Cannonball

Historic Island Park Pool in
Fargo ND being remodeled and
updated

Swimming is not part of my usual activities. I did not learn to properly swim until my early twenties through a university physical education class. However, I always enjoyed playing in the water. Jumping off the diving board, low or high, was a joy. I did not dive. Instead, I became proficient at cannonballs. Using my size, I made a huge splash with radiating ripples (more like waves 😁). The cannonball effect was useful in getting noticed. Often it was more attention from annoyance. The point being, I was remembered.

In the small community tucked away in the northwestern corner of North Dakota, the pastor was in the top five most influential people. Soon after settling in, my picture adorned the wall of pastors who had previously served the parish. Pride erupted inside of me which was greater than when I was chosen as the scholar/athlete as a high school senior. I only had verbal recognition along with my name and graduation year placed on a plaque with the prior recipients of the award. In the church basement I had an 8"X10" framed, color photograph. I was and would continue to be remembered!    

The original St John's Hospital
is recycled rubble

At a recent graveside service, I noticed something unusual: human beings less than twenty years old. The trend is moving toward fewer people coming to cemeteries. Those that do have been receiving Social Security payments for years. The ripples radiating from acres of organic, fertile stories are barely noticed. What gets noticed are the polished stone benches, along with the solar powered luminaries. I am not upset by or bemoaning this reality. It is my observation. This observation along with numerous others have recast the aforementioned cannonball effect.

The common advice of: "Leave a legacy," "Make a difference," and "Leave the world better than you found it," all can be heard as a cryptic way of fostering fear. These phrases lightly cover the underlying fear of being forgotten. Realistically, I will be forgotten. I have no doubt been forgotten by many people already. A forty year old photograph, no doubt with its color fading, gets passed over along with all the other old pastors. What happens to the photos when the congregation dissolves? I have been involved with some church closings. Sure, give items to a museum or the regional archives. When was the last time you visited one of these places? Times change. Perspective change. Culture transforms and what is important gets redefined. As a history major, I find meaning in the stories of the past. Yet, I live in the reality of today. 

Seasons come to an end

Forcing someone to remember and appreciate the past is like forcing someone to like Swiss chard. If nothing gets brought from the past, life in the present will continue. The prophet Isaiah was insightful when writing, "The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of God continues." (40.8) I believe the word of God is life. Life lived fully in the moment. Life lived as a new gift to be unwrapped.

Instead of making waves, my plan is to simply slide through life like an otter entering the water. If there is a phrase I choose for today it is, "Leave no trace." I want to promote each person being free to explore, discover, and enjoy their journey in life unimpeded by me. 

No splash necessary

Staying Dirty

 

Current Sign

Over a decade ago, gravel bike events within a reasonable driving distance were rare commodities. Scouring the internet for these events took more than a keyword search or a hashtag. Events were mentioned through links on web pages, stumbled upon by reading random race reports, or by word of mouth, often second hand, from other bikers. The names of the events were as unique as the routes themselves. Overall, these were low-key, grassroots, free events with massive portions of hospitality and camaraderie, often punctuated with food and libations. It was July 2013, when I began my gritty gravel relationship with the Dirty Lemming.

Jim and Suzanne, along with some like minded bikers staged this event from their home on a cul-de-sac in Watertown MN. The 7am start was preceded by a friend with an operatic voice singing "The Star Spangled Banner." Then the wheels turned for a distance of 100km or 100 miles. A couple of well staffed aid stations were along the route. Post ride nourishment and refreshments took place in the shaded backyard on the cul-de-sac. Cheap trophies in normal, as well as humorous categories rounded out the day. In 2021, I went home with 2 trophies: 1st Fat Bike and Last Lemming!

Covid, as well as Jim and Suzanne's relocation appeared to push the Lemming off a cliff. However, it is difficult to not only get rid of ground in dirt, but the scent of a tight knit community. In 2023, Deb and Garry took over the reins of the Dirty Lemming. The venue changed to their farm. No more annoying the 

Camp Setting

neighbors in the cul-de-sac! Features of onsite camping, an outdoor shower, new routes (same distances), and a refurbished barn replaced previous components. The critical characteristics of submitting an entry post card, a soloist singing the National Anthem prior to the start, cheap trophies (now the "Farm Edition"), and the all embracing hospitality remain.

Pre-start Anthem (Deb's photo)

My plans to navigate the 100 mile route crashed in early June due to my bike accident. The time away from the bike to allow my clavicle to heal and the effects of the concussion to dissipate meant I could not participate even in the shorter distance. However, this provided the opportunity to volunteer. Lemmings are communal rodents. There is support and strength in numbers. Sleeping in the one person tent on a humid night after sharing a meal and conversation with a dozen other riders and volunteers, while a bit uncomfortable was overcome by an abiding sense of serenity. Filtered pre-dawn skies at 5am, walking through dew drenched grass to the porta potty, and brushing teeth at an outdoor sink began a full day. Supplies were loaded, the timing tent was popped up and tied down, and moving tables and chairs for post-ride hospitality filled the hours. Connecting with others in a drama free, nonpartisan, story sharing, high heat and blustery winds day was fabulous. Cheering tired pedal pushers as they sliced through the unrelenting wind to the end of their ride was priceless. While filled with diversity, the gravel dusted, gritty group of Lemmings savored not only the struggles of the day, but provided support for life beyond the farm. 

Lemming returns home
(Deb's photo)

While many are watching the Olympics, tracking medal counts, and having emotional reflexes to the made for media stories of athletes, I savor the opportunity to get dirty with lemmings. There were no podiums on which to stand or coaches to hug. The scene was sweat-streaked individuals; exhausted, giddy, relieved their mechanical fix lasted to the finish, and satisfied that a ride was completed.  Tech workers, medical staff, individuals thankful for another day in recovery, retirees, novices, and veterans once again followed a line on a bike computer and a line through the gravel. It is a dirty community with staying power. A community of gravel I intend to join again in 2025.

Ready to roll