Nowhere, Iowa

On Friday February 1^st I found myself in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa with no clue where I was or how to get back to Cedar Rapids. The temperature outside was a cool 10 degrees and the road I was traveling on was so desolate no snow plow had ever desecrated this virgin path. The reason I was in this place was simple: the other two tennis coaches were trying to murder me. How did I end up in such a predicament? How did I come to realize this truth? It could be because I’m the world’s greatest detective (second only to Batman). It could’ve been the look of death in everyone’s eyes. But how I ended up in this situation, that’s what this tale is about.

I found it!

I arrived at the Clark Racquet Center at my customary time of 11am. The other coaches said they, along with senior player Curtis Newman, were going to the University of Iowa tennis match that afternoon and invited me to go also. At the time it seemed like an innocent enough invitation, so I went along. We were able to go to the Iowa tennis match because we’re tennis coaches and don’t actually work for a living. And Curtis was able to come along because he’s a senior in college, so he had nothing going on either. So we were off!

On the way to the match we ran into an oddity. There was a backup of traffic on Interstate 380. This prompted the question from me: “there’s traffic in Iowa? How is that possible?” We arrived just as doubles was beginning and any follower of D-I tennis knows how important doubles is: not very. That didn’t matter to me; I like doubles and that’s what I was getting to watch. Judging by the attention of the dozen of fans there, they were  enthralled by the action. Said one fan I hypothetically interviewed, “when does the wrestling meet start?” (meet? match? scrum?) Coe VP Mike White was there also watching his son play 3 doubles (victory was secured). I would describe the tennis as…well…uh, balls were being struck and there was definitely movement occurring on the courts. That about wraps up my Mary Carillo-esque commentary. If you’re wondering about the match, Iowa went on to secure victory fairly easily.  

Now, back to the important part of the story: my eminent death. As I mentioned earlier, traffic on 380 was backed up, so we decided to take a different route. We were just entering I-80 when Mike White, who had left a little earlier than us, said 380 was clear. What he didn’t mention was that the on-ramp from I-80 was blocked. This could only mean one thing, Mike White and the Iowa Department of transportation were in on the plot to murder me! You heard it here first. Now I knew why Mike was at the match. He used the false pretense of going there to see his son play in order to set everything up. Watching your son play tenni? That’ll never hold up in a courtroom buddy!

We drove on and took the next available exit which was somewhat of a portal into a different world (AKA Iowa). With Kris navigating we ended up traversing roads with names like Half Moon Bay Ave. Places remote enough that the map apps on your phone say you’ve crossed some unknown barrier and are probably in purgatory

You've crossed the river Styx into Hades. Please make a legal U-turn when possible

It was at this point that I started questioning all the life decisions I had made that eventually brought me to Iowa like looking for a job, getting a college degree, playing college tennis, finishing high school. I eventually stopped this line of reasoning when I got to my 14^th birthday where my parents neglected me in favor of prom duties for my sister. I’m not bitter or anything. It’s cool. I’ve moved on. I don’t even care anymore.

We came to a place in the road where a frozen stream went across – yeah, bad road but good place to get killed. I believe whole heartedly that this was the place where my demise was meant to occur. Kris wanted nothing more than to push forward and drive Coach Rodgers’  SUV through the stream. I knew the reason being that we would get stuck and I would be forced to get out and push, facilitating a plunge face first into said frozen stream followed by the sweet kiss of death. Either that or Kris thought we would make it over the frozen stream  because 1,000 lb SUV is weaker than expanded, crystallized H₂0. For those of you not following this line of thinking let me enlighten you. Water is a liquid. Ice is a solid. Solid structures are stronger than liquid structures. Since humans are 70% water by the transitive property we will definitely make it over the ice because it’s a stronger structure. That’s just simple math.

"Doesn't ice float becasue it's less dense than water?" Shut up!

Coach Rodgers wasn’t buying all this math crap and decided there were better places to lay the murder down on me. He executed a flawless 16 point turn and redirected the vehicle toward a more suitable location. Luckily for me, Curtis (God bless ‘em) used his non-kill oriented map app to find a road that led us away from, wherever it was we were, and closer to civilization. The road we were on took us back to, and actually crossed, 380. Unfortunately since the Iowa Department of Transportation was in on the whole thing, there was no on ramp here either. Who Builds An Interstate Highway You Can’t Get On!

My other saving grace was that I was proving extremely difficult to take down and time was working on my side. Men’s practice started at 3:15 which at this point in the story was about 5 minutes ago. Since we were in such a rush to get back the other coaches, through some signals I obviously didn’t pick up on, decided to fore-go their plans and get back to the Racquet Center for practice. Of the few duties we have as coaches, attending practice is high on the list.

I just want to say thanks to Curtis for saving my life but naming rights for my first born have already been promised to at least 11 other people. Get in line!