Everybody else's STP was about sweat and exertion and heat and endurance and determination. My STP from the start was about Tim.
Tim signed up to ride way back in February. The STP was my brother Nigel's idea, but Tim riding was my idea, as most of these outrageous things are. I just thought it would motivate him to get on the bike and exercise, to do something hard. He's wanted to ride to Pullman forever, and I figured this was a start. Besides, one of his biggest fans was planning to ride again. Mike Dixon.
I knew Tim was going to get left behind by the dominating, ultra-competitive team of Nigel, Jared, and Alex. But Mike would stick with him, encourage him, and LOVE to see him do this hard, hard thing. So it was all okay.
The last thing I said to Cecily before Mike died was, "Can you get a pass for Tim?" because he missed packet sign-up.
One of the first things she said to me after Mike died was, wryly, "I found out we can't get an extra ticket for Tim. But never mind. THAT problem's solved."
Maybe it was one problem solved, but a bigger problem had been created, because Tim had no one to ride with. Eventually Scott, Colin, Mark Robinson, and a guy named Ed Winterbottom joined the Mike Dixon memorial peloton, but all of them were fast riders, and I didn't think any of them would be willing to do what Mike would have done--ride with and pull Tim.
Now let me jump ahead of my story and say that in retrospect my fears for Tim were ridiculous. He rode the STP the same way he does everything in life--at his own pace, completely impervious to pain, physical discomfort, ride conditions, other riders, and support team. He would have ridden the same race alone or with 10,000 people, in Africa or on Mars. He just cranked away at a steady 15 miles per hour. He rode 200 miles with no problem. If the ride had been 250 or 300 miles, I think he could have ridden that too. One day he will ride from Bellingham to Pullman no problem.
But anyway, my ludicrous fears meant that Tom bought a packet off someone on Craig's List and did the ride to support Tim.
Cecily and I stayed at a hotel in Puyallup so we could be at the 50 mile stop in Spanaway to meet the riders. Tim was totally on my mind. I was a little excited, waiting to hand out rice bars, gatorade, and sunscreen. We parked right where the riders came in and watched the earlybirds streaming past.
Then I felt Mike. I can't exactly tell you how I knew it was him. I wasn't expecting to feel him at all, but I did, and he felt just as he always did in person--big, straightforward, no-nonsense, direct, practical, bald--just HIMSELF. And his message was, "Don't leave anyone behind."
Except I didn't hear words. It was just a feeling. Fierce. Intense. The way Mike got when he felt like something was really, really important. The way he was at the Three Peaks Lodge reunion when Dad and Mom were talking about their estate plan and what would happen to all the stock. Intense, emotional, crying so hard it hurt to watch him do it.
Three Peaks was probably the first time I saw him like that, but I saw it a few other times. At first I found it weird, then endearing. But I never really got it.
Standing in front of the van watching the early riders stream by, I felt like I was in the middle of that emotion, but I finally understood it. Not that I can articulate it any better than he could.
The message was deep, eternal, profound. It went beyond a bike ride, or inheritance money, or rice bars. The biggest part of the message was: STOP. This is way more important than you realize. STOP. Pay attention now. This is critical. This is eternal.
"I can't tell you exactly what I mean, but you can feel it if you try. Stop seeing people's faults and realize that every human being is amazing. Stop trying to be so fast and look so cool. Pay attention to the awkward kid. Pay attention to the struggling guy. Don't try to BE so important. Just DO what's important.
"Don't worry about your fancy clothes. You can do this job in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Start now. Start today. Pay attention. I'm talking to you. This is IMPORTANT."
I felt like he was shaking me from the inside out. It was intense. I never planned to have an emotional day myself. I planned to support Cecily as she had an emotional day. But Mike was never afraid of crying, of breaking down and crying so hard he couldn't talk. And I guess he felt like it was okay for me to experience that too, because I did.
Yesterday was one of the most personal experiences I ever had with Mike, because we didn't have that close of a relationship. I don't mean we we didn't get along or anything like that, I just mean that you shouldn't have too close of a relationship with your spouse's sister/sister's spouse, and both of us knew it. I had lots of group experiences with him, and quite a few slightly formal conversations about work, hobbies, and the like, but we were never pals. That went beyond the line, and he was exactly the kind of guy who didn't flirt with lines.
Since his death, I've come to know him much better, mostly by reading his journals. Do you know the man left over six hundred NUMBERED journal pages? Not for posterity, really, though his posterity will get plenty out of them. They were his working files. He was reading the scriptures and the words of the prophets, puzzling through what they meant, and turning it into specific, numbered daily goals. That he marked off when complete.
His areas of effort were clearly family, church, and work. I don't think he had any hobbies that weren't related to those three things.
In fact, he first rode the STP to support and bond with Seth. And he was there in a support role yesterday. I'm not sure how this life and the next link together, exactly. I don't know how and when our loved ones come back to be with us. I know for sure, though, that Grandpa Campbell once came to help me when I had car trouble on the road home from his funeral. And I know Mike was there at the STP yesterday.
I was proud of Jared, who rode with a fever, incredibly sick, on guts and prayers alone. Proud of Alex, who cruised on six measly training rides, the longest of which was 60 miles. Proud of Tim, who just hunkered down and got the job done. Proud of Dad, who rode in pain but never quit. Proud of my son Nigel, who was a great navigator, and of my brother Nigel who is a genius at putting together events like this that change lives and make memories. I was proud of Colin, who genuninely wondered if he could do it, and proud of Scott, who rode so selflessly.
But my biggest feeling wasn't pride. It was humility. I have a lot to learn from Michael Perry Dixon, and I learned a little of it yesterday. I learned to stop talking for a minute and feel something bigger than words. This is important. This is critical. STOP, Julia. Feel this. This is eternal.
