Who Are We?
A couple summers ago, my husband and I “did RAGBRAI”—The Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. To kick off, you dip your back tire into the Missouri River. To finish, you dip your front tire into the Mississippi. In between, you ride 500 miles, camp for seven nights, and eat an unholy (for any faith) number of roadside porkchops.
Proving we deserve one another, we both thought this sounded like a great vacation. But we also knew that our marriage depended on one thing: not even trying to ride at the same pace. We hit the road together at the crack of dawn (all the riders started early in an attempt to beat the heat). Then—in keeping with our solemn agreement—Chris shot ahead. Every evening, after 10-12 hours on the road, I found him, and our tent, via echolocation:
A weary text message from me: “here where are you”
A chipper response from him: “Second field, fourth row. I have food!”
To be clear: we both believe in punctuation. By sharing the fact that I texted like a teenager, I aim to convey just how spent I was at day’s end. There was a brutal heat wave that week and—presumably these are permanent—far more hills than Iowa’s brand would lead you to expect.
As hard as every day turned out to be, though, I never felt alone. And this is what I really want to tell you about: the Air Force. Amid the thousands of civilian riders pedalling across Iowa, there were about 170 members of the U.S. Air Force Cycling Team. They looked sharp in their official cycling gear, and they all appeared to be in excellent shape. But, much to my surprise, they generally hung back. A lot of the time, they could be spotted on the side of the road, helping someone to change a tire or fix a chain. In line for water at one point, I found myself next to one of them, so I asked, “Does RAGBRAI engage your team to sweep the route? To help people who are struggling with repairs?” “Nope,” he said. “It’s just what we do.”
IT’S JUST WHAT WE DO.
Dear reader, there were actual amber waves of grain behind this guy. And I was quite dehydrated. You’d be forgiven for doubting me. But it happened, and I’ll never forget it. And the thing is: as cinematic as this moment was, it captured something real—a public spiritedness that I still believe is the American way. In every community across the country, you’ll find legions of decent people whose idea of a good time is helping others. I know we all know this, but—on a day when 50 U.S. Senators voted yes on the single biggest transfer of wealth, from poor to rich, in American history—I thought we might need a reminder.
