What's in a Number?

One frequently asked question (FAQ if you will) a derby player hears: "So why'd you pick that to be your number?" Some are obvious like 420 ;D, some less obvious like 122, a beloved child's birth date. My number 1112 falls into the less obvious category. Don't worry baby birds, I'll feed you the story behind it.

Three years ago about this time, my high school BFF Anne Luben and I embarked with a pack of clove cigarettes (miss those) on a fourteen hour journey to Dubuque, Iowa.

It was just for the weekend, a quick in and out to tie up loose ends, but an adventure all the same. Particularly inspired by a good friend of ours Tim Hanten.

I met Tim, a solo singer/songwriter, during my stint as a concert promoter; he toured with my good buddies in a band called Paper Mache and The Logan. I remember the first weekend we hung out, I patched up a pair of his pants with some spare Bratz Dolls material (he picked it out). It just so happened one of those holes was in the crotch of his pants, so I sewed it with one of the female cartoon characters peeking her head out. When I gave him the jeans back, he hilariously petted the crotch patch while tenderly declaring "I shall call her Nadine." Well Tim and his new "Nadine" left the next day, but they would return over the years. Each visit Tim brought so much adventure and optimism, I couldn't help but catch the spontaneous bug he spread.



During one visit he told us a story about a friend of his who had this picture of a lighthouse that kept post somewhere on the east coast (I believe it was New York, but let's not make assumptions). She constantly talked about how beautiful this guiding structure was to her and how someday she would visit it. Tim made sure that someday happened. Out of the blue one day, he told her to grab the picture and get in the car; before she had a chance to debate the trip's logistics, Tim already had her driving on the freeway. They left without any money or any plans, but along the way they met generous strangers who kept them going. Even though it seemed like random folks gave them so much, I like to think Tim and his friend gave these acquaintances a renewed sense of hope and adventure; a drive to chase their own lighthouse down.


And in a way that's what Anne and I were doing. Neither of us had ventured so far from our parents before (our folks actually had no clue we had left the state). This trip symbolized a check on a bucket list and our liberation from supervised adolescence into adulthood.

Yay for blurry auto timed pictures from the roof of my car!

It's amazing how much more I noticed in my surroundings on the journey to Dubuque once I declared it an adventure in my mind. Everything my eyes came across equaled something new and funny and beautiful. For example:

Yeah you can be jealous.

"Touch Hearts Not Children"

You could get your power ball ticket AND flu vaccination from the same gas attendant!

In all seriousness though, the thing I loved most about our trip happened at 7AM driving through the city outskirts. Anne snoozed in the passenger seat, and a soft snow sprinkled the slumbering corn fields we drove parallel to. The scene of old farmhouses standing guard freshly coated in a delicate white blanket of frost created a picture so heartbreakingly beautiful in my eyes, I still to this day cannot believe it existed. It was one of those moments full of calm perfection, people spend their whole lives chasing and/or trying to find again. I wish I had snapped a picture of one of those houses to pull up in times of need, but then again I think the picture I saved in my memory gives that morning more justice than any still photo could capture.


About an hour later, my trusty ford focus pulled into town where I woke Anne up and we quickly bee-lined it for the Mississippi River.

This camera was the bane of my existence.

Why stop at just looking at the flowing body of water? I took off my shoe and dipped my toes in the water via (Latin for way =) also pronounced "wee-ah") famous for being so integral to early American literature ... and the movie Almost Heroes.



After fooling around the banks for a tad (which we later learned horrified people due to the fact that the Mississippi is apparently as clean as a septic tank); we still had time to kill before our friends from Paper Mache, who traveled to join us on this adventure, arrived in Dubuque. So Anne and I discovered something else; Dubuque, Iowa is almost like the Florida peninsula of the Midwest. It pokes out to touch both Illinois and Wisconsin borders. This meant we checked another two items off that bucket list... after a few u-turns that is; this was the age before Google maps dominated my phone.

Little did I know I'd be returning to Illinois sooner than I thought

Jim Doyle schwing!

Before we knew it the sun set and our friends sat waiting at the hotel for us to pick them up for the engagement that had brought us all together.

Seth, Chris, and I heading out.

Rewind. Remember the "loose ends" that needed tying up? I forgot to mention those included saying goodbye to Tim. Three days before we left for our epic road trip, I answered a call that broke my heart. Tim had been thrown from a car during a rollover and died instantly at the scene. This person so full of life and optimism and just plain goodness ceased to exist. It also meant for the first time in my life, I would be attending a funeral.



We had spent the entire day trying to find pieces of Tim hidden somewhere in his hometown of Dubuque. On the way to the wake, I definitely felt like we discovered remnants of him scattered amongst the moss of the Mississippi, the giant autumn oak leaves, the broken walkways, the bridges leading across the river where he wrote his songs, and especially in the eyes of those who knew him.

So two years later when I joined derby, it surprised me how quickly my number came to me. 11-12, Tim's last day on earth. Every time I pull my jersey over my head or type my number in an email to other derby folks, I pay tribute to a great person and remember to live everyday as though it were my last with Tim's same benevolent spirit, sense of adventure, and all around love for life and people. I hope that it inspires you too.



Thanks for stumbling into my life and reminding me to smile Tim. You'll never be forgotten.