I wandered lonely as an Idiot Who floats up and down Iowa bluff country When all at once I saw Something flashing A Tommy Christmas Tree —Simon Tyler, with sincere apologies to William Wordsworth

WCourtesy of Ted Gamble

e are the Idiots Out Wandering Around (I.O.W.A., get it?). There are eight of us. Our names are Simon, Hank, Eric, Ted (me), Rob, Paul, Jordan, and Nick. Between us, we have run several races of various lengths, from ultramarathons to 5Ks and everything in between. A few of us have done some overnight relays, but the 337-mile Iowa Relay is a first for all of us.

▲ After months of planning, Simon gets us started.

There should have been nine idiots. One runner, Tom, did not show up at the starting line. We hadn’t heard from him in several months despite many calls, e-mails, and Facebook inquiries. He simply disappeared after reserving his spot on the team. He didn’t show up, so his name became the official expletive for the relay. Expressions like, “That was a Tommy steep hill!” and “My legs hurt like Tom!” became commonplace.

We started from Sioux City, Iowa, with 10 other teams. The starting line was at the Floyd Monument, overlooking the Missouri River. As we gathered in the earlymorning light, it was a serene and peaceful view, a good place to start a run. The monument was named for Sergeant Charles Floyd Jr. Sergeant Floyd was a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition, and the Floyd Monument is his grave. He died only 90 days into the expedition of (it’s thought) appendicitis. Remarkably, he was the only fatality of the expedition. Could this be a harbinger of our little expedition? We hoped not. But then we had already lost Tom, so maybe we were safe.

Every misadventure needs a start Rob, our team captain and founder, stepped forward to deliver a few inspirational words before we set off. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but I do know his words were moving, thoughtful, motivational—sprinkled with humor and goodwill, ending with those stirring words we will never forget, “Remember the Floyd!”

Finally, we were on our way. We split up into two vehicles to leapfrog one another through the state. While one vehicle’s occupants took turns running, the other vehicle drove ahead and waited its turn. Instead of passing a baton as in most relays, we passed a belt with a GPS monitor from one runner to the next. That way, the race directors know where we are, and our family and friends at home are able to track us, too. The nonrunning van will rest, relax, or get something to eat while waiting for the runners in the other vehicle. Simon, Eric, Hank, and I are in the RV. Rob, Jordan, Nick, and Paul are in the van. We settle in for the adventure.

After months of planning, training, and recruiting and losing runners, the theory of the Iowa Relay had suddenly become cold, hard reality. Only it wasn’t cold. The weekend was very hot at 90-plus degrees, no clouds, and no shade. Our only relief was a strong wind that blew all weekend.

We all assumed that Iowa was going to be tabletop flat. It’s not. True, there are no mountains in Iowa, but there are lots and lots of rolling hills and valleys that make for challenging running. Simon started us off with a strong run through Sioux City and out into the Iowa countryside.

I was the second runner. During my first run, I noticed the official relay photographer sitting in the middle of the road. He took a series of three pictures that

Courtesy of Ted Gamble

▲ Our home for the weekend.

were eventually posted to the Relay Iowa Facebook site. If you click through them quickly enough, it gives the illusion of movement. It was merely an illusion.

Dilapidated but hardly abandoned About halfway through my leg, I passed by a dilapidated old house: peeling paint and broken windows, and the roof needed a lot of work. It looked abandoned except for the two satellite dishes attached to the side of the house, so somebody must live there. Priorities.

We completed our first series of runs and found a place to rest and relax in a park in the small town of Anthon. Hank wandered off and discovered a river through the trees. It was a very pretty sight, so I took a picture.

After lolling about in the grass and shade for a couple of hours, we began to expect the van. Only it didn’t show up. So we waited a little longer, and then a little longer, and it still didn’t show up. I called Rob, but he didn’t answer his cell phone. Something must be wrong, and we began to worry.

So we decided to drive on and look for them. Maybe they had passed by without stopping. And that’s exactly what happened. We found the van a few miles down the road. Whew! Rob didn’t answer his phone because he was running.

Next came a long 25-mile stretch of gravel. I do a lot of my training runs on gravel roads around my home, so I was looking forward to my next leg. However,

with the wind, it was pretty dusty and the gravel was very loose. It felt “slushy” when running in it. A couple of months ago, while running along a similar gravel road, I was bitten by a large dog. So I followed the advice of the race organizers and brought along some pepper spray. I also thought a cell phone would be a good idea. We were in a sparsely populated area, and I didn’t want to be stuck. If I ended up bleeding in a ditch, I would like to have the option of calling for help!

It was my second leg, and I was plodding up a hill in the slushy gravel (remember, it was over 90 degrees with no shade!), and I noticed a van parked on a field access road. A runner was standing outside of the van. He looked upset. I thought that I recognized him as one of the “Honey Buckets” that I had met at the starting line only a few hours ago. Also, another clue was that “Honey Buckets” was painted on the van windows. I asked whether everything was OK, and he replied, “I’ve lost my keys, and I am not going to look for them! The other van has some, and they better get here quick!” I kept going.

Soon I saw the other van speeding through the gravel in a cloud of dust, coming to the rescue. And then my phone rang. Who could that be? Rob? Simon? I hoped everything was OK. I had better answer it. It was my weekly recorded message from Team WorldVision. Sorry. No time to listen now. I hung up.

I continued on. Did I say it was hot? Then my phone vibrated with a text message. Now what? Simon? Rob? While I was pulling it out of my fanny pack, the buckle broke. Crap! Now, I’ve got to carry a broken fanny pack, my phone, and the pepper spray.

This time it was a text message from my wife. “How’s it going?” she asked. I had better not answer right now. Hank’s turn. We came into a town; I don’t remember its name, but it had a Pizza Hut on a lake. That’s the nicest setting for a Pizza Hut that I have ever seen. Pizza would be tasty, but Hank was making good time, and we needed to catch up.

Eric was supposed to be the next runner to go out, but he strained his knee on his first run, so he sat this rotation out. He’s our only “Tough Mudder,” so we were all confident that he would be able to continue later on. And he did jump in for several one- to two-mile legs, which was very helpful to Simon, Hank, and me.

The emergence of the night crawlers With Eric sitting out, Simon, Hank, and I thought that we would make up some of the distance in the evening, when it was cooler. The temperature dropped by

Courtesy of Ted Gamble

several degrees by dark, so it would be a good night for running. We all looked forward to it. But we still had a long way to go. As Paul reminded us all, “Just think, we have less than 300 miles to go!” When Simon handed me the belt that night, there was a brightly lit runner from another team only 20 to 30 yards behind him, and I was sure that I was going to be passed, as she seemed to be gaining on him. So I decided not to care. I may have stumbled upon a secret or something, because I never saw her again. When she passed by the RV, she exclaimed, “I know I’m lit up like

a Tommy Christmas tree!” Only she didn’t use the word “Tommy.” That run was spectacular. The cool night air, thousands of fireflies in the fields, and the silent stillness of the night made me feel as if I could run forever. I just didn’t want it to end. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and this run ended in a small town called Lake City. The sign at the city limits that proclaimed “We have everything but a lake!” made me laugh out loud.

Hank and Eric completed their runs, and then it was time to attempt some sleep. We had about four hours before the van showed up. We found a side road by the Des Moines River. It was a cool and quiet area, perfect for some well-deserved, and much-needed, rest.

I had been sleeping for what seemed like only a few moments when I heard some gravel crunching outside the RV. And what was that light by the window?

▲ Simon was greeted on Saturday morning with a long, steep hill.

Was someone out there with a flashlight? I was right by the door, so I had better be ready when they come in! Or maybe it’s just the police wondering what we are doing out here. After several minutes, I finally realized that the lights outside the window were more of the fireflies that I had seen earlier. It must have been a small animal on the road making the accompanying noise. I hoped. It was tough to relax after that. Too soon, the van showed up. We hadn’t noticed the previous evening, but we were at the bottom of a deep valley, so Simon had a long hill greeting him in the morning. I’m glad it wasn’t me, but I was next.

On the straight and narrow My first leg of the day was five miles long and straight as an arrow. Although the rolling hills and fields were nice to look at, the scenery was somewhat monotonous. If you’ve ever run on a treadmill, you know what I mean. Finally, off in the distance, I saw it. Is that a curve? Could it be a corner? I couldn’t wait to get there, just to see something different. But, alas, the RV was also at the corner, and my turn was done.

When we were greeted at the various checkpoints along the way, we were asked “Are you the Idiots?” We usually replied, “Well, that narrows it down to about 11 teams!” Who in their right mind would do something like this?

Having some downtime between legs offered a lot of time for conversation. Paul came over to the RV for a while and asked Simon and me (and eventually all of us took part in this discussion) “Why are we doing this?”

Some of the answers we gave: “Because I can.” “Running is fun!” “Because most can’t.” “Because most won’t.” “Why not?” “I’m afraid of death.” OK. Time to change the subject. My next run was everything my last one was not. There were lots of curves and hills (I think I already mentioned that Iowa has hills!), and the heat had returned with a vengeance. There were lots of cars and not a lot of shoulder to run on, but the drivers gave me lots of room and seemed friendly with several waves and smiles.

Paul ran out of the RV this time around. We went a few miles ahead and waited for him in front of a large complex of older-style buildings. It was the Iowa State Training School. I took the opportunity to get out of the RV for a while and call home. My conversation with my wife came to an abrupt end when a silver van emblazoned with “State of Iowa” on the door pulled up, driven by an angrylooking man in uniform. Uh-oh. “

What are you doing here?” he asked. I explained that we were part of the Iowa Relay and were waiting for our runner to appear. He accepted this and smiled. He said that we appeared suspicious because we were parked in front of a home for teenage delinquent boys. Kids who live here have been found guilty of using or selling drugs, assault, robbery, and similar crimes. Sometimes parents try to help their kids escape.

He quickly pulled away and sped to the rear of the complex. I noticed two kids running between buildings, headed toward the open fields surrounding the school. His van came to a stop in a corner of the fields, and soon other vehicles were heading in the same direction. I wonder if they got away?

The rest of the afternoon was fairly uneventful. Run, drink, eat, rest, run, drink, eat, rest, run, drink, eat, rest, repeat. With the heat and exertion, dehydration was always a danger. I would typically drink a bottle of water (or Gatorade) before I ran and sip a little during the run and another bottle when finished. I’ve never drunk so much water in my life. I think the RV alone went through three cases of water over the weekend. I also put ice in my hat during the daytime runs. That brought a lot of relief!

As the second evening approached, we all looked forward to our cooler night runs. We watched the sun set from the next checkpoint—pretty.

In search of the runner’s high Simon started out the night runs on the second night. He was moving at a pretty good clip, and we could tell he was loving it! He finished his six miles under an eight-minute-per-mile pace. And he could have run longer—he wanted to run longer. He described it as “One of those rare runs that you don’t ever want to end.” He had the runner’s high. That’s why we do this!

My turn. Cool air, little wind, and a flat road with wide shoulders make for a good run. And that was what I had for most of my second night’s run. Like Simon, I could have gone much farther, I enjoyed it so much.

Except for one part. I had just passed the RV on the side of the road (it would stay put until my blinking rear light was out of sight and then drive ahead) and descended into a dark gulley. I was now completely alone on a rural road somewhere in Iowa: no cars, no houses, no lights, nothing. My headlamp was the only sign of life. It was very eerie. Suddenly, in the woods to my right, I heard what

▲

The author running (slowly) on Sunday.

Courtesy of Ted Gamble

sounded like a pig grunting. It may have been a pig farm, but there were no lights, and you can usually smell a pig farm before you see it. It could have been a wild pig. Or it could have been Bigfoot!

Whatever it was, I picked up the pace and got out of there as quickly as I could. When I got back in the RV, I told the rest of the team about my experience. By that time, lack of sleep was making us all a bit loopy. Paul told me that the only people who really know that Bigfoot exists never live to tell about it. The meetings probably go something like this: “

Hi, are you Bigfoot?” “Yep, and you’re dead!” That conversation never happened, so it must have been a pig. Like I said, loopy. We reached Independence after midnight, where food and showers awaited our arrival. From Independence, we had only about 60 miles to go. The food was pizza served up by a local church’s youth group. It was fun to watch them; I think they were having as much fun as we were. I learned that the showers were cold, and besides, our time was limited, so I skipped the shower and went to the RV to rest for a couple of hours. We set the alarm for 3:00 a.m. (less than two hours away!), when we had to take off to meet the van.

I don’t think I actually slept. It seemed like I just lay there, waiting for the alarm to go off. And much too soon, it did. Man, I was tired! We all were, so we decided to cut our daytime runs to four miles each. My turn came way too

quickly that Sunday morning. Never before have I set out on a run looking forward to the nap that I was going to take when I was finished. I took the GPS belt from Simon and set off. My legs had really tightened up since my last run, and they screamed in agony when I took my first steps. The pain eventually disappeared, but I never picked up much speed.

Nearing the end of my run, I reached the edge of a town called Manchester. This happens to be the name of Simon’s home town, only Simon’s Manchester is the one in England. Simon, Eric, and Hank had all gotten out of the RV to take pictures by the Manchester city limits sign.

When I saw them all standing there, I thought I was done and took off the belt to give to Hank. He said, “What are you doing? You still have three-tenths of a mile left!” Cruel. However, I was done a few minutes later, got in the RV, and slept. I have no memory of the next two runners coming or going from the RV.

About 6:00 a.m., we pulled into the quaint little town of Dyersville. You can survive on granola bars, energy drinks, and gels for only so long, so we went to a family restaurant on Main Street for some real food. The restaurant was sparsely populated with farmers and other early risers. We found our seats at a table in the corner.

Eric walked in and stumbled over a chair. The waitress asked if he was OK, probably thinking he had had a little too much to drink the previous evening. We all chatted happily away, endorphins and exhaustion fueling the conversation. They probably thought we all had had a little too much to drink, but we didn’t care—the food was excellent!

After breakfast, we played tourist and visited the Field of Dreams, where the 1989 Kevin Costner movie of the same name was filmed. It didn’t open for a couple of hours, but we could wander the field. It was billed as a peaceful and quiet place, and it was: a very relaxing area.

Downhill canceled by a stiff head wind We continued on along some more gravel roads. My next leg consisted of a long downhill run against a very stiff breeze. The van took over again, and we rode ahead. By chance we saw the race director picking up a race sign that had fallen over in the night. If we had arrived only a few minutes earlier, we never would have seen the sign. There is no telling how far we would have driven before discovering that error! He also told us we had only about 14 miles to go. So close.

Our legs were getting shorter, by necessity. We started the day running fourmile legs. Then it dropped to three. For the final few miles, we agreed on two-mile legs with water breaks every half mile. Did I say it was hot?

Courtesy of Ted Gamble

▲ Done!

We finally arrived on the outskirts of Dubuque. We decided to run the final mile together as a team and to do it slowly. The final mile was, of course, mostly uphill. Finally, there it was. We saw the entrance to the park off to the right and across the street. Two men sitting on a porch told us we had less than a half mile to go. Yes!

We entered the park. The hill steepened, but we attacked it. We would not be denied! We ran by a birthday party for a young boy—maybe 3 or 4 years old. There were lots of people cheering for him, or were they cheering for us? We proceeded to the finish line and trotted through another party. This time it was a retirement party. On the other side were food, drink, and rest. We had our pictures taken, and just like that, it was all over.

I thought the two parties at the finish line were strangely symbolic of our adventure. Just like that young boy at his birthday party, we arrived in Sioux City fired up and ready to go. There was a long journey ahead. And then, before you knew it, you were at the finish line, a retirement party, and you were asking yourself, “How did that happen? I just started!”

But one thing we knew for sure. We had arrived at the finish line worn out and used up, but we had loved every minute of it. Now it was time to rest. But wait! Where do we sign up to do this again? Who said that?