Road to Failure, pt. 2

In the early 1980’s, the local Oscar Meyer plant pulled up its ramps and closed the killfloor. However, the storied tradition continues the last week of July as squealing tons of undulating meat pack Brady Street in the name of “fun.”

All of which, it turns out, got seeded ahead of me for the 36th Annual Quad City Times Bix 7. Apparently an answer of “0” on the registration for prior Bix finishes funnels one into the pile with certain species of mold, molasses, and garden slugs. Silly me, I forgot to pack my salt shaker!

That being said, I can’t really complain about the finish. It’s a number that reflects an outdated engine being fueled by aggression and liquid-cooled by a torrential downpour.  As a reward, it’s time to hang up the $120 shoes that cost 17 cents in foam rubber and Malaysian labor in exchange for a world where one doesn’t walk down steps like Frankenstein.

In retrospect, I learned an awful lot about this little subculture those sweltering Thursday nights and that timed monsoon morning.

-The finish-line beverages they serve to simultaneously carbo-load and rehydrate you are especially refreshing at 930AM.  What better way to celebrate the legacy of young Beiderbecke?

-The people that live along the route are a special breed of patient, compassionate, and proud.  Your selfless hose work and ice cubes every Thursday night are a testament to the human spirit.

-Antagonizing people whose bodies are in oxygen deprivation with a lit cigarette is not funny. Seriously dude, you have a problem. That problem, incidentally, is that you’re plagued by erroneously finding your schtick amusing.  Your sidewalk privileges are revoked effective immediately.

-Don’t respond with an impudent tone when it’s suggested you double-knot your laces prior to the race.

If you’ll excuse me, I have a one-floor elevator ride to catch.