Midway in the Midwest
Dateline: Possibly Iowa
There is more out there, there, then there is out there here. Most of the time I was there I didn’t know where I was when I was there.
…Possibly Iowa…or…
…Midway in the Midwest.
I am once again where I have hardly ever been…
…could be Iowa, could be whatever state leans against Iowa. Basically I drove to the middle of the United States, and stopped. I’ve learned to do that whenever I drive by a body of water and see a bunch of colorful trucks parked by a river or lake…figure if nothing else…I’m close.
I was.
Registration Wednesday
Jerseys were stuck to all the smelly parts, after-shave no match, A/C no match, fist-bumps, some quick handshakes, no hugs, no high-fives for fear of flying sweat and Mitchum roll-on, the 24-hour stink protection guarantee gone in 30 minutes. Iowa sweats, could have been there, go with that.
“Hi, what’s your name, where you from, what do you do,” said me.
It was tournament eve, those who paid to take the tourney boat ride with the Bassmaster Pro’s were signing in, Wednesday night, game day next morning.
It was one of my favorite gigs of the BASS gig: “Who are you, where you from, what do you do.”
Did it hundreds of times, maybe just once or twice here if this was in fact Iowa, but I listened every time.
EVERY TIME.
To the answer.
Plumbers and professors, lawyers and cops, supermarket managers and farmers, athletes and those who said they were, airline pilots and once the guy who flew that SR-Blackbird “craft.”
Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard.
The Summer of Love & Woodstock visitors and survivors.
Young and old, middle age and older middle age, mostly men, some women, hope more are getting involved.
Race…human.
Wednesday afternoon with America, one hand-shake at a time.
It was simply the greatest part of the greatest job at the end of a long career covering the great, the near great, and the awful.
But one Wednesday in what might have been Iowa a man in line answered all my questions, as did everyone, but then, out of nowhere he asked me a question. Surprised me, he did.
“Like what, huh…”
“db, I read your columns, follow you on social media, I was just wondering how many days a year are you on the road, and do you have any idea how many miles you drive a year.”
My 1st thought was the dude must be some sort of hidden Iowa Fed IRS guy who was just checking to see if the mileage I tell him in the BASS line is the same mileage I tell the IRS folks in Washington.
I smile and say, “huh.”
“I betcha I do,” says the possible IRS fake tournament marshal guy.
I start looking around for tournament honcho and my good friend, Trip, we have a secret symbol between us that lets him know I may be having a problem, so when I spot him, I quickly mouth the secret message to him across the room: “Help.”
We figured one word would do even if I just mouth it, he sees me and our secret word and then just goes back to talking with K-Pink.
Guess we need to work on the double-top-secret-word-thing.
“Two-hundred-ninety-thousand-four-hundred-and-one.”
Jesus Gawd Almighty I can’t possibly owe that much in back taxes is what is screaming in my head but somehow my mouth says, “What.”
“I’m a math guy, weird I know, but I read you and I just started adding things up, you say where you are, what event you are at, it’s just math.”
“And not taxes.”
The guy just looks at me. That look happens more times than you would think.
“But here’s the cool part…”
I’m buckling in at this point, not my first rodeo.
“…do you know that you have driven around the Earth 11.6 times mathematically speaking.”
You ever have to think faster than your brain can think, this would be one of those times unfortunately…
“…Umm…” is all my brain can think to say at the moment.
“Think about that db…”
I’m trying, I’m trying trust me, but you know I’m kind of stuck at the OCEANS part of that feat since I’m pretty sure, not positive, that my Tundra, while built for “off-roading,” never actually mentions…oceans.
“…you know of course metaphorically speaking.”
Oh, of course, yep, got that, did so right away, yep.
“Oh, huh.”
I get that look from a stranger who is thinking to himself, is db really that smart or…
Take the under on that, just saying.
But basically it turns out that MILEAGE wise I circle the planet once a year doing my gig with BASS.
Add to that 15 years with ESPN that actually involved the whole planet and mileage, I’ve done did some travelling in this career.
A couple days later I spotted the math guy back by the tanks behind the stage, “Hey man, just want to say thank you, and how cool, really mean it, dig your math exercise.”
“Thank You, been a hell of a job you’ve had, I’m jealous. I’m an office desk guy, 9-to-5, couple miles home, kid stuff on the weekend, wife’s family, my family all nearby, can’t imagine what it is like to be on the road as you and these guys are.”
Actually it is like the exact opposite of what you just said, my office comes with a steering wheel, my desk is the tailgate folded down flat, my family, wife, kids, in-laws…a thousand miles behind me.
It might have been Iowa or one of those states that touch it…
…To the math guy behind the desk, please know this…
…the road is never about the miles travelled…
…the road is about the people who travel it…
…it is about the people who live beside it.
In 40 years of doing this reporter thing, be it in almost Iowa or not, I’ve come to realize this…
…no matter the road…
…no matter its location…
…worldwide it is paved by the stories of those who built it, travel it, live by it.
It is what connects us all.
The Family, Of Us.
“Nothing Behind Me, Everything Ahead Of Me, As Is Ever So On The Road.”