Everybody remembers where they were.
It was a moment that would define my generation and change it forever.
I happened to be in Izegem, Belgium at the time. Izegem is a sleepy little Belgian town that’s about as exciting as a high school marching band. The pace of life is slow and the cows stand in the fields eating grass and crapping on themselves. That’s really it. Trust me. But on this day, a different perspective would be cast upon those same fields.
It was a normal September day highlighted by a stiff breeze, cloudy skies and a light drizzle of rain. I had just come in the house from a decent training ride and after taking off my helmet and cycling shoes, I headed for the living room to see who was home. Before I had even made it five feet, Mike Creed rounded the corner and with a flushed face and no hesitation begins telling me about 2 airplanes that had been flown into buildings in New York.
What? At first I didn’t believe him. How could you? It seemed a bit far fetched to me. Most people felt the same way.
I walked the remaining 10 feet to the living room, turned the corner and was confronted by the horrors of reality. With 15 other young Americans, I sat for the next several hours watching CNN, motionless, teary eyed and sick to my stomach. Like most, I watched both of the Towers fall.
As an ambitous young man, I naturally wanted to help; but how could I? I was stuck and isolated in that sleepy little Belgian town thousands of miles from home. Thousands of miles from my family. Thousands of miles from my friends. Talk about feeling helpless….
So I watched CNN……and watched it……and watched it. We all did. It was the only way to try and connect with home.
The European coverage didn’t hesitate to repeatedly show people falling from the buildings and that constant footage of the airplanes hitting the buildings. They replayed it for days. It made me sick….and still does.
Soon word came from the powers to be at USA Cycling to lay low while we were in Europe. We were told not to wear our red, white and blue USA National Team clothing while out training. We were also told to “speak with a Canadian accent”. I suppose it made a little bit of sense…… liability, safety, and all. But I refused. Most of the guys did too.
One day I exchanged words with the team’s Belgian director. He was just passing on the message from the higher ups to cover his own ass. I didn’t blame him. “Don’t train in your USA kit”……”Speak with a Canadian accent”………
Jeez…..
I told him that I didn’t pledge allegiance to that flag, every day of my life for several years, just so I could shit my pants and run in a time where American’s needed to come together as one and show their support.
I never expected him to understand.
I told him to pass on my room’s telephone number and if anyone had a problem they could call me……… Buy me a ticket home or come and try to take the clothes off of me.
That’s the truth. Nobody ever called me either.
A few of the guys and I made black ribbons that we wore over our hearts when we trained and raced. It doesn’t seem like much now, but at the time, when you’re 7 times zones from home it felt like everything.
After 9/11 they canceled all Trans-Atlantic flights for a little over a week. I felt safe in that sleepy little town and was saddened at the thought of leaving the guys but I wanted to go home. So I got a ticket home as soon as they resumed the flights.
For the longest time, my mom told me that I’ll struggle to understand the magnitude of the attacks because I didn’t experience it on U.S soil. Maybe I will, but few will ever understand how it felt to be a 19 year old American thousands of miles from home in a time of unparraleled need.
And for all my good ‘ol boy readers with neck’s a deeper shade of red…….
Take care and hug your loved one.
Categories: Daily Jibber Jabber.
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