Reflecting on the Innocence of Main Street
I recently stumbled upon my college common application essay, written in the fall of 2010 about riding my bike across Iowa with my dad the previous summer. It was Obama’s second year in office. The economy was coming back. Progress was on the horizon, or at least it sure seemed like it to a high school senior from the Bay Area.
It’s interesting to look back, 8 years later.
Prompt: Given your personal background, describe an encounter that demonstrated the importance of diversity to you.
Nov.1, 2010
A ribbon of cyclists illuminates the horizon as the sun rises over a sea of corn. A Springsteen epic emanates out of a passing boom-box and America’s heart takes another beat. Smiling farmers sit in lawn chairs, morning papers in hand, and greet me with a wave. In the distance, a water-tower emerges gracefully from the seemingly endless fields, and I recognize the aroma of homemade strawberry rhubarb pie. I begin to pedal faster.
Is this heaven?
No, it’s Iowa. For seven wacky but unforgettable days this past summer, I ate, sweat, and pedaled my way through America’s heartland along with 15,000 others on the Des Moines Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. Over the course of a week, my dad and I traversed 450 miles through brutal heat, fierce winds, and an occasional downpour; a father-son trek to explore a new and drastically different part of the country fueled by curiosity, a positive attitude, and two thin rubber tires.
Prior to leaving, I was almost embarrassed to reveal my venture to my cosmopolitan friends who look down on “Middle America” as a homogeneous hot-bed of conservatism and ignorance. Quickly though, Iowa shattered these unfounded stereotypes. I came to appreciate the slower pace of life, admire the innocence of “Main Street”, and realize the importance of basic social skills and rock solid values. I focused on looking people in the eye and speaking to them from the heart.
I was forced to unplug, decaffeinate, and disconnect. I logged off Facebook and chose not to respond to text messages. Starbucks was replaced by roadside stands offering “Grandma’s cinnamon rolls”. Cornfields became makeshift urinals and showers often involved a hose. New acquaintances included Clara, a grey-haired woman who rode slowly but confidently sporting a license plate that playfully boasted “Look at me, I’m 83”. I will be forever indebted to Dean, proud rider of a bicycle without a seat, who assisted me in changing a flat tire at an ungodly hour of the morning. My inner faith in humanity was reaffirmed with every genuinely jovial and welcoming local.
At times, my values were tested as much as my physical stamina. One day, after about 75 miles and seven hours of riding, my throat was parched. A church advocating its anti-abortion stance was selling beverages on the side of the road. I momentarily contemplated allowing my liberal bias to take precedence over my excruciating thirst, but then I reconsidered. I pulled over and chatted cordially with the woman at the cash register about less pressing issues: the weather, the ingredients of Gatorade, and college football. While our core values might differ drastically, we could still respect each others views and even connect on a certain level. I remind myself to not judge a person simply by their position on a single polarizing issue.
When the plane touches down in Oakland, I come back to reality. I remain quintessentially urban, entranced by the grit and the characters of the big city. I still see graffiti as an art form and hear taxi horns as melody. Summer ends and I become immersed in AP courses, college applications, crossword puzzles, and high school athletics. I begin to once again thrive in the pressure.
But then I find myself reminiscing. I daydream of go karts, snow cones, pork chops, and slip ‘n slides; simple pleasures drowned out by the chaos of daily life. I reassemble my bike and ride to one of the most breathtaking spots in the nation. I watch the sun set behind a thin layer of fog that creeps across the grandeur of the San Francisco skyline full of promise. I remove my helmet, sit down, and reflect. My urban lifestyle offers unparalleled opportunities, but something seems missing. No matter how much I try to suppress it, some strange part of me longs for cornstalks and watermelon slices; for that enticing place where the lemonade stays forever cold.
