meal that night, reflecting back on all of the great folks who had been so generous to us in so many ways. We were so thankful and inspired to be able to get a first-hand glimpse of the true American spirit. It was also a great reminder that while at times it seems like the US has forgotten about the sacrifices being made by our men and women in the military, the vast majority of Americans have a genuine appreciation for the sacrifices made by veterans.
We had only been in this state for a few hours but had already been pleasantly surprised by the hospitality. Little did we realize that Kansas would provide us with even more surprises in the days to come.
Chapter 11: Singing Off Key
I had to endure a variety of elements while running from Oregon in late March to Kansas in mid-May. We never knew what we were going to experience from one day to the next. The next 10 days through Kansas would offer another challenge with extremely strong winds, combined with the warm weather. I felt like I had to exert twice as much energy just to keep from being blown backward, let alone move forward, all while standing in front of a blast furnace.
There were still, however, several enjoyable and inspirational moments as I passed through Kansas. Early during my first full day in Kansas, as I was about to go back out on the road following an aid stop, I saw a man riding a bike coming toward us from behind. His bike was loaded down with what looked like all his worldly possessions. He stopped as he rode up and introduced himself as Joe.
“Where are you riding to?” I asked him.
“Cape May, New Jersey,” he said with a smile. “Where are you running to?”
“Annapolis, Maryland” I replied matter of factly.
“That’s awesome!” he responded. “How cool is it that two transcontinental travelers meet up like this?”
“Are you riding for a cause?” I asked Joe.
“No. I promised myself that if I lived to see 50 I would ride across America, and I made it, so now here I am living out my dream.”
I listened intently as Joe told me the story of his service in the Navy, when he felt like he was on top of the world and in great shape. After he was honorably discharged and entered civilian life, he struggled to maintain a healthy lifestyle. His weight ballooned and his health worsened, causing him to have to take multiple medications daily. At the age of 42, he weighed 300 pounds and his self-esteem had bottomed out. He decided to begin riding his bike regularly and he promised himself that if he made it to the age of 50, he was going to ride across America.
Eight years after he made that promise to himself, here he was, making his way across this beautiful country on his bike. “I’m still not at the weight I want to be, but I’m alive at 50,” Joe said proudly. We talked about the strong winds in Kansas, the incredible people we had met along the way and just how awesome it was to experience America like we were able to. The more we talked, the more I was inspired by his drive and motivation.
So often we commit to something in life, yet it doesn’t take much to get us off track. Even when the goal we set for ourselves is something easily attainable, it is often difficult to stay focused because of all of the distractions in life. Our children, our careers and everything else tend to pull us in different directions, resulting in us drifting off course from our goals. Here was Joe, however, who
eight years ago made a commitment to pursue a healthier lifestyle and as a result he was achieving greatness by riding across the US at the age of 50. I found the story of his own transformation incredibly inspirational and thanked him so much for sharing it with me.
We promised to keep up with one another along the way (we both made blog entries that evening about our encounter and posted a photo of each other on our respective blogs, his on www.joeonabike.com) and said our goodbyes. He hopped back on his red road bike with red saddlebags flanking each side of his seat and I lowered my head and began to plow my way forward through the wind. I was able to keep him in my sights for the next few miles since the roads were fairly straight, but I eventually lost sight of him after he crested a hill a couple miles ahead of me. I continued to follow Joe, who actually donated to our cause, from time to time on his blog and was excited to read that he completed his journey in 50 days, arriving in Cape May, New Jersey, as planned.
A Pain in the Wind
I had always been under the impression that Kansas was a very flat state with no real hills. While the roads were perfectly straight for miles at a time, the first few days in the state presented me with plenty of rolling hills coupled with winds that just wouldn’t let up. Running on rolling hills has never really been a problem for me. But in West Virginia, the hills typically blocked the wind and I was also usually under the cover of trees.
In Kansas, however, every gust of wind those first couple of days seemed to find the valleys in between each rolling hill and blew in a direct northern direction, right into my right side. Each day the weather forecast predicted sustained winds of 20-30 miles per hour, with gusts up to 50. The National Weather Service even issued warnings during this time for sustained winds in excess of 35 miles per hour.
As strange as it may sound, for two straight days the wind literally beat me up. I had to fight to stay upright and the extra effort exerted, combined with the crosswinds, put some major pressure on my knees. I had a problem with the IT band in my right knee when I first started training for the Richmond Marathon, and that flared up a day earlier when I first arrived in Kansas. Back when I was training for Richmond, I purchased a compression sleeve to wear to keep pressure and warmth on my knee. It helped tremendously.
Aside from my shin issue, I hadn’t really experienced any leg pain until I hit Kansas, when the wind really wore me out. Well, the wind and the 2,000+ miles I had put on my legs the past 50 or so days. I’m thankful that my wife packed the blue compression sleeve because at this point I needed it, and it stayed on my right leg the remainder of my journey. After a couple of weeks wearing it, I believe I could have run without it because my knee was feeling much better, but it gave me some mental comfort knowing that it was providing support for my knee, so I didn’t want to risk changing anything up that was working. Plus, at that point I had about an eight-inch section of pale skin above and below my knee that was underneath the sleeve and concealed from the sun when I ran. I didn’t want to look any goofier than I already did running along the side of the road by showing everyone my knee-sleeve tan.
As I ran into Phillipsburg, Kansas, my route turned directly south on Route 183 for the last three miles of that day. The wind that had been beating up my right side for the past couple of days was now dead in my face. And it wasn’t letting up. The temperature read 93 degrees on a bank sign as I ran through town, and now I had 45+ mph winds that were blazing hot and blowing directly in my face.
It literally felt like I could walk faster through the wind than run through it. Hunched over, I pushed forward as hard as I could, with the wind drying the sweat from my forehead and the tears from my eyes as quickly as they formed. I had my hat pulled down low to try to keep the wind out of my face, and about every 10 steps I would look up hoping I would see the RV on the side of the road because Tiffany had already driven past me to the finish spot for the day. I would crest a rolling hill, look for the RV and dejectedly put my head down and literally weep from the pain when I wouldn’t see her.
I enjoy running in all types of weather, but this was ridiculous. It just seemed that with each step I took, I almost felt like I was going backwards, not just physically, but mentally. The wind was beating me up in more ways than one. When I finally crested the last hill and could see the RV, I tried to pick up the pace to get to the RV as I typically did each day, but there was no picking the pace up on this day.
I crossed the road to get to the same side as the RV and walked slowly up to it as Tiff looked out the window at me. She knew something wasn’t right. I had been complaining about the wind all day, but never had she seen me so defeated on the run. Even when I had the shin injury, I felt like I was still making progress, but this had me shut down mentally, which I was finding very difficult to overcome.
I hopped into the RV, completely spent, and was greeted with encouragement and cheering for having made it through the day. My wife and kids knew how much the positive reinforcement from them would help me through some tough stretches, and they didn’t let me down that day.
Chasing the Wind
There’s an old saying that states, “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” I’m eternally grateful that proverb didn’t prove true when I began chasing after Tiffany when we first met. I first noticed her while we were working in the same division when stationed in Iwakuni, Japan, while in the Marine Corps. Initially, she wanted to avoid me like the plague.
Tiffany was dating someone else at the time that I began to make my intentions of getting together with her very clear. Initially, that bold talk turned her off. She would walk through the division and purposely avoid my work center, avoiding what I considered to be my magnetic personality. But I was a pest that wouldn’t be swatted away easily.
Since we had the same core group of friends—the self-proclaimed “Fun Bunch”—we were frequently around each other. Fortunately, she slowly began to warm up to my personality, gradually realizing that I was harmless. As she would learn later in our relationship, I talked a good game but you usually couldn’t take everything I said seriously. Maybe that’s why when I threw out the idea of running across America, she initially thought my desire to do so was just harmless chatter.
I pulled one stunt during a weekend camping trip while stationed in Japan that I knew sealed our fate together. Early in the morning, still a little woozy from a night of drinking, I snuck into the tent that Tiff was staying in while she grabbed some breakfast at camp central. I grabbed a pair of her underwear, put them on my head, pulled them down over my ears and wandered around the campsite saying, “Whose are these? Whose are these?” I’ve since told people that when she didn’t turn and run as fast as she could in the opposite direction at that moment, I knew we were destined to be married.
On May 18, 1996, it took only $90 and 30 minutes to fulfill that destiny in the living room of a Justice of the Peace in San Diego, where Tiffany was stationed at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. Immediately after the ceremony, we called our parents and told them we had just gotten engaged. It wasn’t until Thanksgiving that I revealed the news to my parents. When we walked through the door of my mom’s house, I dropped my luggage and said, “We’ve got some news.”
“You’re pregnant?” my mom asked, her eyes focusing on Tiffany’s tummy.
“No,” I said.
“You’re married?”
“Yes,” I said proudly but with some hesitation.
“Welcome to the family” she said enthusiastically as she gave Tiff a huge hug.
At Christmas time we shared the news with Tiffany’s family and were similarly relieved when, upon learning that his daughter was already married, her father bellowed out in his deep and intimidating voice, “Well, you just saved me a bunch of money!” Her parents welcomed me with open arms, but also gave me a little of what I deserved for stealing their daughter away.
I’m certain that neither of us imagined that on our 16th wedding anniversary we’d be waking up at 5 a.m. so t
hat I could run 35 miles and she could chase me down while driving a 31-foot motorhome. Yet here we were in the middle of Kansas standing on the edge of a cornfield on our special day posing for a photograph with a dry erase board that had the number “16” written on it. When we met in Japan and later were married in San Diego, I told her I would take her places. She probably never imagined I’d take her to a windy and blistering hot Kansas cornfield in a box on wheels.
Throughout the rest of our time in Kansas, I kept my feet moving east while the kids and Tiffany began to get into geocaching. She was encouraged to join the geocaching culture by a fellow Marine who she had served with, and it proved to be a good suggestion. The kids were obviously starting to get really tired of being in the RV all the time, and being able to track down the little treasures that people would leave behind seemed like a great way to get them outside. They became obsessed with geocaching the rest of the way, and it was a wonderful way for them to stay engaged and keep from getting bored in the motorhome.
I had a few other veterans stop me as I ran through the next few towns after seeing our RV pass by, thanking me for what I was doing and giving donations. The number of followers on Twitter and Facebook continued to increase as I made my way through more populated areas. It was great to have so many people be a virtual part of my journey. Our message was really starting to get out there. As I made my way into Lawrence, Kansas, I did a few more TV and newspaper interviews, which really helped us on the local level to get the word out. We were still knocking at the door of the national media, but had no luck yet.
The celebration of the 2,000 mile mark was a small one, but one that was good for all of us, as we knew we were well beyond the halfway point, and it was a much needed boost to all of our psyches. Standing out on the road in Silver Lake, Kansas, I took a piece of chalk and drew out the number 2,000, and doing my best to stand up in the crazy wind had Tiff take a picture of a very excited man. Besides the incredible people we met and experiences we had in Kansas, this was one of the other highlights of my time through there. If I never experience the wind in Kansas again, however, I’ll be a very happy man.
Freedom Run Page 16
