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RAGBRAI 2001
The
Best of Times, the Worst of Times
Once
upon a time, in a not too distant place, there lived a Rover named Randy. Randy embraced life to the fullest, thriving
on both crisis and celebration--and was actually known for often turning crisis
into celebration. As a world traveler,
Randy had many opportunities to celebrate life, but his two passions were St.
Patrick’s Day and Randy’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa, more commonly
known as RAGBRAI. This, then, is a
journal of sorts, recording the sights, sounds, and other sensory impressions
of RAGBRAI 2001.
Although the dates for RAGBRAI 2001 were
July 22-28, preparation for the event began months earlier in that charming
Old Market haven for fellowship and intellectual exchange, Barry O’s.
Fortified with beer and peanuts, team leader Randy conscientiously
organized this year’s trip, seeking overnight stops, recruiting host/hostess
gifts, updating the magnets, and pondering the workings of the generator.
Frequently at his side (or across the table) was Larry L, who, although
he is not inclined to cycle, provided Randy with moral support and Jeopardy
answers.
After a
May training trip to France with Cheryl and Rhonda (a non-successful practice
run for Cheryl’s map reading skills, by the way), Randy was ready.
Sitting at his computer, he tapped “print” and out flowed daily routes
and overnight stops for his growing entourage of cyclists and wannabes (AKA
support vehicle drivers.)
And
so, on Saturday, July 21st, the noon send-off barbecue to honor the
faithfulness of the generator and the successful rewiring of the brake lights
was held. The menu included grilled (by
Bill) chicken breasts, pasta and potato salads (by Mike), fruit salad (by
Rhonda & Cheryl), and cold beverages.
Joining their leader were spirited team members Bill, Kathy, Cheryl,
Rhonda, Larry, Chip, Anita, Kevin, Brenda, Mike, and Pat. Also present were well-wishers Bob and Terry
(Zu’s parents), Larry L, Rochelle, and Darcie.
(No one remembers who poured.)
Returning just as the prayer flags were being reverently stowed away
were Lupe, Zu, and Judy (Lupe having needed to go get his bike and pick up
Judy.)
The trek north to Sioux City began
around 3:00 PM, with Pat’s Explorer following the STV. Air conditioning flowed through the
Explorer; beer flowed through the STV.
By the time the STV reached Sioux City, Lupe especially was in fine
spirits. Eagerly awaiting Team Spirits
and their beer-laden coolers were Steve, Theresa, and Bill W. Immediately upon hitting the city limits,
Mike declared he could no longer remain drug-free and so the search was
on. After several covert phone calls,
Mike was able to get six free hits from a local drug dealer, with the promise
of a larger delivery in Atlantic on Tuesday.
In Sioux City, hospitality was
provided by Chip’s daughter and her family.
The hot and humid weather, however, proved less than hospitable. As all team members (minus Chip, Anita,
Kevin, Lupe and Judy, who slept INSIDE) would later agree, it was the worst
camping experience ever. The featured supper item was two inch thick Straka
Brothers pork chops. (Eat your heart out, Pork Chop Man.) While a troubadour provided the evening’s
entertainment for Team Spirits, Team Spirits provided entertainment for the neighbors
and their children, who crowded around the tents—long after they had been
occupied by wannabe sleepers. Even
after the neighbors left, (sometime after eleven), campers in the front
contended with street noises while campers in the back listened to the noisy
air conditioner. Heat. Humidity.
Sweat. Noise. (Has it been
mentioned that Chip, Anita, Kevin, Lupe, and Judy slept INSIDE?) Not a whisper of a breeze stirred during the
night--not even out of the east. (This
would be the last windless time span of the week.)
DAY
ONE:
“RAGBRAI
starts in Sioux City with tire-dipping in the Missouri River. The hills start just outside Sioux City with
a group of stair steps that rise to a ridge with beautiful terraced vistas. The route passes through Kingsley, Washta,
Quimby and Mount Olive with an awesome display of windmills just before the
stop at Storm Lake.”
Sunday,
July 22nd, began too early, too humid, too hilly, too rainy, and
too damn windy. The route was east, with headwinds also out of the east (and it would be east winds throughout the entire week).
Lupe had a queasy start, supposedly due to an intolerance for Sioux
Falls water. (“God, I hate it when that happens.”)
The Sunday support vehicle stops for Steve and Pat were Kingsley and Quimby. Steve “worked hard all day to please the riders, but no one appreciated or thanked him.” (Steve also biked the final third and survived.) Except for Judy, who took some time learning the protocol for R & R breaks, all bicyclists checked in at the K & Q stops. At Quimby, where Steve commandeered a prime alley location with a terrific view of the long line of porta-potties
,
Rhonda’s
comment, “How could I do that [50 miles] on so little sleep?” seemed to voice
the sentiments of all but tandem Kathy and Bill, Judy, and Bill White, the
only ones to ride the entire day’s route.
All other deflated Spirits took to the STV or the Explorer for at least
part of the day. Although the wind farms provided an excellent
view, nothing quite matched that of Kevin riding on the STV’s ladder, head
and shoulders sticking out the top of the STV, happily playing Sakakawea as
he pointed the way to Storm Lake.
Relief from the heat was provided at
our overnight stop. Not only were
showers available, but a carpeted, air-conditioned basement eliminated tent
set-ups and accommodated wall-to-wall bodies.
Zu happily claimed the couch.
Small teams of Spirits wandered off to seek food from various
venues. Poor reviews were given to the
Methodists’ “all you can eat” spaghetti supper--it was “all you could eat of
what you were given from what was left.” Tired and windblown as everyone was,
only a couple Spirits found the energy to make profound observations: Brenda,
who had THREE ice cream breaks today, had high sugar hopes for the week. Kathy found herself going downtown to buy
“stinking” tee shirts for her husband and brother. And long before the sun was fully set, every last Spirit was
sound asleep.
DAY
TWO:
“From
Storm Lake, the ride stays flat through Schaller and Galva then picks up hills
outside Ida Grove with its ‘neoclassical architecture.’ The remainder of the day is a hilly route
through Arthur, Kiron and Deloit before rolling into Denison.”
Monday, July
22nd, saw several dampened Spirits pedaling off in grey
drizzle. Other Spirits chose instead to
set off in search of a hearty breakfast of salsa eggs and Bloody Marys. While the STV moved purposely towards Ida
Grove, the Explorer (navigated by Lupe) meandered the back roads, stopping at
churches to ask directions from locals and scanning the horizon for grain
elevators and water towers. After a
great deal of section line surveillance, the Explorer, with Lupe, Zu, Judy, and
Pat, arrived in Schaller. Here they
encountered Mike and Brenda on a breakfast break in the on-again, off-again
rain.
The
Exploring Spirits never did find salsa eggs, so their healthy choice breakfast
consisted of multiple Bloody Marys, plus biscuits and gravy, at Schaller’s lone
café (where Kevin of Team ____ was very accommodating by helping Pat place and
get orders for the table). By the time
this happy group reached Ida Grove, the STV had already left (gee, imagine
that), but the sun was out, so Zu and Lupe hopped on their bikes and joined the
pack, both riding in only slightly wobbly lines. At Kiron, the Explorer met up with the STV parked in a premier
corner spot with a nice shade tree just across the street. Judy retrieved her bike and pedaled off; the
STV soon followed. Larry called it quits
for the day and camped in the shade with Pat, waiting for Zu and Lupe to check
in--and move on to Denison.
Our overnight stay in Denison was at the Trotter farmstead,
DAY
THREE:
“The
climb out of Denison is a 3-mile stair-step hill. This will be a short day, however, with rolling terrain through
Manilla, Irwin, Prairie Rose State Park and Walnut. If you love antiques, you’ll love Walnut, which may have more
antique shops than any other town its size.”
Tuesday,
July 24th, began with overcast skies and the inevitable hills. Even though the overnight stop had enabled
the Spirits to begin their rides about half way up the first hill, today established
the mantra, “Forty-six (mph) down; six up.” It was a day when everyone learned the meaning
of “killer hills.” It was also a day
of intermittent rain, outstanding rhubarb pie, the best Bloody Mary so far,
and full frontal nudity.
The first STV stop was Irwin. (But didn’t Chip say there were only four
hills to the next town??) The second
stop was Walnut where Rhonda found a cookie jar, Lupe found Linda from SD, and
Pat found Kevin from Monday morning’s Bloody Mary breakfast line. While the STV and most of the group stuck to
the revised “official” route and headed to Atlantic, at Lupe’s insistence the
Explorer crew of Lupe, Zu, Judy, and Pat side-tracked to Marne, where they
encountered Cheryl and Rhonda—among several hundred others.
MARNE STORIES: First of all, there
would be no Marne stories were it not for the fact that RAGBRAI officials,
having initially announced Marne as being on the route, changed their minds
(without consulting with Randy, by the way), and by-passed Marne for “safety
reasons.” In “hindsight” (oh yeah), it
would probably have been safer to keep Marne on the route. At any rate, RAGBRAI riders being what they
are--socially and politically correct, of utmost moral and ethical standards,
yada, yada, yada—many riders, with their respective (and, of course, respectable)
support vehicles, felt compelled to protest the route change and give Marne
some financial support. Tee shirts and
pins were among the collectibles; beer cans and clothing were among the
disposables.
Cheryl and Rhonda apparently arrived
just as the water slide festivities were beginning. As they tell it, the selected area was not a good hill, so the
slide organizers sent a uniformed policeman to the store for bottles of dish
soap. The soap worked, and a lengthy
slip-n-slide was born. According to C
& R, a guy wearing a sarong and a big pair of bright pink dice showed
up. (“His dice were flying and all his
body parts were flying.”) So, prim and
proper Rhonda shouts out, “Show us your nuts!” He turns, grabs his sarong, and
says, “These aren’t nuts—this is Pair-a-dice!” And then, minus sarong and dice,
C & R saw Paradise!! (Three hours,
one shower, one dinner and one Pastis later, Rhonda and Cheryl remembered that
the guy was also wearing a chicken hat.)
The much more subdued Explorer crew
headed by Lupe encountered similar happenings.
A totally unconcerned young man was seen politely moving away from the
slip-n-slide audience in order to publicly pee into the wind; dancing wet tee
shirt contestants atop the Team Bone bus were hosed down before baring their
breasts; the chant of “Take it off, take it off” (probably led by Rhonda)
encouraged female slip-n-slide participants to go topless and males to strip
totally. Lupe, to his credit, tried to
protect the innocence of a young man wearing braces by asking if he were old
enough to be observing—and then elbowing him out of the way, so that Lupe
himself could have a better view of Paradise.
And all because Marne did not lie
along the “safest” route.
MEANWHILE, back at the ranch and/or
Atlantic, (where there are no aspen trees), Mike’s need for drugs became urgent
when he discovered the arranged courier from the Fed Ex cartel had failed to
show up. It was clearly a drug deal
gone bad, so “The Flamingo” made a few phone calls, arranged a contract on Fed
Ex, (never mess with the Vatican organization), and then began negotiations
with a local supplier, eventually scoring.
After concluding his business deals, Mike was able to join the other
Spirits as they engaged in scintillating conversations:
“There are only four hills in Iowa, no
matter where you are—except in Harrison County.”
“Bloody Marys are the breakfast of
champions—they contain all the essential food groups.”
“You missed out on an interesting day,
dear, you really should have rode."
“There’s at least four hills from here
to the church.”
“Fed Ex sucks!”
“I was ready to say ‘Shit’ on a hill
and this guy on a tandem said ‘Careful, my boy’s on board.’ So I let him pass
and then I said ‘Another fucking hill!’”
“Fed Ex sucks!”
“Forty-six and six.”
“Would anyone like any services?”
And
so it went. (But tell me, were those
squealing sounds that came from the slaughterhouse at 3:30 AM really
porcine---or human? Hmmm.)
TODAY’S RATINGS:
Best Pie: Rhubarb meringue in Atlantic
Best
Welcome: Moonflowers & planters & bike & old guys with “Welcome to
Irwin” signs.
Best
Bloody Mary: In Manilla, middle of block, left hand side.
Best
Breakfast: Oatmeal in Manilla (who said this?).
Biggest
Disappointment: NO Cappuccino.
Best
Observation: Fed Ex Sucks.
Best
Sign: On a recumbent helmet, “No pace is too slow.”
Best
Dice: Marne (oh yeah).
Once in Atlantic, the call of home beckoned
several Spirits: Lupe, Zu, and Judy returned to Council Bluffs with Pat, while
Chip, Anita, and Kevin headed for Omaha with Rochelle. And then there were 12.
DAY
FOUR:
“This
begins the first of three consecutive days that are 80-plus miles in
length. Pedaling today is through
Wiota, Anita, Adair, Casey, Guthrie Center and Yale with an optional century
loop.”
Wednesday,
July 25th, was pretty much an up and down type of day-- with one
damn hill after another. The first
welcomed STV stop came in Casey, where Steve was able to get a great spot
on the corner just south of the main intersection. Bill W. got into the Bloody Mary training here, relishing the zesty
addition of fresh horseradish to the drink. (Is horseradish a vegetable?)
Brenda had gamely started the day’s ride, but by the time she reached
Casey (lacking the benefit of Mike’s mood-altering drugs), she was forced
to admit Monday’s breakfast waffles (or maybe a hill-borne virus) had done
her in. Using her ET calling card, she phoned home and arranged to have Rochelle’s
SAG vehicle take her back to Nebraska. (Had she wanted to go back to Kansas,
she could have saved Rochelle the trip by just clicking. . . . . . never mind.) So then there were eleven. The
second STV stop was Yale, where Master Support Vehicle Driver Steve managed
to sneak into town and claim a prime spot by the “smoothie” stand. (You left
too early, Kevin!)
Despite
the endless hills and east wind, the
Spirits found some moments to appreciate.
Along the way, as the riders began to come up out of a river valley,
they were to encounter crest, upon crest, upon crest--and then, just when
everyone thought it was safe to breathe, they saw a FOURTH crest! At this point, one slightly overwhelmed cyclist
was heard to exclaim, “ay—yi—yi—yi—yi.” Kathy enjoyed seeing three older ladies
sitting in their lawn chairs along the side of the road (which was, of course,
going up a hill) and watching them scurry in delight, like little kids at a
parade, to gather up the beads a cyclist flung at their feet. Tandem Bill sought assistance from a
roadside ambulance when his jersey began irritating his, uhm, pecs. (Were those
Curad or Johnson & Johnson pasties you wore, Bill?) Although both Guthrie Center and Springbrook
State Park are known for their scenery, Team Spirits will remember them for the
long, (about one mile) run up out of
Guthrie Center and the “steep as they come” hill up out of Springbrook.
At
Yale, Steve chose to ride the last leg as it was supposed to be flat. It was flat, but the unrelenting east wind made it seem all uphill. Steve survived, but confined further riding
to the streets of overnight towns. It
was late afternoon before Pat, bearing a stack of clean team laundry, rejoined
Team Spirits in Perry at Capri Watts’ home.
The Spirits were themselves regrouping at the STV after showers at the
high school. In individual groups of
two, three, four, the Spirits made their way downtown to find food and see the
sights. This was the fifth time Perry
had been on the RAGBRAI route, and the town was indeed ready to celebrate the
influx of money with a nice party atmosphere and two good bands. Pat dragged Mike through the streets in
search of Dan, her June camp colleague; Theresa dragged Steve in search of tee
shirts for their boys. Each and every
Spirit, some with a little help from their friends, was able to answer an Iowa
trivia question and thereby win a bright orange Perry promotional tee
shirt. Several Spirits chose the
Mexican restaurant (which provided Cheryl a “doggie box” that lasted her
through two more meals); the rest chose Chinese. Nearly everyone checked out the Hotel Pattee, which features 40
theme rooms (might they add a Marne room?), and then moseyed back to the STV
where Capri’s two youngest children took over the deck, and Professor Bill was
pressed into service identifying and defining the characteristics of geological
specimens carted out in boxes.
The
Perry stop provided Cheryl a unique experience to connect with her past. A casual mention to Capri that Cheryl was from
Utah set off a most unexpected result. Not
only does Capri have a Utah background, but she and Cheryl had nearly overlapping
experiences living in western Wyoming. Capri’s parents
ran the Bingo Truck Stop east of Fort Bridger, a place Cheryl knew well; both
women shared laughable memories of the despicable Scoop Shovel Trailer Park.
Only in Iowa.
DAY
FIVE:
“Today
holds the longest day of the week at about 96 miles with 2,600 feet of
climbing. Towns in the middle include
Bouton, Woodward, Madrid, Slater, Huxley, Cambridge, Maxwell, Mingo, Ira and
Baxter.”
Thursday,
July 26th, was the fifth straight day of hills---and headwinds. Despite the length of the day’s ride, Baxter
became the only STV stop after it was decided that with the number of riders
being down, two support vehicles were no longer needed. The morning therefore started off with both
Steve and Pat heading for Des Moines so that the Explorer could be parked at
the Army Reserve Headquarters where Mike’s vehicle was already on fence
patrol. Larry rode along and then took
advantage of the route change to plot his own way to Grinnell by passing
through Newton where he had once worked.
On the STV’s way to Baxter, a member of the Iowa State Patrol challenged
the legality of the schoolbus yellow
squared-off number 8 on the side of the STV; Steve handled the matter by
informing the officer that the STV belonged to his brother—from Nebraska. Enough said.
Arriving in
Baxter well ahead of all riders, Steve and Pat found they were entering a town
straight out of a Steven King novel. No
matter where they tried to park the STV, various townspeople shooed them off
towards some supposed support vehicle parking area which never actually
materialized. After taking a risk and simply
parking in an empty lot at the end of the main street, Steve and Pat cautiously
left the STV in search of the all-American breakfast drink. Finding the bar was easy; acquiring a Bloody
Mary was not. One inexperienced
bartender, two police officers, four drink tickets, one hand stamp, and the
last two pickles in the jar later, Steve and Pat stood in the middle of the
street, drinks in hand, wondering how this town named Paranoia had ever gotten
on the route.
With
his exuberant “Te-e-e-am Spirits” greeting, Team Leader Randy was the first
to arrive in Baxter and to offer services.
Despite the unrelenting wind, Randy had found many things to celebrate
along the way. His day had begun by
making the mandatory pot of coffee, (most of which he had thrown out since
the other Sprits had refused to drink it through their
teeth.) He then rode, shared an iced cappuccino with
Cheryl (who grumbled)----rode, had a brat (no Cheryl)----rode, had excellent
peach rhubarb pie----rode, had a Bloody Mary with an great pickle in a glass at the Go-Go Bar in Cambridge,
where he just beat the crowd and avoided the $2.00 cover charge but
nevertheless was able to enjoy the performing stripper----rode, had a root beer
(no cover charge, no stripper)----rode, had rhubarb pie----rode, had a Schwan’s
drumstick----and took a short cut on the bike trail to arrive in Baxter (where
he would eventually have a pasta salad so that he could say he had shared his
charm and wealth in all the towns, even the unfriendly ones.)
Mike was the
second Spirit to arrive in Baxter, with a less than exuberant “Wind
sucks.” His assessment of the morning’s
ride was pretty much confirmed by the other Spirits as they checked in. Calling it a day, Kathy said the ride had
been “Crap,” and Bill echoed, “Shitty.”
Theresa declared, “No frickin’ way am I gonna get 100 miles today,”
while Cheryl said, “This could have been such a phenomenal day—but for the
wind.” Overheard along the way was the
comment: “Don’t know where the trail is?
Get on your bike, point your face into the wind, and ride.”
Once
the cyclists began to enter Baxter, the tone of this rigid (frigid?) community
was bound to change. Randy saw a “generously
endowed” woman in a bikini top being “supported” by two gentlemen. (Lupe,
where were you?) Also discussed was
the woman riding in a lime green thong bikini (think she said she’d waited
to wear that outfit until Lupe was gone so as to not cause him undue stress.)
After all
Spirits had checked in, the STV headed down the road to Grinnell; joining up
for the ride were tandem Kathy and Bill, Cheryl, Theresa, and Randy, with only
Mike, Rhonda, and Bill W. being masochistic enough to continue on bikes. Waiting for the STV at the overnight stop
was Larry, who had enjoyed his solo excursion through Newton. Later, after having ridden all of the day’s
95.8 miles, Bill W., though not one to complain, did admit that the ride had
been “pretty numbing.” Rhonda, on the
other hand, said she “felt good.” (The
general consensus was that she’d hit her head somewhere along the way.)
With
in-house shower privileges having been reinstated by our overnight hosts,
squeaky clean Spirits were soon teaming up to amble their way past large,
stately old homes that lined the streets leading to downtown and food. Getting good reviews were the Catholics who
served spaghetti in the church basement, but unlike Monday’s Methodists, these
folks had a back-up plan for their long lines---in the form of a potato bar in
their community hall just across the street. Their resourcefulness (and
reluctance to lose a potential customer) was duly noted by Mike, who took down
the name of the parish priest so as to be able to contact him in a few years
(that Vatican Wal-Mart is going to need a good store manager, you know.)
And then,
come sundown, with a distant band lulling them to sleep, Team Spirits called it
a day.
DAY
SIX:
“Rollers
dominate most of the day, with a route that winds through Searsboro, Montezuma,
Deep River, Millersburg, Parnell and Williamsburg.”
Friday,
July 27th, saw the braver Team Spirits b-b-b-biking and b-b-b-bumping
their way to Coralville against (you guessed it) an east wind.
With the
route having been billed as the second hilliest and fifth longest in Ragbrai history, it was little wonder that
the novelty of unforgiving hills and east
winds had worn off by today. Choosing to view Friday's section of Iowa from
the STV were tandem Kathy and Bill; attempting to help Steve navigate the
way to Deep River was Cheryl. Although Theresa gamely set off on her bike,
she did caution the STV group, "You better wait for me" [at Deep
River.]
The STV's first stop was indeed Deep River (population 340). Steve staked
out a front row street corner; folding chairs were pulled out, and tired,
hurting riders began showing up. As usual, the downtime conversation turned
to the ride's interesting features. Randy recounted how when the route had
turned east (into the wind), a grain truck entered
just ahead of a pack of cyclists--and approximately 100 people drafted for
five miles.
"Only
one more hill to Montezuma" showed up on a sign at the top of not one,
but several successive hills on the way to that town.
Turning onto the bumpy, broken road which led to Deep River, riders
saw countdown signs that began "Only 11,998 bumps to Deep River"
and continued with number adjustments being made approximately every mile. As Bill W. summed it up, "That's a rough
damn road!" His statement was matched by Theresa's comment, "You
talk about a sore ass!" Larry, on the other hand, claimed "It hasn't
been bad so far," thus giving rise to speculation that he and Rhonda
(see Day 5) share the same therapist.
By 9:17 AM, Randy had consumed "fruit glob in a bag," a lemonade, a
buffalo brat, and a banana---but no Bloody Mary. Setting off in search of
additional nutrition, Randy climbed back on his bike to the tune of "Ugh,
ugh, ugh---ew-w-w-w." Theresa called it a day; Cheryl gave it a try, but
not without pleading, "Please don't leave [Williamsburg] without me!"
Williamsburg (which is a town, not just an exit for an outlet mall) provided
the STV group a pleasant bit of town square shopping, an adequate selection of
food, and some remarkable sidewalk entertainment. As usual, Steve located a prime corner spot for waiting and
watching, this one being right on the route out of town, just two village
blocks (or one city block) from the town square, in a typical, small-town
neighborhood. The observation deck was
put up; folding chairs were brought up, and services were offered as everyone
relaxed under the sweeping branches of a great shade tree. Across the street, anywhere from eight to ten wild ones, ranging in age from
perhaps three to twelve, staged their own Rag-tag Bike Ride up and down the
sidewalk. No two kids were the same
size; no two bikes were alike---and no one on the STV who watched with
amusement the dare-devil riding, the duct tape repairs, and the fight-provoking
collisions envied the harried mom (or day care provider) who came out of the
house (or was that a shoe?) to oversee the commotion.
In time,
only Mike, Cheryl, and Bill biked on; everyone else cruised into Coralville via
the STV. In Coralville, Friday night
was friends and family night. Randy’s
friend Larry P had arranged a perfect overnight location just one half block
from the food, bike, and tee shirt vendors, the band, the swimming pool with
showers, and most importantly, the porta-potties. The close proximity of all these amenities was greatly appreciated
since we arrived, camped, and left without ever seeing the phantom
homeowners. We did, however, get to
circle up in the front yard and visit with Randy, Steve, and Kathy’s parents,
who joined up with Theresa’s folks and step-sister to deliver Theresa’s
mini-van, which was to allow a quicker get-away for Steve, Theresa, and Bill W.
on Saturday. Nathan, Steve and
Theresa’s son, came along to camp and join the final leg of the ride. Larry’s wife and son also joined the group
for supper. Home-made bars and salads
rounded out the vendor fare, and the RAGBRAI stories began.
Cheryl declared
that Friday’s was the best food of the week---she had found gazpacho and a
spinach croissant. Of course, along
the way, Cheryl also “showed” in order to get free beer for herself and Bill.
(Isn’t that the way the story went, Cheryl?)
Mike found humor in the Burma Shave type signs along the way, especially
the one which began “Do you smell. . .” Given
the fact that everyone seeing that sign had probably been riding, sweating,
camping, and doing without laundry facilities for nearly a week, Mike figured
an affirmative answer was pretty obvious, and the follow-up sign of “frying
bacon” did not change his initial reaction. 
Steve summarized the week for the guests by telling them that there
had been “great towns to go to---the only problem is early morning navigators.”
(So, whose right was that right, Cheryl?)
Despite Friday
being the last night, true to their nature, Team Spirits turned in early and
drifted off to the pleasant sounds of the band. Somewhere around eleven, the fireworks began. Though Team Leader Randy woke up and watched,
most Spirits slept right on through the night.
DAY
SEVEN:
“The
last day is also the shortest at 49.2 miles, with only 1,848 feet of
climbing. RAGBRAI closes out in
Muscatine, with stops between in Springdale, West Liberty, Atalissa and
Moscow. A long, gentle glide will lead
riders to the finish line.”
Saturday,
July 28th, saw tandem Kathy and Bill, Mike, Cheryl, Rhonda, Larry,
Bill W., and Steve all pedaling off in search of Mississippi tire-dipping. Theresa’s priorities were to comfort Nathan
after he fell down the STV ladder and to park her mini-van in a safe location
for later pick-up. Randy had taken
over as STV driver so that Steve could bike; once again Pat was just along
for the ride. As Randy scanned the
horizon and saw hills, he periodically felt little stabs of pain (aka guilt),
no doubt being sent telepathically through Steve’s curses. The morning’s only STV check-in spot was at Springtown’s I-80 exit
truck stop where Kathy, Bill, and Mike rolled in about 7:40. Their report was that the lone bad hill was
one on the way out of Iowa City. At 8:10, Cheryl and Steve arrived; Steve
had made it all the way to West Branch without stopping. Bill W. showed up at 8:16, proclaiming it was a nice morning for
riding—cool and (gasp!) no wind; Bill did admit that his whole body was aching
quite
It was then
a quick trip to Muscatine where Steve found a perfect parking and gathering
spot just one block from the final splash.
The cyclists came down the hill, rounded the corner, went through the
arch, dipped a wheel, and headed to the STV.
Bikes were loaded up, gear was stashed, and eleven tired Spirits were on
their way home. For them the week had
been much like the movie Groundhog Day---the same thing over. . .and
over. . .and over. The first ones to
depart at Coralville were Steve, Theresa, and Bill W. who headed north in
Theresa’s mini-van. And then there were
eight.
Rhonda took
over driving the STV; Randy slept on an upper bunk, and the rest were content
to just watch the cornfields pass by without feeling any special need to stop
to check the height, the tassels, or the spacing of the rows. In Des Moines, Mike, Rhonda, and Larry
transferred their belongings and bikes to Mike’s vehicle, and they too headed
north. So then there were but five
still traveling west. Cheryl rode with Pat in the Explorer to keep her company;
tandem Kathy and Bill rode with Randy in the STV.
By early
Saturday evening, the STV was back home, safe in its own parking spot, mostly
unloaded, and not much worse for the wear and tear of the week.
And then
RAGBRAI XXIX was over. The miles, the
hills, the overnight stops, the rhubarb pies, the Bloody Marys, the east winds, the aches, the laughs were
all blending into one hot July memory.
Mission accomplished. Randy the
Rover was now able to sleep, perchance to dream---and as he turned off the
light and eased into his own bed for the first time in a week, Randy smiled,
for after all, there were only 358 days until RAGBRAI XXX.
Special Team Spirits recognition goes
to Bill White, the only Spirit out of 18 who biked every stinkin’ one of the
506 miles of hills and east wind. Good
ride, Bill!!!
Editor’s Note: If you have found your name somewhere
in this endless rambling, then you know that you are part of a unique team of spirits. You are therefore encouraged to consider
buying shares in whichever investment scheme Randy is going to come up with to
raise funds for painting the bus and over-hauling the generator. Remember that you could suffer the
misfortune of being asked to travel with Team Gourmet where you would not only
have to pay the full registration fee, but also kick in $450 for the privilege
of drinking, not Busch Light nor Pig’s Eye, but rather some expensive French
wine selected to go with your meal of braised octopus. Think about it.