This past Saturday morning, I participated in Omaha's first inaugural Cranksgiving cycling scavenger hunt benefiting the local food bank. Arriving directly from swimming practice, I quickly pulled Old Yeller out of the car and frantically attempted to install the rack on the back of the bike while shoveling mcGarbage in my mouth. It was hectic and my hands were quivering with excitement as I tried to tighten those little allen bolts.
There was a reason for this rush: the coveted gold painted crank for the first cyclist to finish.
I had about 30 seconds to spare by the time I gotten it all together. Fortunately, Munson was right there and said to hang on his wheel. Thanks, Munson...who knows where I would have ridden without you.
Shortly, the race was on and we were peddling with a fury into stiff crosswinds along Fort Street with the first destination as the Irvington Wal-Mart. We passed a couple mountain bikers along the way and were the first to arrive there. Grabbing a box of pasta, I went through the self checkout while Munson opted for the express lane. The woman in front of me was taking her sweet time while I must have looked like the village fool: helmet, bike gear, road shoes and all doing a tap dance like a four year old 'bout ready to piss his pants while Barry Manilow muzak filtered down from the PA system above.
The next stop, Hy-Vee on Fort, was the place where we got stuck in the Tuna Helper nightmare. We lost precious time checking and re-checking the baking aisle's countless varieties of *-Helpers. I mean, there was hamburger, lasagna, beef stroganoff, linguine, chicken and pork helpers, but no tuna. Apparently, we found out five minutes later, Tuna Helper is in such demand that it has its commands its own shelf space in the luncheon meats aisle. Arrggh. Another dash to checkout and off to the gas station across the street.
When we arrived at this store, the woman behind the counter barely peeks over her copy of People to quip, "peanut butter for the scavenger hunt's in aisle four." Then, Munson and I were ambushed by Qianna Bradley, a World Herald reporter who happened on us by random chance. "You guys doing that Cranksgiving thing?" she inquired while I put a jar of Jiffy on the counter. She went on to say that she was at the start at Bike Masters and was looking to see what it was like out on the street. Pretty cool. This Cranksgiving thing was taking on a life of its own. Qianna interviewed us over the next few stops and wrote a piece that was in the Sunday Paper.
The rest of Cranksgiving was more of the same: riding, clip-cloppity & sliding through waxed floors in road shoes and managing self- checkout machines that effervescently inquired, "Do you have a coupon that you would like to use?"
There were already a few bikes outside by the time Munson and I made it back to Bike Masters. Damn that Tuna Helper. I felt a tad better when they weighed my sack [sic] at 20 lbs. I looked disdainfully at Munson's 13.9 lbs and gave a gorilla press to show how steel-cut I was. Then again, he was riding a 1x9 spd cromoly tank with a hub generator that looks like the fuse to an atomic bomb. Still, I felt like the alpha male until I heard another weigh-in at 39 lbs. I turned to see a 20 lb bag of flour with puncture marks being removed from the scale. Apparently, the bag was torn by the handlebars during the ride, resulting in a flour cloud and gluten mess for the cyclist & his bike. Then, another came in with a B.O.B and 76lbs of food. Dang! This guy hoisted a frozen turkey and a sack of potatoes out of his bag while someone muttered incredulously, "Potatoes weren't on the list!" It was pretty cool to see the generosity of folks and what they could do on a bike ride.
In fact, the generosity is what I appreciated most about the event. Way to go, Bryan & Chris, on getting this thing going. I remember thinking that you were crazy to even consider doing this, especially after having a kid a few months back. I still think that, but you did it. There was great participation, in both riders and in sponsors. While the rest of us were munching down sloppy joes and soup (all terrific, but the Wisconsin cheese was my favorite), Bryan was working the crowd and stuffing people's arms with all kinds of handouts while socializing. Meanwhile, Chris and a group of volunteers were weighing-in bags, counting and sorting food. And, There must have been one heck of a clean-up afterwards.
Memories from this Cranksgiving I shall not forget:
Nearly fifty bikes strewn all over the parking lot at the start
Munson's head-wag during the starting line sprint
Cyclists & backpacks peddling like mad to the next stop
The clerk at the quick shop reading the magazine
The Flour Man and his bike
The torn bag of flour
A sack of potatoes
Festive atmosphere in the store
Award ceremonies: Gold-painted crank, Silver cassettes and bronze crank arms for top finishers. Silver brake caliper for the last person.
Home made soups and a sweet potato? cake. That thing was awesome
In short: it was grande. Way to go, Bryan and gang, on getting Cranksgiving-Omaha it's start.
Like a good rock opera, this image says it all.
