Puttin a Ribbon Around It

Loose ends that maybe should be tied up before putting this Blog to bed:

My accident before RAGBRAI:  The damaged leg and thigh resulting from the Joy Road accident a week before RAGBRAI didn’t really interfere with my riding at all.  I could pedal just fine.  The hurt came at night during the first of the RAGBRAI week when I couldn’t sleep on my right side due to the bruised hip and I couldn’t get up easily due to the bruised ribs.  The contusion scabs were very tough, almost asbestos-like, and they did a great job of covering the wounds while they healed.  By weeks end, the hip pain was gone and the rib pain was a tickle and the scabs had fallen off.  I have nice new pink skin on my leg. What a wonderful thing, is the human body and its ability to hearl itself. What could have been a real tragedy for me and my family turned out to be a good lesson and a reason, not that I need another, to be ever grateful to He who watches over all of us.

Was my training program adequate:  Yes.  I was very pleased with how well I was prepared for the rigors of RAGBRAI.  I had trained hard and what I had done was more than adequate for the ride.  The heat was a factor that training where I live, simply could not have addressed.  My belief is that for anyone contemplating a RAGBRAI experience, training for six months a three times per week and accumulating a minimum of 1000 miles would be a good goal to shoot for.  The older you are, the more taining you need.  Training on hills is especially valuable.  Iowa is not flat.  Iowa almost without exception has an undulating topography that contains some of the toughest hills I have claimed.  The hill up the east side of the Des Moines River known locally as “Twister Hill” because it was the scene for the movie “Twister” is every bit as tough as the Marshall Wall in Marin County where I train.  And, the Iowa hills almost always come with a strong over layer of heat and humidity that adds to their difficulty.

Equipment:  The ride takes its toll on equipment.  A good rule is to buy the best gear you can afford and get a very good helmet.  You see all types of bikes on the ride and most make it from one end to the other.  But, in my opinion a road bike (skinny wheels) is the best and easiest to ride that distance.   Equally important is to get used to your bike and gear well before the ride.  Learn how your bike actually works and for sure, have a pump along and learn how to fix a flat.

The Future:  Health and family factors permitting, I’m sure I will ride again, and hopefully next year.  RAGBRAI is too important to my personal health plan to just drop it.  I need RAGBRAI to force me to train and get my body and mind ready for the challenges that I know are involved.  If I didn’t ride, I think I would morph and nobody wants to morph.  Do they?

The End:  So I guess this is it.  Nothing left to say.  If anyone has a question on RAGBRAI or any other topic that I have mentioned in these nearly 20 posts, that you think I might be able to help with, just comment to this blog and I’ll get it as an email and will respond. 

I like blogging but it was a lot of work and took a lot of time.  I may do it again on other topics, but have no plans to continue at this time.  I have received some very nice comments from some of you and I want you to know that I appreciate very much what you said.  Thanks to my high school classmate Don P. for planting the idea in my brain and to classmate Kathy B C for helping me get started.  I will finish this with a bunch of pictures that I wasn’t able to use earlier.  I think the pictures do a better job than my writing does of showing just how special is RAGBRAI, how welcoming is Iowa, and most of all, how generous, friendly, and kind are these great people known as Iowans.

Thanks for riding along.

Rollin On The River

Saturday,July 30, 2011, our last day.  Sixty six miles to the Mississippi River and the end of RAGBRAI 39.  I’m sure I was no different from the other 10,000 registered riders who had completed the first six days, I was eager to see and feel the Mighty Mississippi and to dip my front tire into the water symbolizing the end to a long and tough week.  It’s hard to get too excited however when you have a lot of hot riding ahead and today of all days a pretty good head wind.  The standard RAGBRAI joke is that they have the ride go west to east to take advantage of the “normal” prevailing winds that are supposed to travel in that direction.  Nice try RAGBRAI planners, but most riders would agree that an East wind or a South wind is just about as common as a western tail wind. 

Of course, what else could I expect on the last day!  I had an overnight flat tire on the rear tire.  Flats are never fun, but if you must have one, you want it to be on the front as they are so much easier to get on and off as there is no chain to fight or derailers to avoid.  For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of just pumping it up and riding on it, hoping that somehow it would last for 67 miles of hot riding.  Cousin Michael looked at me in his most unapproving way and with his laser-like voice said, “Are you crazy!  The tire’s flat, fix it!”.  So, I did.  Or I should say, Cousin Robin did.  I think Michael and Robin had secretly made a deal to ride the last day with me.  We usually start out together, but within a town or two, they get ahead and we see each other again in camp at the end of the day’s ride.  So here we were all set to go and I am taking my normal pokey time fixing the flat.  Robin came up and took charge and in less than 5, no, more like 3, minutes, the tire was back on the Trek and ready for service.  I repaid their kindness by buying them and me breakfast at the Methodist Church in West Branch, Iowa (birth place of President Herbert Hoover).  Hard to pass up all you can eat French Toast, sausages, and juice for $5 per person.  These cousins are really good guys!

Counting Davenport, there were eight towns between Coralville and the Mississippi River.  To be honest, they are somewhat a blur as the focus was on finishing and finishing in style. By now, all of our butts were burning and chafing from the constantly sweat wet riding shorts, it wasn’t just me any longer.  Even Michael the old pro of thousands of biking miles told me that he was feeling it too.  Perversely, that made me feel good.  Still, we had time for the important things in RAGBRAI, namely pie.  The fire station lady said she had three rhubarbs left as I rode by and hollered my inquiry.  I said, “hold em’, we’ll be right there.”  We all sang out, “Rider Off” and headed for the Moscow, Iowa Fire Station and our nice fire station lady who was holding our pie.  Pie, especially rhubarb, makes everything feel better, everything.

I kept waiting for the rolling hills of Iowa to give way to the limestone bluffs and timbered waterways that one sees when approaching the Mississippi.  Didn’t happen.  It stayed Iowa-like almost all the way to Davenport and then the bottom fell out of the road and down, down, down, we went as the road finally began its steep descent to the River.  We had entered Davenport a funny way, on a small recently oiled back street that was certainly not the trip down Main street that we usually travel as we enter the last town on RAGBRAI.  There were some locals clapping and cheering and ringing cowbells as usual, but not near the numbers that I had previously seen, and heard.  I think that what happened had to do with the fact that there was a major foot race with thousands of runners called The Bix, that also ended in Davenport Saturday.  Maybe the City Fathers were trying to put some distance between the thousands in each event.

We finally emerged on River Road, and discovered that we still had 3 miles yet to ride north to the City Center and it’s waterfront.  We could smell the barn now and three miles or ten miles, we all kicked it up a notch with feelings of fatigue, heat, and sore butts the furthest things from our minds as we rode north to the dipping point. 

 A right turn off River Road near the Davenport Woodmen’s minor league baseball team’s classy looking stadium took us toward the river and just before we got to the water, there was a smiling Bev waiting for us.  Hard to imagine that she somehow always turns up right where she needs to be at the end of the ride. Thousands of cyclists and thousands more family and friends crowding into the same area, and there is Bev.  Boy, I was sure glad to see her!

Usually the tire dipping point is someplace where you can pedal right down to the water and actually put you bike in the river.  Not this time.  The river was very high and the current was just booming along the Davenport waterfront so the tradition of wading out a short way into the River was a strict no-go this year.  Robin, Michael and I posed for a few pictures in front of the steel railing that kept people from falling into the river and then they took off for the Road Hogs bus that was in a casino parking lot three more miles up the river.  Bev and I stayed put and I actually lifted my bike over the railing and did dip the front tire in the Mississippi river as I had been planning to do for a week.

RAGBRAI was officially over.  I silently gave thanks that I had managed to do it, that our cousins did too and that we all finished without any serious accidents or problems.  We had ridden 475 miles in seven days, the longest day for me being 92 miles and the shortest being 57 miles long.  We had a lot of fun and met some great people along the way.  I guess the most important thing to me was that once again, Bev and I had the chance to do this together in our way.  It was a good feeling standing there in that blazing heat and humidity with the Mississippi River flowing right behind me.  I felt pretty good for an old guy.

Thanks again for riding along.  I think I will do one more post to put in more pictures and cover a point or two that had skipped my mind earlier.  As this Blog is about preparing for and actually riding RAGBRAI, and that’s now done, I guess the next post will be the last.  

Thanks for riding along.

Shared Bath ooops!

B&B’s have never really appealed to me.  I always feel like I am intruding in someone’s home and thus never quite as at ease and comfortable as a hotel room.  Also, the thought of sharing a bath is a bit unnerving to me as well.  “What if I have to go in the night and there is some guy in their reading a book?”  It’s not the shared sanitary conditions that bother me, it’s the exclusivity that I want.  Our night in Grinnell, Iowa was spent in the Marsh House.  A turn of the century Victorian that the owners have decorated with pieces from the exact time period of the home, 1890.  Of course, the upgrades are in for cooking, heating, lighting, and air conditioning, but you can’t see any of that and it looks great.  For example, to flush the toilet, you pull this handle next to you on a chain and the wooden tank over your head releases the water to flush.  Great stuff.

Bev had arrived and I showed up sweaty and needing a shower so we could go meet three of Bev’s cousins who are also our dear friends in Newton, Iowa for dinner.  These folks, who are first cousins to Bev’s Mom,  are getting up in years and we’re always glad for the chance to get together with them.  After getting a warm welcome from Linda the owner, I was off to the shower.  But there was no shower. There was a tub with a shower handle and flex hose attached to the tub so you sit in the tub and use the handle to flush off the soap and shampoo.  I’m good with this setup as I had lived with this arrangement for three years before I met Bev.  Hot water was what I needed and there was plenty of that.

The dinner in Newton (former home of Maytag washing machines and now the home of gigantic wind turbine machines in the former Maytag plant) was great.  Can you believe a wonderful dinner for 5 people including walleye pike and other great dishes including salads and desert for $45!  That’s a good lunch for two where we live.  I love eating out in Iowa.  Pork tenderloin, walleye pike, and beer battered dill pickles!  Whats not to like.

The night spent in a double bed instead of a king size was interesting.  My arm was out in space when my behind wasn’t.  We did fine, but my choice is 80″ wide, not 50″ when two people are concerned.  Went in the bathroom in the morning.  The outer door was open and the inner (toilet door) was shut.  I figured that nobody was in there or they would have shut the outer door.  Wrong!  As I started turning the handle and opening the toilet door, a lot of screaming from inside began and I shut it quick before I saw anything.  embarrassment all around.  Late at breakfast there were two women and one guy at the table.  I asked which one I had almost walked in on and the older one fessed up saying that she was just trying to “borrow our toilet” while her’s was in use.  Not fair!  She had her own and instead of waiting for her friend to finish, she bummed ours.  It’s all good and after we laughed about it, we enjoyed an outstanding breakfast.

Turns out Linda is also a great breakfast cook.  She made us a spinach frittata, with small and wonderful sausages along with fresh fruit, toast, and a frozen blended breakfast fruit smoothie that would have brought $10 out on the RAGBRAI Route.  It simply tasted like fresh fruit goodness in a very chilled serving glass.  I thought of that smoothie all day in the heat.  Linda’s husband is an MD in town and they have run the B&B for 15 years.  Linda said the first two years were tough as she doesn’t like to cook and was shy around people, but she overcame both obstacles and is not a wonderful cook and conversationalist.  I like stories like that.

The road today led to Marengo, Iowa which was the meeting town and then on through the Amana Colonies to Coralville, Iowa where we were to spend out last night in of RAGBRAI and in the tent.  Marengo is the “meeting town” and Bev and her cousin Jackie who lives in Vinton, Iowa had met up  and by texting back and forth something like this: “I’m in front of the Emergency Service Bus from the U of Iowa laying on the grass.”  “Well, I’m by the fire station and can’t see the bus.”  “Walk a little toward the park and look for the rock band, I’m just behind their stage.”  “I see you now.”  “Good, lets stop texting now as we can talk.”  “Ok.”  “OK.”  Just as we got to the ice cream store, they ran out of food.  That was fine for Bev and Jackie, but not me as I needed carbs to get me to Coralville.

I found a booth of high school wrestlers selling pulled pork sandwiches to raise money for new wrestling mats at their high school.  Having wrestled myself, I was attracted to their cause and ordered lunch from the wrestlers.  As usual, there was a lot of “Thank You’s” being said and I said that I had wrestled myself and was glad to see such enterprise in their young wrestlers.  The coaches, who were younger looking than my own sons, asked me where I had wrestled and when.  I told them I had wrestled at Iowa State in 1959 and 1960 for Coach Harold Nichols.  It was like I had said the magic word.  All action seemed to stop behind the counter and the young wrestling coaches wanted to know if I had wrestled with Dan Gable the Iowa State wrestler who won the National Championship three times and Olympic Gold while at ISU.  I said he was after me. 

Gable, as head wrestling coach at the  University of Iowa also won 10 straight NCAA titles.  This is a coaching record that has never been equalled in any collegiate sport.  Dan Gable could easily be elected Governor or Senator of Iowa if he chose to go that way, which he doesn’t.  I once a few years ago had occasion to meet and talk with Coach Gable for 20 minutes alone when he was in our area helping a friend raise money for the friend’s wrestling program.  I introduced myself in the men’s room by saying we had both wrestled for Coach Nichols.  It was like I was suddenly a long-lost friend.  I was never so taken with the humility and humanity of a man like I was with Coach Gable.  No wonder his wrestlers won for him, he made them believe in themselves.  He gave me a poster and he wrote a some personal stuff about ISU wrestling on it.  The poster gave his oft quoted philosophy:  “Once you’ve wrestled, everything else is easy”  Dan Gable.  I though a lot about that on this RAGBRAI.

It was a 75 mile day from Grinnell to Coralville and the weather was back to being hot and humid after yesterday’s brief overcast.  I followed the Pink Pigs and found the Hogs camp somewhat buried in thousands of other tents and club camps.  Then I found out that they had closed the area to more cars and trucks and Bev was not in yet.  Oh Boy, she had all our camping stuff and I was not about to try to carry it all in by hand.  Bev texted and said she was at the closure point and I went up there on foot to see if I could help convince the police to let her in.  When I got close, she waved me away as she was charming the traffic officer enough that he called his sergeant over. The sergeant decided to help us and called his superior on the radio.  I had learned the name of the campground manager and tossed that name into the mix.  It all came together when the superior on the radio asked the sergeant if we could get to our camp safely and he said yes, that he would personally escort us.  We were in!  Bev can really talk here way around obstacles when she has to.

Being our last night, there was a party going on with groups such as 38 Special and Grand Funk Railroad performing.  Cousin Robin accepted the free show tickets from another cousin, Jeff Kennedy who is the Weatherman on Channel 7 in Waterloo, Iowa and has been for 30 years.  Jeff is among the world’s best guys and he was in Coraville doing his weather shows from there as he always does the last night of RAGBRAI.  He walked around with us and we enjoyed his company until he had to go back to the sound truck and get ready for the 7 O’Clock news broadcast.

Sleeping was another matter.  The humidity was close to 100% and the inside of our tent, even though we had the windows unzipped as much as we could, still just condensed our breathing and it was like it was raining inside the tent.  We both got wet from the dripping inside and I know I tossed and turned much of the night.  Sleeping in such conditions is basically a joke.  I’m tired enough to sleep for sure, but when I get wet from sweat and dripping condensate, it just keeps me awake.  It’s too hot to get inside my sleeping bag and too cold and wet to stay outside.  I finally covered much of myself with my shower towel and toughed it out until 5 AM when it was light enough to see and time to get up and get ready for our last day.

Thanks for riding along and we’ll see you on the last day.   

s

Louie the Prophet

Wednesday night was a special and long anticipated night for the Hogs.  Wine and cheese and snacks and pizza all together under the spreading maple trees of the Altoona, Iowa City Park where we were camped.  It was special for Bev and I too as we traditionally furnish the wine for the event and the big box of Hog Wine that we had been carrying since leaving Sonoma County could now finally be taken out of the Saab leaving more room for other important things like T-Shirts and home-made goodies from the Amana Colonies.

Wine and Cheese Night is very well-organized and the veteran Hogs know how to do it right.  The back-end of the big Penske truck that hauls the Hog’s gear from town to town is turned into a deli of sorts.  The loading ramp is propped up on a garbage can with the other end attached to the truck.  An instant serving table!  It starts with Bev and several easy to find volunteers offering the Hogs a wide variety of wine as they pass by the truck ramp/serving table.  They also get to load their plates with all the cold cuts, crackers, a wide variety of cheeses, and assorted salty munchies they want as they move on down the line.  Then I swing into action moving amongst the Hogs sitting drinking and chatting in their folding chairs with a bottle of red and a bottle of white making sure that no Hog plastic glass goes below half full.  Of course there is Martinellie’s cider for those Hogs, like me and one or two others who don’t let liquor touch our lips.  So after awhile of such pre meal socializing, the word goes out,  “PIZZA’S HERE!”

You would think that the Hogs, after a hard days ride in searing Iowa heat and humidity and after having been lulled into a state of tranquility by the fine wines of Sonoma County would not even hear such a crass announcement let alone care to do anything about.  Guess again!  Hogs young and old know that bike riding does not depend on what you smell when you put your nose in a glass or what you see when you swirl the burgundy liquid around while holding it up to the light.  All Hogs know that Bike riding depends on Carbs and carbs come from pizza and before Kathy could say, “Pizza’s here!” twice all the Hogs were in line trying to pile on all the pizza a paper plate can hold.  Kathy was stern.  “Two pieces until everyone has had some!”, she ordered in one of her sterner voices.  Even so, those out-of-town Hogs and slow to respond hogs were left with only half a piece when they got to the loading ramp/serving table.  Yes, there was anger and disappointment in no small measure.  And suspicious eyes were cast at some of the older and first in line Hogs who seemed to somehow get a couple extra slices.  But, inter Hog was prevented by Kathy who almost immediately had 6 more pizzas delivered and all the Hogs smiled on this good work and carbed up to their Hog Hearts content.  You don’t want to mess with an Iowan and his dinner!

After the mess was cleaned up and all were fed and wined to their capacities, Bev and I left with the Trek on the back of the car for neighboring Ankeney, Iowa and a night at the Courtyard Hotel.  Two nights in a row for us in A/C and clean non sweat soaked bedding.  We deserved it of course and gave nary a care or concern to the Hogs back in Altoona.  I did “Andy and Blake” before leaving in the morning on the hotel computer and all was well.

Day 5 Thursday July 28 looked nasty outside.  Good and bad.  Nasty means rain and lightning and it also means no sun beating down, a good thing to be sure.  I’ll take a little nasty most any time over beating down sun.  My goal this morning was to ride some 25 miles due east from Ankeney to meet the RAGBRAI route near Baxter, Iowa.  This worked fine although I had to stop under a farmer’s tree and for the first time, put on my light weight rain jacket as it was coming down pretty good.  The jacket keeps the rain off and the body heat in and there in lies a conundrum.  Is it better to stay dry on the outside and wet on the inside (trapped body heat = sweat)?  Or, to stay wet on both the inside and outside but cool on the outside?  A question for the ages.

At the intersection, about 6 miles out there was a Casey’s Gas station/store.  Casey’s are fixtures in Iowa.  Every town has one and all points of interest like, “Excuse me, where is the fire station?”,  “Why, just go down about three blocks to Casey’s and turn left two blocks, it’s right there.” are in reference to Casey’s.  This Casey’s had some bikers huddled under the overhang getting out of the rain.  All I wanted was coffee, but I also got new information that there was a bike trail up ahead that would take us right in to Baxter.  Problem was, that it was washed out in one spot so we would have to detour around and about in the uncharted wilderness of corn and beans to find the trail.  Also good news was that some guy named Louie, who looked like a Golden Gate Park Hippie, said that the storm with all the lightning that I had been more than a little afraid of was moving to the Northeast and would just miss us as we were moving due east.  I looked at Louie and decided that he was either a prophet or a fool.  I chose prophet.  And, I chose right, thank goodness as the storm and its spectacular lightning display did in fact move at a nice tangent away from me on my left.  Getting hit by lightening when nobody knows where you are is not how I have chosen to end my time here. Thanks Louie.

When I hear the word “trail” I think of switchbacks up Forester Pass.  When an Iowan says “Trail” that mean a wide paved roadway following an old railroad grade.  I like the Iowa version best.  The trail I finally found, after going east then south then east then north then repeat and then ask the nice farmer in the Buick, “Just turn right about two miles past Casey’s, you can’t miss it!”, was really worth the backtracking and about an hour of being totally lost and alone in very rural Iowa.  I rode part of it side by side with a guy riding a recumbent bike (you side down and pedal with your legs straight out in front of you, good for riders with back problems and those wanting more comfort).  He had ridden this trail before and was big on pointing out how nice it was.  Talk talk talk from recumbent man on a trail that begged for solitude.  When we came to Viola, a bar and a few boarded up buildings, recumbent man wanted a beer and invited me to join him.  I was so glad I didn’t drink as he went for his cold one and I went for my quite ride through paradise.  Whats paradise on an old railroad grade you might as?  Well, its trees that touch overhead giving the famous “Cathedral Effect once so common on American streets thanks to the American Elm, RIP.  Also, the fact that I was riding on a railroad grade, paradise meant no hills, none!  Finally paradise meant pretending that the countryside I was driving through was the way it was 100 years ago or more.  I do that a lot in such places, this trail begged for it.

Almost to the end of the trail and a flat tire.  Piece of sharp gravel from where the trail crossed a gravel county road punctured the front tire and pierced the paper-thin tube.  No worries.  I got off and took my time getting the old tube out and the new tube in as I really didn’t want the trail to end as it was such a pleasant experience.  I’m told since, that Iowa has hundreds of miles of these trails all over the state.  The railroads retain their rights of way, in case they ever want to use them again, but they let the state build these bike trails on them in the meantime.  So sensible, so nice.  This would never work in California.

Pedaled into Grinnell and found the Hog Camp by following the Pink Pigs that Kathy puts out as we enter each town.  Sometimes there is bitching when a tired rider misses a pink pig, but for the most part, this system of stapling pink pigs to phone poles marking the route to the Hog camp works great.  In camp I found that cousin Dave was packing it in.  He had been having bike trouble, with his 25-year-old Schwinn, and also a lot of trouble sleeping at night.  So, Dave had called wife Julie and she was picking him up.  I have climbed Mt. Shasta with Dave and know what a physical animal he is.  Dave is the guy who had his house repaired and livable again within days after he and his neighbors in Palo, Iowa took 7′ of water three years ago when the Cedar River flooded.  Dave is a tough hard-working guy and if he felt he needed to call it a ride, I respect that.

I rode on to the Marsh House, a B&B that Bev had us in that night in Grinnell, Iowa.  Grinnell is the home of Grinnell College which we were told is one of the top 10 private colleges in the country.  They apparently have a billion dollar endowment that exceeds the combined endowments of Iowa State and the University of Iowa.  Warren Buffett is or was on their board.  Nice for 1400 students who were nice to us offering water and cow bell encouragement as we rode through campus.

More on the Marsh House next time.  Thanks for riding along.

Andy and Blake

I heard the familiar classic rock song coming from a radio on a bike I was passing and I looked over to ask about the recording artist.  I often recognize the songs, but don’t know who did the recording.  I was face to face with a smiling boy whose horn rimmed glasses were much bigger than his face required.  He asked me if I liked the music and I agreed that it made the miles pass pleasantly.  There is a lot of music on RAGBRAI.  Some people even tow rather large trailers so they can put gigantic, sometimes solar-powered, speakers on board to blast sweat drops off their fellow riders.  Satellite radio seems to be the answer to the ever-changing stations so music is never far away.

Andy asked if I would like to ride along with him for a while.  I asked him if he thought our age difference of 55 years would hinder us forming a friendship.  He said “No”, so I said “Sure”.  For ten miles or nearly an hour I heard about Andy’s life and his new mountain bike he got for his 15th birthday July 14th that he was riding in RAGBRAI.  The funny thing about this kid was that he asked me questions too.  He wanted to know about my family and were I lived and how many RAGBRAIs I had done (4) and just the kind of stuff you would hear from a far more grown up person than 15-year-old Andy. 

He told me about a high wooden trestle bridge that crossed the Des Moines River and one night in 1971 a freight train was crossing and the bridge finally chose that moment to collapse creating quite a mess in the river far below and for the owners of that rail track system.  In fact, Andy said, they chose that time to close that line as it would have cost too much to repair the trestle.  The State of Iowa jumped in a few years ago and took over the railroad grade and the wrecked bridge and built on the grade a beautiful concrete bicycle trail that runs from near Des Moines to Boone.  What a resourceful state and what an interesting kid. 

Andy and I stopped for a drink of water and we both knew I would be moving on.  Road bikes are faster on flat concrete than mountain bikes are, so this would be our parting of the ways.  Andy invited me to have dinner at his church last night, St. Johns and Pauls.  They added St John to the name when Pope John paid their church a visit some years ago on one of his trips to America.  Andy was very proud of that as well he should be.

There are a lot of Andy’s on this trip, very common to run into a teenager who is curious yet respectful.  Who listens as well as talks.  Am I on Mars?  This is so what I love about Iowa, the people are as rich and wonderful as are the endless crops of corn and soy beans.  I am so happy that there are Andy’s in the world who are proud of their church and their thoughts and don’t hesitate to share either with friendly strangers.

Blake’s right arm and right leg reminded me so of the way mine looked two weeks ago tomorrow when I crashed on Joy Road.  Blake’s scrapes were fresh and nasty looking, but Blake looked like a short sized middle linebacker and he said that after taking Monday off, he got back into RAGBRAI on Tuesday and here it was Wednesday and he was pushing right along except for this pie stop at the Church of Christ.

I asked him how it happened.  He said he was doing about 40 mph down this hill and he got boxed in.  It was either hit a bunch of bike riders or take the ditch.  He took the ditch.  The ditch treated him pretty well in that he broke nothing nor lost the use of any appendages or faculties, just a lot of skin that, believe me, does grow back.

Blake and I chatted about our wounds and our accidents and sports and then he stood up and picked up this rather large and heavily built SKATE BOARD!!!  I said, “Blake, were you riding a skate board when you crashed?”  “Yes” he said, “I’m riding the board across the US to raise money for” ……  I forget the cause he mentioned as I was still in shock to hear that he had crashed his skateboard into the Iowa ditch going 40 mph and was sitting on the church lawn two days later telling me his story. 

I had seen a young boy skateboarding along with his bike-riding father along side of him, but Blake had a board that looked rugged enough to make it to the Atlantic and he looked that way too.  He made no more of his wounds and experience than necessary and probably wouldn’t even have mentioned what happened if I hadn’t probed.  I gave him $5 for his cause or for his story, it didn’t matter to me.  That I had actually met a guy like this and shared experiences with him was worth much more than that to me.

What is in the Iowa water?  These people are different.  The two most common words you hear are “Thank You”.  People say “Thank You” for most anything, even if it’s not technically called for in the conversation.  I swear and say four letter words when I feel the occasion calls for it.  They just come out, nothing planned, just happens.  I have noticed that few others do this on RAGBRAI.  Plenty of reasons to swear, but they just don’t.  They find other ways to excuse a near collision than taking the Lord’s name in vain or even using normal four letter words.  in a near collision that’s not their fault, the say, “thank you” for not hitting me.

This whole experience is leaving an impression on me.  My hope is that a little of Iowa rubs off and sticks and that I learn to talk nice to friendly strangers like Andy did and that I learn to make little of my afflictions as Blake did and that I learn to say “thank you” instead of @$##@*&&&  like I normally do.  That will be my goal for today as I head toward Grinnell, Iowa 65 miles from here.

Thank you for riding along.  We have come 272 miles together so far.

HEAT IS NOT MY FRIEND

The hills of Western Iowa are steep and long, but my training on the hills of Sonoma and Marin Counties prepared me well for them.  The daily cycling distances are exceeding anything I did in training, but the Runners World approach to training for a marathon, see earlier post, has again prepared me well for the added distances.  My problem is the heat.  Nothing I did in training, or could possibly have done, could have prepared me for what we all have been experiencing this first three days of RAGBRAI.  The heat coupled with the humidity just saps my strength and easily has the ability to play games with my mind should I let it.   It’s really been brutal and many just have not been able to deal effectively with it.  On day two, our club, The Hogs, had nine people decide to ride (sag) in vehicles to the next town rather than rider their bikes.  According to Kathy, the Club RAGBRAI Leader for over 20 years, this has never happened before.  By noon, the temps are near 100 and the humidity is in the mid 80’s.  It just gets worse as the afternoon progresses.  Ok, I have spoken to the heat, lets talk about other things.

Tonight (Tuesday) were in a Fairfield Inn in Ames, Iowa.  The last three nights we have been in our tent sweating it out trying to get a little sleep between the kids blowing off fireworks, the ever-present freight trains, and the street lights shining into the tent.  I lay on top of my sleeping bag, read a little from Tom Brokaw’s “BOOM”using a headlamp, and then just try to flush all distractions from my mind and sleep.  I wake up a lot, often soaked with sweat.  Sometimes I feel like I want the comfort of something over me so I get under the unzipped sleeping bag.  Two minutes of that and whatever limbs were covered are sweating.  Bev planned better and does not use a sleeping bag.  She uses a bed roll of her own design that is basically a sheet and she sleeps a lot better than I do.

When we get to camp, we put up our tent and hang my wet sweaty bike clothes to dry on a tree or bush or line.  Then it’s off to dinner someplace, first night was pizza that was interrupted with a loud siren signalling an approaching tornado.  We watched the residents and they all came outside and looked at the sky.  The all clear came thirty minutes later.  Sunday night in Atlantic, Iowa was at the high school where the kids did a masterful job of feeding several thousand bike riders spaghetti and salad and trimmings.  Monday night in Carroll, Iowa we again went to the local high school for their fetuchini dinner.  Great dinner but small crowd.  Three miles out-of-town might have hurt their trade.  After dinner last night we checked out the first class outdoor basketball court the LA Lakers (Bev’s team) build for the town to commemorate the 50th Anniversary last year of the safe landing in a frozen cornfield during a blizzard of a DC-3 carrying the then Minneapolis Lakers.  Nice gesture on the part of a class team to tell this remote Iowa town, Hey!  We remember and thanks!  Tonight (Tuesday) here in Ames, we ate at an amazing place in town that offered the widest range of excellent food and over 100 ice-cream dessert dishes all for under $10.  Welcome to the Heartland. 

The ride Tuesday was to be 70 miles from Carroll to Boone, Iowa (founded by one of Daniel’s sons and birthplace of Mamie Eisenhower).  However, since we had a reservation in Ames, I just kept peddling alone along county roads for another 21 miles until I got to the Ames.  I had attended and graduated from Iowa State University in 1963.  I’ve been back before and am always pleased to see a nice mixture of the things I remember as well as all the new campus and neighborhood additions.  I really had a great experience in Ames as a young man.

Two days ago, I found that my saddle (seat) was broken.  The plastic supports that run the length of the seat were both cracked in half.  I think one happened from the accident and the other broke Monday as it couldn’t take the load by itself.  Net result, I could ride, but again, my butt bones were killing me.  College towns have bike shops and this one has Bikers World.  I got a new seat and tried it out and decided that although my butt still hurt, hell it hurts sitting here writing this, a new seat would surely be better than a broken old seat that was simply killing me. Have you notice a trend here?  My major problem with riding a bike, with the exception of not falling off,  is the seat and the pain it inflicts on my butt bones. 

I have noticed a scarcity of churches hosting the riders as we pass through the many small towns of Iowa.  I like to stop at the churches.  If they don’t have AC and many do, it’s always cool and their bathrooms are real and not made of plastic.  It’s also nice to sit in their sanctuary and just soak up the peace and good feelings that are always present.  Some have wonderful stained glass and I like to sit and try to figure out the different scenes.  Not sure why the number of churches offering rest and hospitality and pie to the riders is diminishing, but it surely is. 

I talked to a junior high girl named Sam the other day.  Sam works in at a hamburger trailer her family runs for RAGBRAI.  She kept my lemonade cup filled and my heart filled with her stories of wanting to leave Iowa and go to someplace big and famous like Harvard.  She wasn’t quite sure where Harvard was but she knows now.  The simple purity of these small town Iowa kids is very touching and appealing.  They have no idea what a gang is and they lover their parents and work side by side with them on the farm or making and delivering cheeseburgers to hungry riders who grill them for their life stories. 

There is so much to say here and so little time to say it.  The pictures are on the computer but not on the hotel’s computer where I’m writing this at 6 AM on Wednesday morning.  I guess I will do a ton of pictures when I have time to actually put a Post together the right way.  Yesterday I rode through fields of corn and soy beans and at times could not see a farm-house in any direction.  The demise of the small family farm?  Done deal here in Iowa I’m afraid.  10,000 acre farms are not unknown.

The worst hill in on the ride was yesterday.  The drop from the high plains west of the Des Moines River down to the River bottom bridge got my bike speed up to 41.1 mph.  Can’ imagine what would happen if I hit a chuck hole at that speed going downhill, but here are no chuck holes on that road and few in Iowa.  The climb up the other side is a test of man’s endurance.  1.5 miles os steep uphill grade to the top of the other side of the valley of the Des Moines.  My rough calculation was that 2/3 of all riders were walking their bikes up the grade.  The heat was blazing and the humidity was dripping and slowly ever so slowly I pedaled up the east side of the valley in my second gear in its lowest range.  I have yet to use Granny on any RAGBRAI and I wasn’t about to start on that hill.  When I got to the top, I rode slowly catching my breath with a small wiry black man who had all his camping and sleeping gear on painers on  either side of his front and rear wheels.  He was so happy that he made it without stopping and walking that he couldn’t stop talking about it.  I was too tired to talk so I listened as he told me how great he was and what an achievement he had accomplished hauling his 85#’s of bike and gear up that hill.  He spoke for both of us without knowing it.

Heat is not my friend, but it made me a new one for a while yesterday.  Time to saddle up and hit the road.  Thanks for riding along.

Ready Set Go

The Marion Road Hogs (the Hogs) are currently in their buses heading from Cedar Rapids to Glenwood, Iowa to begin RAGBRAI.  We are in a hotel room in Council Bluffs, Iowa slowly getting ready to load up the car and join the Hogs in their campground in Glenwood later this afternoon.  Looks like rain.  Bummer!  Setting up tents and camping in the rain is always a mess.  Maybe it will hold off or go north or just blow over at least until were safe inside our tent.  Not really looking forward to sleeping on the ground in hot weather with thunderstorms forecast, but like it or not, we’re gonna do it. 

Glenwood, Iowa is the start town of RAGBRAI this year.  It’s a few miles east of the Missouri River, a few more from where we are in Council Bluffs, and is currently filling up with 20,000 bike riders and their families as, just like the Hogs, they are coming into town from all over the country.  RAGBRAI attracts riders from all the states and many foreign countries.  It’s the largest and longest fun bike ride in the world.  This is their 39th consecutive year and believe me, these RAGBRAI people know how to put on a massive bike ride.

RAGBRAI is a series of daily rides that begin and end each day at a pre-selected overnight town.  These are all small to medium-sized towns and great care is taken to avoid getting too close to Urban Centers such as Des Moines or Cedar Rapids.  The routes are all on excellent county concrete roads.  The worst road in RAGBRAI is better than the best road that I rode to train in Sonoma County.  It’s just amazing to me that a rural state can produce such quality roads, while our county can’t even fill potholes.  What the hell is wrong with this picture. 

Each overnight town along the route is picked with care well in advance by the RAGBRAI folks.  They have to show that they can handle a huge fun-loving crowd for 24 hours until the whole affair moves out in the morning heading east.  Most riders camp and areas for this need to be set aside.  Camping occurs on football fields, fair grounds, parks, and just about any place there is flat ground and basic facilities.  Every room in town is also rented and townsfolk take strangers into their basements and homes without a thought.  It’s pretty laid back and it works.  People trust each other and like each other and magic happens.

Each overnight town tries to provide lots of things to do and eat for the bike riders.  Food can be obtained from volunteer firemen, Rotarians, church ladies, and Girl/Boy Scouts just to name a few of the places where excellent Iowa fare can be obtained.  Pie is everywhere always home-made.  Nobody has to go without pie in Iowa!  There are hundreds of those little blue plastic pee/poop houses in each town so that need is well-known and planned for.  Iowans call these plastic pee/poop houses “Kaibos” so from now on, so will I, Kaibos. 

RAGBRAI attracts a fun crowd who like to drink beer, especially after doing 80 miles or so in hot conditions.  Here’s how they handle that so there is no problems.  Each beer vendor is required to erect a “Beer Garden” and to provide security to make sure only legal drinkers get in and drunk ones don’t get out.  You go through a gate, show ID and are told to have fun, which means, get wild and crazy and we will take your ass 10 miles out-of-town and leave you in a corn field.  There are usually several beer gardens in each town and trouble is virtually non existent.  Rest of the USA, take note on the Iowa way of handling testosterone combined with alcohol.

In the morning, folks get going whenever they chose to.  We tend to leave between 6 and 7 and ride 10 miles or so before stopping at a some place for breakfast.  It’s not unusual to see a crowd gathered in some farm-yard eating sausage and pancakes provded by the local Grange or Scout troop.  These set ups are all along the route and provide a steady supply of nourishment and liquids to the RAGBRAI riders.  Nobody has to to go hungry, provided you are carrying money in your spandex.  Great fund-raising opportunities for the locals and great reasons to stop and eat and rest weary butts for the riders.  A symbiotic relationship to be sure and that’s the way it works all day long.

There is one town each day where non-riding family and friends are allowed in to meet with their riders.  These are called “The Meeting Towns” to distinguish them from the “Overnight Towns”.  These towns get really crowded and with all the bike riders basically dressed the same in their colorful bike riding shirts and helmets, its hard to find anyone.  Bev has tried to meet up with us in these towns in past, with mixed success.  Not sure if we will try and do it this year or not.

Bev doesn’t ride a bike, she rides the Saab and uses her days to explore Iowa to her heart’s content.  Wandering here and there and having her own adventures between the overnight towns far from the route we bike riders are following.  We get together at night in the campground or motel and compare notes.  Usually her experiences sound more fun than mine.  As we get further east, she might visit relatives that she has thanks to her Mom having come from Belle Plaine and Newton, Iowa. 

So, this is basically whats ahead for us this week.  I’m not sure how I will be able to blog in a tent, but we will cross that bridge when it comes.  Some nights will be spent in motels thanks to Bev getting reservations as soon as the route was announced, so maybe that is when I will update this.    We have to get out of this hotel now or pay for another day, so we’ll talk again in a few days.  Thanks for riding along with us. 

 John and Bev

 

Rodeo Kids Are Winners

Gillette, Wy. is the home of the National High School Rodeo Championships and was busy hosting this event when we arrived.  Town was packed with Rodeo Kids and their families from all over the USA.  I sighed and looked forward to a sleepless night of kids running through the hotel whooping it up.  Never happened.  Never heard a sound all night long.

On the way out the next morning we stopped to talk to a young lady barrel and pole racer in the lobby, and her family.  She and her family are Chippewa Indians from International Falls, MN. Dad, Mom, Grandpa, and Grandma, and a few brothers and sisters were all in Wyoming to watch the daughter race her horse in two events.  Pole Racing is like slalom skiing racing a zig zag course while trying not to touch the poles.  Barrel racing is three barrels in a diamond and you race around the diamond as fast as you can.  Takes a lot of teamwork between horse and rider for both events.  Grandpa and Dad earn their living as loggers and we got talking about the MANDO paper plant in International Falls, that I had visited in 1960 as a forestry student at ISU, Ames.  Still there and still making quality paper.  Good to know, feels right.

Downtown at lunch we ran into a family from Southern Florida whose son was a calf roper and had not done too well on his first try.  They are in the dairy business in Florida and described themselves as “not being a rodeo family”.  I think this means that they do other things in their lives besides rodeo.  i asked about the horses.  How do you get a horse from South Florida to NE Wyoming?  Horse trailer.  They can ride for 12 hours and then need a break.  There are places known to horse people all over the country where traveling horse folk can pull the RV pulling the trailer in and get the horses some good R&R before loading them up and traveling on again.  It’s a three-day haul from South Florida, and the Mom admitted that it was a bit of a long haul.  Nice folks and very supportive of their son who took up calf roping on his own about four years ago.  Since the Nationals is for the state champions, he certainly has done well in a short time.

I was impressed with these folks and what I saw of the teenage rodeo kid while in Gillette.  Well behaved, “Yes sir”  No, ma’am” kind of kids.  I asked about it and one Mom said, it was a tough physical sport, no doubt, but after their event is over, they still have to take care of their horses and make sure they are fine and all their needs are met.  Maybe, the answer I was looking for was right there.  Here’s a sport that’s not all about me.  Maybe by having to care for an animal, the second part of the rider roper team, the kids learn a lot more about teamwork, respect, and caring than I did as a wrestler?  Just sayin.

We have been to Wall, South Dakota before, several times.  Yet, once again, the hundreds of billboards along the road worked to draw off the Interstate and into that garish mix of buildings offering  genuine Black Hills gold and 5 cent coffee.  And, lest we forget, free donuts and coffee for Viet Nam Vets.  I’m not a big fan of such over the top tourism, but I have to say, Wall Drug is not part of Americana and should not be missed.  I took my kids there in 1980 and I go here and I will take my grandkids there if we are ever blessed with that opportunity.  Long live the Huested Family and hats off to what they have built on the Northern Plaines.  Where else can a Vet get a free cup and donut?

Our travels to Winner, South Dakota for the night was interesting as we ended up racing a huge storm cell to the Holiday Inn.  We ate buffalo steak and chicken fried steak for dinner on the Pine Ridge Reservation last night and when we got back in the car, the storm cell was bearing down on us so impressively, folks were out of their cars pointing their Nikons at the black hole in the heavens in hopes of getting the perfect lightning picture.  We tried too but no real luck.  We had to travel 50 more miles east and then 45 south to Winner.  That storm seemed to dog us the whole way and even after dark you could tell where it was when the whole sky lit up with the lightning flash.  A bit scary even though we traveled on rubber tires, I never have quite believed that old saw that says a car is a safe place in a lightening storm.

Just before Winner, the gps indicated we had crossed the 100th parallel, the storied but nearly forgotten mark of longitude that marks the West from the Mid West.  Pioneers and early explorers used the 100th meridian to tell that they were making progress in their treks to the west.  We arrived at the Winner Holiday Inn Express just ahead of a gentleman on a Harley who was traveling to Pierre from Aurora near Lincoln.  I asked if he had trouble with the lightning and the wind.  A little he said, and the deer too he mentioned.  I asked if he was on his way, but little early, to Sturgis?  No he explained, he was going to Pierre (South Dakota state capital) to attend the trade school graduation of one of his employees.  He said that he had told the employee that when he graduated, he would attend the ceremony.  He was making good on that promise.

Having heard that story, I didn’t need the gps to tell me where I was.  I was in America’s Heartland, the midwest, where people are nice, all the kids are above average, and people keep their word.  I felt good to be home.

GOIN TO SEE KIM

Tuesday felt like a forced march to say the least and we were certainly tired enough to sleep in till 9 AM on Wednesday.  We got our start toward Gillette and have dinner with daughter Kim a little after 10AM.  The GPS, which has been known to lie big time, said it was about 450 miles from Evanston in the far SW corner of the state to Gillette in the far NE corner.  If we hit it hard and didn’t stop much, we would be there for dinner.

If there was one of the 50 states that could probably make it all by itself, I think it would be Wyoming.  Like Kim said at dinner, “There is no recession in Wyoming”.  The towns seem to bustle and the energy business is booming.  There are drill rigs putting down new oil and natural gas wells and pipelines being built hooking them up to the pipeline grid.  Gigantic 3 and 5 MW wind turbines line some of the ridges pumping clean electricity into the grids.  I’m getting the impression of prosperity and strong business activity, something that we are not used to seeing.  There is also a sense of hospitality mixed with prideful independence that one senses in interchange with the Wyoming people.  I like that too as it reminds me of what things were like back in the day.  In summary,  I get the impression that if you want to work, Wyoming might be a very good place to try.  If you want to loaf, then it might be best to keep on going to California. 

Every time I drive the back roads of the Rocky Mountain states I am taken with the history of the places we travel though.  I want to stop and read every Historical Marker sign and visit every site.  Two on the trip from Rawlings to Gillette are more than worth mentioning:

1. The Sand Creek Massacre:  In retaliation for Custer getting wiped out.  About 175 Northern Cheyenne senior citizens, mothers, and kids were murdered by US forces at Sand Creek, Wyoming.  The people were responding to the government’s demand that all tribes move to reservations, but the bitter cold winter weather and deep snows hampered their progress.  Sitting ducks for the brave cavalry.  Not a proud moment.
2. Mormon Handcart Pioneers:  Martin’s Meadow Historical Site was a resting place for the weary pioneers of 1848 who pulled two-wheeled carts from Council Bluffs, IA to their new homes in the Salt Lake Valley.   When I look at the sagebrush covered barren mountain miles they had to travel and think of the hardship those people endured so they could worship God their way without being murdered for it, it chokes me up.

Kim is an Account Rep for Bare Escentuals

 Cosmetics.  She is responsible for sales activity in the states of Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, and Utah from her home in Salt Lake City.  This is a huge territory and hard to cover but she loves her job and is doing very well at it.  She has lots of interesting stories and experiences to share and we really enjoyed out dinner with her at the Chop House.  Was it good?  My steak had been aged for 40 days before I ate it.  Imagine cutting a NY steak with your fork.  Kim came back to our hotel and we kept talking till midnight.

Pronghorn Country

We left yesterday, Tuesday and drove like maniacs across California, Nevada, and Utah to Evanston, Wyoming and here we are Wednesday morning 817 miles from home. Leaving as soon as Bev gets out of the bathroom for Gillette, Wy (far NE corner) to have dinner with daughter Kim who is working in that area today. Not much of a detour to see a daughter of this caliber. Spend the night in Gillette and drive to RAGBRAI by traveling across the southern side of South Dakota. Deadwood and Spearfish, here we come. I worked with a guy from that area, Clark Mulliner. One of the top tentoughest guys I have ever known.

I’m trying out our new laptop for the first time to see if blogging will be feasible for me on this trip. I’m using something called “Quick press” that lets you make just a brief post with apparently no pictures or spell check available. Not sure I like it but this is a test so lets see what happens. Your thoughts on a blog of that nature would be appreciated.

Next time, we will try and find a way to add pictures and do some spell checking to make this more readable. This was more of a test for me to see if this was even possible to do while traveling and using unfamiliar wi fi setups and a computer I had to have help with just to turn it on. I’m trying to prove that blogging is not just for the techniclly competant, and that even old fools can do it. Wish me luck.

Were going to count the pronghorn antelope we see betweenhere and Gillette today. My pre guess is 3753.