Part 2: Is This Heaven? No, It’s Trans Iowa

Chapter III:
We rolled into the convenience store at check point two to the sounds of volunteers yelling for us as it appeared we might ride by. The four of us feasted on whatever we felt would satisfy our cravings and provide us with the right kind of fuel for the next leg. Our spirits were lifted by the fact that the next leg would only be a short 66 mile jaunt to c.p. 3. It was during this break that I began to notice my partner, who is made of sinew and steel, looking unlike himself. Charlie reported to me that all was not right with his insides and his stomach was giving him fits. I assured him that food would settle things down and he'd be fine. He was so quiet and keeping to himself that I was concerned. His energy was down and he looked worried, pensive. I brushed it off as my own demons were rearing their heads and I needed to focus on me.

The four of us were encouraged by Guitar Ted and his posses' comments as we prepared to depart. They admired us as we said our good byes and turned our backs to them. I felt a strong pull from them and a part of me just wanted to turn back and stay in their comfort. It was not the case, we pushed on. As we left town I took the opportunity to ride up next to Joe Meiser and introduce myself, apologizing that it had taken 151 miles for me to formally let him know who I was. If memory serves me correctly I believe it went something like this, "Joe, I don't think I've ever introduced myself, I'm Tim Ek". His reply was simply, "I know", he stuck his hand out, we shook, and I resumed my place in line. We had a job to do and lately it seemed that job was to keep up with Joe. The hours and doldrums began to tick by and I became increasingly concerned about Charlie as I noticed him sitting 4th wheel a little more often and not looking as aggressive as before. I checked in with him and the report was dismal. I reminded him to stay in 4th and hide from the wind, we'd be turning soon and then we'd soar with the breeze at our backs. Finally, the turn had come and so would our respite, but it was not to be as Pramann surged and began to lift the pace. The intensity climbed once again as we exploited the tail wind and cruised north of 20 mph for extended periods of time.

Suddenly, without warning Charlie shouted "Eki what road are we on?" Clearly he wanted orientation to his cue sheets so he could begin navigating on his own. This was not a good sign. I slid back next to him and asked how it was going. The stallion was succumbing to a stomach that was getting the best of him. He said that he was in trouble and he wanted us to cut him loose. I refused, we'd been through too much and I owed him for he was a big reason I was back in the fold. I assured him that we would not let him drop off, I excitedly told him, "I'm going to talk to them". I gave a few hard strokes and was up next to Dave and Joe, "Hey guys, Charlie's found a spot of trouble, can we let off for a bit and see if he comes around?" Without hesitation the pace dropped into a soft pedal. I commanded Charlie to sit 4th wheel and to do what he could to not expose himself. We rode this way for about 20 minutes before my final status report from him. I slid back to him and he looked my direction with glassy eyes and shook his head "no", then looked to the gravel. It was over. We got him situated with his cue sheets and began to find our stride once more. Ten minutes later I stole a glance back and he was gone. Now there were three. Charlie's absence had a profound effect on the group. It was as if we had to find out how we fit together all over again. It wouldn't take long before we were moving like a finely tuned machine, with Joe out front, of course.

Our spirits were high as we arrived at c.p. 3. The knowledge of one more leg left was agreeing with us, but it was the night time leg. The three of us, being veterans of endurance events, knew that the night can be one's worst enemy. Time seems to stand still in the dark, navigating is exponentially more difficult, and the mind can get the best of you. Guitar Ted and his crew were more than impressed by our arrival time and seemed somewhat alarmed that we were there. I watched as they exchanged directions with each other, fetched cue sheets, and checked on our well being. Clearly, Joe seemed to be handling the ride very well thus far. On the other hand the miles were beginning to show on Dave and myself. We ate our food, refilled our fluids, and put on our "night clothes". I recall talking with Dave about how we need to slow Joe down or the three of us are going to break up. Dave agreed and handed me half of his rice krispy bar explaining that he wasn't going to eat it all. It was like he gave me a one thousand dollar bill. I don't even like rice krispy bars, but at that moment it tasted like a delicacy.

As we left the c.p. I tried to soak up the positive words coming from the volunteer crew as they sincerely seemed impressed by the pace we were keeping. I rode with Joe as Dave got a jump out of the parking lot and felt relief when he mentioned that he wanted to soft pedal the first 20 miles of this 100 mile run to the finish. Was he human? Could it be that he was tired like I was? I tried to contain my joy as I caught up to Dave and exclaimed, "Dave, were going to soft pedal the first 20, so keep it super chill." Well, it wasn't long before Pramann took a pull and started putting the hurt to us when I yelled, "Dave keep it CHILL!". I'm still not sure if Joe was mocking me or if he meant it, but he responded in kind, "Yeah Pramann, keep it Chill!" We all laughed for the first time in over 18 hours.

Notions of winning the 2009 Trans Iowa began to make fleeting dashes into my mind before I shoved them out. The way I figured it, crossing the line with these two iron men meant winning no matter what position I was in. At this point it felt like we had gone to battle together, we had started to bond and we were embarking on the night leg. The real union was yet to come.

Chapter IV:
Our lights began to take hold of the surroundings as true darkness descended. Worry over 100 more miles was sinking in. A "hondo" is still a very long ride and when you've already scored two consecutive the idea of a third seems absurd. I tried to break it into chunks in my mind. "Just get through the first 50, then the thrill of finishing will carry you home.", I told myself. The deal to "soft pedal" came and went. Soon enough Joe had done the math and announced that there was the possibility of becoming the first TI finishers to ever break the 24 hour mark, not to mention the fastest time. "Wow!", was my first thought, but then the hammer began to fall once more and the pace gained intensity. My legs had a kind of deep fatigue that seemed like cement had been shot into my quads, they were heavy and begging for the signals from the brain to stop. Breaks to relieve ourselves were coveted, because it meant stopping the pain even if it was for 30 seconds.

As we plowed through the night at a pace that was unheard of my head spun as I blindly went through the motions of following the wheel in front of me and occasionally sliding to the front to pull for as long as I could manage. The hills were no longer a concern as they simply became part of the madness that was where we lived at this time. I recall flying through small rollers and running 3rd wheel at approximately 1:30 a.m. when I noticed a glow off to my right. I stole a glance and observed a group of Iowa's best sitting around a fire in a yard with cold brews in hand. A few at the party noticed what must have looked alien to them, 3 men dressed in tight cycling clothes, lights on their heads and numbers on their bikes, working pace off of each other and taking no prisoners. Soon the group fixated on us and rose to their feet realizing this must have been some type of race. They raised their drinks in the air and began yelling to us, "Go guys, Go!, Yeah!". I lifted a hand off the bar in acknowledgement, but couldn't divert too much attention, I was preoccupied at the time. I later played the scene over in my mind, how special it was, in a race with no fans, no pit crew, just us. It felt good in that fleeting moment to receive the encouragement from others outside of ourselves.

I sensed that not only was I struggling with the pace, but Dave seemed to have lost his climbing legs and was spending more time 3rd wheel. We were 66 miles out and I came to the conclusion that the pace was to much to sustain to the end. I drifted back next to Dave and shouted over the rushing sound of gravel under tires, "Dave were going to pop off if we keep this pace up, we can't do this for 66 more miles". He agreed, so I presented the scenario to Joe, he dismissed me quickly stating that he wanted the 24 hour mark. I reported to Dave that Joe wasn't budging. Dave replied in a subdued manner, "Maybe it's deal time?". I surged back to Joe and told him that we would not contest him for the win. He had proven himself to be the strongest rider. Dave joined in, "It's the honorable thing to do." I watched as Joe absorbed the message. I could see him coming to terms with the win. The pace lightened and I reminded him that according to my math all we needed to do was average 15 mph and we'd crush the 24 hour barrier. Suddenly, the silent killer (Joe) began chatting us up and allowing me to pull more often without replacing me with himself at the front after a mere minute or so. We all felt good about the decision. So goes the art of cycling. A sport unlike others that is capable of possessing a level of class and sportsmanship that causes men to swallow their egos and acknowledge the strongest. This moment crystallized for us all as our resolve to help each other strengthened. None would be left off the back from this point forward. The pace would accommodate when one suffered on a climb until the machine was back together. It was a scene I will never forget.

30 miles to go! 30 miles that we could do standing on our head at this point. My spirit lifted as I had felt decent for some time now and I was now juicing on pure adrenaline as the idea began to take root. We were winning the Trans Iowa! Dave Pramann and I exchanged a look, a smile, and a clasp of each other's hand as we traded places in the line. No words were needed, we had done it! We had not only tamed the TI, but we had broken clear of the field, established a substantial lead, and were looking at the fastest completion of this race ever.

Without warning Joe grabbed his breaks at an intersection. He had emerged as our navigator and proven to be quite good at it. He announced, "This isn't right." It was like I had been punched in the stomach. We toiled in the dark trying to realize our error, but processing complicated information proved to be extremely difficult. At times we were all just looking at the cue sheets and road signs, but not doing anything to solve the problem. The question arose of which way was north. I could help with this! I had a small bubble compass pinned to my camel back. "Hey guys I have a compass on my pack, look." They wouldn't acknowledge me. I tried again, nothing. They were identifying the north star. Why wouldn't they just look at my compass? I chalked it up to delirium and let events unfold in front of me. In minutes it was clear we would be doubling back and it looked to be about 7 miles. This changed our mood drastically, but there would be no way around it. We began the correction, ultimately losing about 40 minutes. The 24 hour barrier would not be cracked this year.

Back on course nothing stood in our way. The miles were ticking off, but it got very cold. It was the kind of cold that got through your clothes and started to find it's way into your bones. I wasn't worried, I'd been cold before, I just had to keep moving forward. One more fuel up at a store in some small town and we'd be cruising in.

I remember thinking that this night will end. I tried to picture what the finish line would look like, how many people would be there. I hoped Amy would be there. I wondered if she'd been able to get information about our approximate finish. I thought of seeing her face when we rolled in. Eventually we hit the 6 mile straight stretch into the final turn. It was hard as pavement with very little loose rock. The terrain was made of gentle rollers that seemed to help us up the hills. We rode 3 abreast and chatted openly about what we wanted to eat and what we had done. There was some light congratulations and some commentary about new found strength directed my way. I attributed it to a recent ingestion of a gel pack and knowing that we were done. We rose in unison as we approached the ups and sat down together on the summits. I noticed how we had become a synchronized unit, unflappable. I counted down the miles for the guys as we organized the look of our finish. We'd put Joe out front about 10 feet and Dave and I would roll in dead even behind him. 2nd place was discussed and it was agreed that together was best. Pramann and I had helped each other through tough times at different points and it didn't seem right that one would be in front of the other. Side by side would be the way our finish would be, much the way the decision to make the jump for the leaders happened.

The finish confused me as no one seemed to be around. All was quiet and we saw no activity. We cleaned a "B" road and popped over a small rise. It was then that I spotted what I thought was a small head lamp in the distance, "there they are!", I shouted. Just then I heard the same thing coming back in our direction. Suddenly a cow bell broke up the night, clapping, yelling, and cheering. We crossed the line just as planned. Once I turned around, I looked and immediately saw my wife, Amy running toward me with a smile from ear to ear. She was in my arms before I dismounted my bike. The volunteers swarmed us with questions, pictures, and general attention. It was surreal, yet I remember every detail. It was after about 10 minutes of story telling that we were distracted by a slow, methodical clap that took over the scene. Soon all around us had picked up the trend. The three of us stood, eyes down, as we humbly accepted this acknowledgement. It was everything I could do not to start crying in front of all who looked on. We were three who shocked and surprised many who know cycling and all who know Trans Iowa. The 24 hour barrier may have eluded us, but a time of 24:52 will stand as the new record and that's good enough for me.

I will hold and cherish the memories of the 2009 TI forever, some more than others. The horses that galloped only 15 feet away from us at sunset. The way my heart sank while I rode away from my good friend Charlie Farrow. The way my wife looked at me when I finished. The spiritual side of me knows that when my time is over I will be riding effortlessly through the rollers of Iowa. Thank you Trans., you'll always have a place in my heart.

Thank you to Tifosi for keeping the glare down and rocks out. A special thanks to Motortabs for keeping the tank topped off and my head in the game. Also, Fluid recovery, without it I'm not sure I would have ever gotten out of that bed. Most of all, thank you to Evomo, the kit was outstanding and has me forever known as the "man in black".

This post filed under topics: Tim Ek Trans Iowa

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Tim (Eki) Ek

Tim (Eki) Ek

Tim Ek was born and raised in Duluth, Minn., and still calls it home. He’s always had a passion for competition and seeking his own extremes. Tim's true love is the woods: Out in the wild is where he clears his head and finds his peace, and he prefers getting there by bike. Tim Ek: The Eki Chronicles,



JMeiser | March 1st, 2010

I?d love to have the opportunity to post a ?response? to Tim?s story.  First, he gives me way too much credit.  Second, I feel so misunderstood by his account of our meeting and me responding by saying ?I know?? What he doesn?t understand is that I was intimidated, scared, and couldn?t believe I was getting away with riding with the front group.  In that situation, I become shy and my introverted side comes out.  I was honored to be riding with Tim, Dave, and Charlie.  These guys scare me, they still do.  I wouldn’t be riding TI if it wasn’t for the comraderie and competition that top caliber and character riders provide.

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Hollis | March 2nd, 2010

Mr. Ek - see part 1 comment

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Help us out and snap a photo next time!

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Jerry | March 2nd, 2010

what a story.  amazing! nice job telling it Tim and hats off to the riders.  I was riveted reading it.

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MG | March 2nd, 2010

Eki… Man, you really went off-the-front with that telling of the TIv.5 story.  That was amazing!  Nice work brother…  You guys were awesome during the race last year too.  The speed you were going for the miles we all rode was simply amazing.  Congratulations once again.  Believe it or not, I was far enough back from you guys that Charlie was able to steal some newspapers off of a farmer’s porch to keep himself warm and lay down for a nap in a cemetery for a spell, then get up and ride with us for quite a while before finally riding away from Ben Shockey, Matt Wills and myself at about hour 22.  A cagey veteran, to be sure, that Farrow fella’ is…

With a story like that, who needs photos?!!


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Kitten | March 2nd, 2010

Who needs pictures with prose (translation: writing) like that!!!!  Besides, my guess is that with all the oh, gee, riding and such….that you were probably a bit preoccupied (translation:lost in thought)!  While I am simply a recreational rider myself, I was touched by how you were able to take your experience on your bike and ponder the deeper, existential questions of life.  By the way, my sister, who knows NOTHING about riding a bike—let alone racing, was also moved by this when I passed it on to her.  BRAVO!

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Ari | March 2nd, 2010

That is an exceptional account of what went on in the front. I was amazed at how you kept up that pace and how the mind can be such a determining factor. Thank you for sharing such a great story.
best to you,

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Alan B | March 4th, 2010

Great story, Tim.  Your account really pulled me in and made me excited for my own next great adventure.


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