12 Hours on the bike

In September, I will race my bike for 12 hours a few times, culminating with the grueling Rapture in Misery, which I aspire to win someday. In a race like that, you keep riding because you have to. You crank onward deliriously, often outside of yourself, until the rocks don't even register in your head. It hurts, but the sense of satisfaction is overwhelming.

Today, I spent 12 hours on my bike. Not constantly riding, mind you, and not always at any forced pace. I spent 12 hours on my bike because I was riding in a city I love and a city that was alive with activity today.

I started by heading downtown after stopping for Jamaican BBQ at Black Belt in Westport. Downtown was crammed with traffic because of people leaving a graduation at Municipal, so I weaved and dodged the traffic, fancying myself a bicycle commuter in a congested city. Then, it was the River Market in what has become an almost-daily pilgrimage to 200 Main. The office conversion on 2nd Street has renderings up that look great.

In the River Market, there was a couple walking their dog that was offering directions to some visitors with Nebraska plates. As I rode by, I found myself turning around and observing from across the street. In the back of my mind, I was hoping there would be something that the guy offering directions wouldn't know. I was hoping they could ask me and I could help. I long to interact with visitors. I love to leave them with a positive impression of Kansas City and thank them for coming. I've even ridden ahead of a lost couple downtown, allowing them to follow me to their intended destination.

Yes, I'm from here. Yes, I know how to get there. Please ask me. I would absolutely love to help and I really, really want you to enjoy your stay.

I tried to help some little girls this afternoon as well, but that effort was put to a stop by Kansas City's finest. I stumbled upon the setup for the "celebration at the Station," a fireworks show and free symphony concert at Union Station. I decided that I'd explore KCK all afternoon and make it back to the station at 7:30 when the party got started. When I returned, I explored the crowds and checked out the new MAX bus that was on display. I worked my way toward the Memorial and on my way up the hill, I noticed a group of little girls huddled together, pointing upward at the monument. One of them had lost her grip on her helium balloon and it was floating away. The girls were vigilantly acting as spotters, scheming what would obviously be an impossible balloon recovery plan.

As soon as I figured out what they were talking about, I realized that I could swing around the side of the retaining wall and climb up the steep access road, putting myself in the path of the balloon in time to snag it and return it to the girl. The crosswind was giving the balloon more run and less rise, keeping it in reach if I could gain altitude quickly. I downshifted and stomped down on the pedals, riding with a sense of purpose, and as I swung around the corner with the balloon in sight, the police officer motioned for me to stop and summoned me. I was told I couldn't pass through that way. I conceded, thanked him and turned around to see the balloon drift away.

Sorry, little girl. I really thought I could get that balloon back for you.

All in all, the last 12 hours were very rich ones. On Troost, I guy waved at me for help and I smacked a pair of pliers against his starter while he tried to start his car. I met friends at Broadway Cafe, where a strange man shared his conspiracy theories with us. I ran into a procession of Catholics, marching down the middle of Broadway muttering strange things about Mary, solidifying my opinion that Catholics are weird and a tad scary. I was showered with "git yo ass on the sidewalk" in the heart of KCK, where I rode the entire length of the stigmatized Quindaro Boulevard before travelling the entire length of Wyandotte County north to south. I tried to no avail to set off a drive-through sensor to get a root beer float. I took a short break in the park, where I laid down in the grass to watch the birds deal with the same headwind I had been working against earlier. I met another friend on the great lawn of Liberty Memorial as the fireworks display was ending -- a display I watched rising over the Midtown skyline as I rode down Broadway. I had drunk guys pretend to jump out in front of me in Westport and drank peach tea in the Crown Center parking garage. I tried to speak Spanish when I ordered a tasty fresh fruit treat from Tropicana, the Hispanic dessert shop on Southwest Boulevard. I climbed the concrete stairs of an abandoned school in the heart of Quindaro to check out the amazing view. I found neighborhoods I had never seen and navigated on the fly. I watched the post-bar pickup process between the primped girls and frat boys on the Plaza. I dinged my bell to the delight of awe-struck little kids and was flashed a peace sign by a woman who told me, in a thick Irish accent, that she wished there were more bike lanes and she admired me for riding my bike.

I love this city and I love how much I can experience just by being here and going outside. By going for a simple bike ride, I did a ton of cool stuff today.

The only thing I didn't do was catch that balloon.