I Am Heading Out To The Corn!

I am going to be doing my 5th (!) RAGBRAI next week.

It’s going to be hot, and fun, try not to break anything while I am gone.

Read some past RAGBRAI stories here.

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RAGBRAI 2014

Four years, and this ride still brings so much joy into my life.  (See 2013, 2012, and 2011).

For those not in the know, the Registers Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI), is a yearly ride across Iowa.  Now in its 43rd years, it is sort of like mid-west burning man on wheels.  A rolling party of 15-20,000 people having fun in the corn.  If you have never tried it, I highly recommend it.

The route changes every year, and this year was widely hyped as “the shortest, and flattest.”  For the last three years I have ridden a fixed gear, and figured this would be an even better year to do so again.  So I began the ritual dance that has become a familiar part of RAGBRAI for me.

Figure out what airport is closest to the start, buy one ticket from Boston to that airport, find a shuttle bus that will take me from the airport to the start.  Find another airport close to the finish, figure out how to get to that.  But a separate ticket for a different airline. Deconstruct the bike, pack the bike, ship the bike.  Take a train to the airport, take a large plane to a small plane, to a shuttle bus, to a bicycle, ride for a week, repeat in reverse.  On the face of it its a logistical nightmare, but in reality it always goes smooth as butter, and every single person you meet along the way is very nice and makes you happy.  It’s hard to return to Boston with its cranky drivers and dirty air.  You miss the corn when you leave.

That’s not to say that this year was without its challenges.  Here is a day by day break down.

Day one: Rock Valley To Okoboji

After a pleasant night spend in a tent on soft grass I awoke to a glorious Iowa sunrise, and it just felt good to be on a bike.  The winds were calm, the temp was decent, the corn was growing (in the places that had not been killed by the recent floods).  The Town was decked out in bike finery and everyone waved at us as we left.

The 70 miles flew by in a flash, town after town flying by in a blur.  That isn’t to say we didn’t see some awesome stuff.

Check out this 36er!

These guys rode these things the entire time…

Some people over did it on their first day…this man is asleep in the center of the beer garden, when I went to make sure he wasn’t dead, his wife (!!) told me to leave him be because it was funny…he wasn’t dead.  Our camp ground was in an awesome super soft field, I slept like a baby.

Day 2: Okoboji to Emmetsburg.

I awoke to this outside my tent.

Bike udder in the morning, cyclists warning.  But the portent proved not to be true as today was another PERFECT riding day.  As you rode out of town you got to see every single state flag flapping in the glorious Iowa sunrise.

The day was short, only 40 miles, but I still managed to see some cool stuff.

Checking out old barns while eating ice cream.

A lot of people do this ride…from horizon to horizon nothing but cyclists. This little traffic jam was caused by the ice cream man. Ice cream is serious business on RAGBRAI.

You might not know this but Iowa is a leader in wind power…hmm all those wind turbines I wonder if it ever gets windy around here…I probably should have seen this for the ominous sign that it was.
I was not going to be eating nasty fried food all week.  1 box of salad, one apple, one package of goat cheese, some dressing, and some blue berries, everyone was jealous.  I went to bed happy.

Day 3: Emmetsburg to Forest City

The century day!  I always like this day, it feels like a proper day of riding, and you get to see a lot of beautiful country.  I awoke to a nice calm beautifully blue Iowa sky.  There was a slight breeze, as we pedaled to the pancake man for breakfast.

Pancake man is not fucking around, he can make 200 pancakes every 3 minutes, and you are allowed to eat as many as you want…so good.  While we ate the wind slowly increased, so gently we didn’t even notice until we got back on our bikes.

They call it the Iowa mountains, head winds so steady and strong that it feels like you are always going up hill.  The wind turbines were spinning merrily creating loads of energy but all I could feel was a steady never ending push against me that started off refreshing, but slowly, ever so slowly, began to steal my strength.  What started off as a 20 mph wind, grew to 25, then 30.

We were headed east, and the wind was blowing west.  But it was gorgeous, and the temps were not too high. So we pushed against the pedals, and the wind pushed against us.  If you look at the map you can see we had some brief lovely breaks from the constant wind, just enough to allow us to rest, and the day went by as days like this do.  Slowly but steadily.

Want to ride a tandem, don’t have a partner?  Build one!

Not only did this town have a bitching Camero, but they also have a tradition of tossing toilets for distance.  Not a plastic toilet, but a real deal porcelain throne.  It seemed unlikely a bunch of tired cyclists was going to beat the town record, so we didn’t even try.  If we had though we would have gotten a free t-shirt.  Oh Iowa.

There was also this dapper gentleman, a bold fashion choice indeed.  He rode the entire day in the sun like this.  I am guessing it had something to do with the fact that his entire crew were drinking “special” water bottles that looked to my untrained eye an awful lot like rot gut.

100 miles later the wind no longer had anything to push against, because my ass was done pedaling. Tired and HUNGRY I rolled into camp, set up the tents, and found myself something made out of vegetables to eat.  After double helpings of some sort of noodle thing, some more ice cream, a cookie, a couple power bars, and some sort of smoothie I passed out feeling good.

Day 4: Forest City To Mason City.

It wasn’t even 40 miles…we laughed, we dawdled, we spent a lot of time lounging, it was a good time.

There were big ass wind turbines!

And Kittens!  I named the grey one smokey, and the black one Beelzebub.

Pikachu made an appearance.

And of course ice cream!

Even though the millage was the shortest of the week, we spent the most time on the road.  Mostly having fun and goofing around.

Day 5: Mason City to Waverly.

Its a funny thing about Iowa, it will go from Flat as a pancake to hilly as hell in a moment. We went up, we went down, we went up again, and down again.  The same 300 feet of climbing and decent over and over again.  It was nice, the landscape was gorgeous, rolling hills, verdant greens everywhere.

The day went by in a blur of lovely vistas and big ass hills.  That night we camped in yet another soft and lovely field, we went to bed feeling lucky for yet another awesome day.  While we slept, clouds gathered, and winds increased.

Day 6: Waverly to Independence.

We woke up and it was cold, just barely 70.  We had been enjoying temps well into the 90’s even 100+ so 70 felt cold.  The sky was black and ugly, like it had gotten into a fight the night before and was bruising.  The wind tugged at our jerseys, and made taking our tent down hard.  We were going to catch a whoopin.

The maelstrom held off until about a mile outside the first town, and then it let fly with both barrels.  First the wind kicked up, and then the temp dropped.  It went from 75 to 59 in half an hour.  The rain started off fierce and only got worse.  Driven by 35 mph wind it hit you in the face with a significant force.  It felt like ice, even though it wasn’t frozen.  It stung and made you turn red.  The wind was blowing north, so we either got it full in the ear, or dead on in the face.  This was not pleasant, in fact, it was the opposite.

I had nothing on but a jersey and some shorts.  The moment I stopped for any reason my entire body started to shake with the shivers.  I actually took refuge in a Kybo (Iowa for porta-potty) just to warm up.  As the storm worked up its rage the winds got stronger, 35 mph with the rain, with gusts into the 40’s.  It would grab you and toss you around, like a bit of fluff.  Luckily at that point all the riders had spread so far out that you could get blown all over the road without hitting anyone else.

The corn was bent nearly sideways, and we had no choice but to move forward against the wind.  No one moved fast, and many didn’t move at all.  There were a lot of people waiting in each town for the SAG bus.  Each mile was a triumph of the will over nature.  Hands and fingers went numb, you could see your breath, it was cold and extremely windy, and the whole day was a grind.

I put my head on my handlebars, got as small as possible, and pushed for all I was worth.  The rain fell, the wind blew, and I creaked slowly across Iowa.  By the end I just wanted to go to sleep, but in an irony lost on no one, just as we pulled into camp the damn sun came out and the wind died down.  Nature had a good belly laugh at our expense, but at least we didn’t have to set up our tents in the rain.

The end town that day had a cool dam, bursting with all the rain we had gotten that day.  We had Chinese food for dinner, it was cheap…and surprisingly tasty.  Which might have been because we were dying of hunger, or because for some strange reason we had found good Asian food in the middle of Iowa.  I fell asleep in a heap, I don’t really remember much more than being tired to the bone.

Day 7: Independence to Guttenberg (Pronounce Gut-n-burg):

I awoke and found my bike to be strangely heavy.  When I titled it upright about 4 cups of water ran out of the frame.  It had been driven into it yesterday.  Once drained I started on the last day of riding.

The winds had blown, the rain had fallen, but Iowa had saved the best for last.  This part of the state is mind blowing-ly pretty.  There are actually trees, and the Amish have made many homes here.  We saw old fashion barns, and old fashion farming methods, and a whole crop of little Amish kids let out to watch us crazy folks in spandex ride by.  Each of them had the same exact hair cut, and each of them smiled and waved at us as we went by.

The first order of business for the day was WAFFLES!  All you could eat, 20 different kinds of syrup, fresh made whipped cream, and butter in a dispenser!

Nectar of the gods!  This man was making waffles so fast that even the line of hundreds was only taking up one row of his waffle empire. It wasn’t until another hundred or so people got in line the he fired up that back row. But each waffle was so big that you could really only eat two before giving up, so he kept the line moving at a rapid pace.

I saw a giant strawberry, in Strawberry Point.

An Iowa farm bicycle.

Some local political flavor.

And a whole heap of gorgeous rolling hills…oh right Iowa has hills.

To the untrained eye that might not look very hilly…but glance over to the right there.  See those ominous dips.  Those are some big ass hills.  There was 3k feet of climbing on this day, almost all of it in the last 5 miles.  The climbs were not so bad…it was the downhills that nearly killed me.  A fixed gear bicycle is great for riding in Boston, its relatively flat, not too much in the way of screaming madness inducing downhills…which is exactly what this part of Iowa comes standard with.

While screaming down the first of a series of three massive downhills a rather suicidal police officer informed me (while walking out into the middle of the street in front of hundreds of careening cyclists) that we could “slow down and take in the view.” So we did,with the help of the top layer of my brake pads, and some judicious swearing, we were not disappointed.

My aunt and uncle rode down the second hill with me and said that they were “afraid my legs would fly off and kill them both.”  We hit 50 mph for about 20 seconds, which is about 19 seconds longer than I ever want to move my legs that fast ever again. I actually had to pull over and rest after that downhill, it crushed all the life out of me, but in a good way.

We made it to the mighty Mississippi, and dunked our front wheels into it, symbolically and figuratively completing our trek from river to river (Missouri to Mississippi) that marks the start and end of every RAGBRAI.

I stayed with some Iowa friends that night and was treated to the best in vegetarian Midwestern culinary tradition.

Ramen noodles with coleslaw, au gratin potatoes with corn flakes, and ketchup, honestly it was all pretty damn good, but its still hard to be a veggy in meat land.

Then it was asleep in a tent for one more night, up with the dawn to fly out of the tiniest airport I have ever seen (gates 1,2, and 3 all shared the same door), to a larger plane, to a bus, to a train to my own bed again.  My poor bike only showed up a week later, having to suffer the indignity of traveling by UPS.

My fourth year in the corn was a memorable one, I am already planning for my 5th.

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RAGBRAI!!!

Its that time again, July will be here soon, and I will be off to the corn to pedal my humble bicycle several hundred miles through some very nice corn fields. Anyone else going?

Here are some gems from last year, Click below for all the pictures:

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RAGBRAI 2012 The Hell Of The Corn

Sometimes things hurts so good.

That feeling you get in your legs when you are climbing a big hill, or that burn when sweat drips into your eyes. These experiences are not fun…but they are rewarding. The suffering, the sweat, the tears, the ache, its all worth it when you look back and see what you have accomplished. Last year I decided to go on a 500+ mile ride on a fixed gear ride in the corn strewn lands of Iowa, I had so much that I decided to do it again this year.

This year was going to be a little easier, the rout was less hilly, I had better equipment, I knew a bit about what I was getting myself into. I felt prepared. Last year the part that really did me in was the hills, not so much going up them, but going down them. So this year I geared up a bit with the idea that the bigger gearing would allow me to spin less down the hills (went from 46×16 to 48×16). I also planned on eating better food, so that my body wouldn’t rebel against me the way it did last year. (for the record you can’t live on corn and fried Twinkies for a week without repercussions). Sure, last year was hot…my shoes melted, my shorts melted, my hat melted, hell the roads melted. I thought to myself “even if its hot again this year, it can’t be worse than last year…” Right?

The Arival

Flying into Iowa you get a good view of the territory, Iowa is basically one big grid, with REALLY big blocks. From the sky you could see the effect of the drought that has been ravaging the mid-west. Large patches of corn were yellow from lack of water, and some entire fields had been cut for silage and plowed. Last year the region had been destroyed by floods, this year drought, global warming seems to have only bad things in store for the farm belt.

As I transferred from large plane, to smaller plane, and eventually to bus I noticed that the number of people with helmets hanging off their bags grew and grew. The final plane to the start city was almost entirely Bostonians heading for RAGBRAI. New friends were made, and I even recognized some riders from town. Small world indeed.

This was RAGBRAI’s 40th year, and still to this day the entire thing seems to be run on a hand shake and a smile. I had emailed Lorane, she said to meet her at the airport to get on a bus, and damn if she wasn’t there with a clip board to take me to the start. I only had to say my name, boxes were checked and I was on my way. Every part of RAGBRAI seems to run this way, real people with good hearts and happy smiles. All week $10k carbon-fiber bikes are left leaning against walls, not a bike lock in sight. It might be the largest trust based economy of its kind.

POP! I have returned home to my people!

this lady had the best socks, even had capes.

new riders must be marked with “virgin” on each leg, thankfully not me this year.

All down hill from here!

Day 1: Sioux Center to Cherokee

After a lovely night of sleep in my tent. I awoke to a warm morning. It was 90 degrees before 9 am. A bad portent of what was to come. The heat only got worse as the day went on, around 10 the morning clouds burned off and it was like someone had turned on an oven. As soon as those clouds left that heat hit you like a truck, it was palpable.

It was hilly, but not so bad, and my new clipless pedals were much more effective at climbing, and my larger gearing was working on the downhill, but damn it was hot. The temperature just went up and up…and up. Soon it was over 100 degrees. Everyone had strong legs, and it was only 54 miles, but 54 miles in an oven is still 54 miles in an oven. Many times during the day I saw ambulances carting off people to get treated for heat exhaustion.

these people rode these things for the entire trip…

Day 2: Cherokee to Lake View

So it begins… While I slept Iowa had brewed up a nightmare and when I awoke it served it on a fine platter. It seemed like it never got cool, the only temperature available was hot, or hotter. More hills, more heat, and most demoralizing, the wind. Sweet Jesus the wind. 20+ mph head winds, all day…

People tried anything they could to escape the heat and the wind. Pace lines were common. If you got caught out by yourself you would quickly slow down to a snails pace, the ride taking on a punishing pace. The already wilting corn seemed to wilt just that much harder. The symphony of ambulances was louder on the second day, mostly because heat + wind were causing heat exhaustion in even very strong riders. I drank 2 water bottles every 6 miles and still was very dehydrated. The wind made it feel like the whole thing was uphill, and the heat just beat any fight you might have out of you. I was happy to roll into Lake View if only to stop moving.

dude did the entire thing on this, total animal. No joke he tore up and down every single hill, and every mile. Unstoppable animal.

Day 3: Lake View to Webster City

Hoooollllyyyy Shit. This day was without doubt the hardest day of riding I have ever done. I awoke at 6am to a blazing sun. It radiated waves of rage in big yellow heaps. The heat was pervasive, sinking into you and heating your core so that you felt hot all the way down. The heat would climb to 105+ degrees this day, the road surface was measured in some places at 140+ degrees. And that fucking wind. It pushed against you, tearing any motivation to move forward you might have had and replaced it with sorrow. Brutal, oppressive, demoralizing, humid suffering on two wheels.

And if that wasn’t enough today was the century loop day. I did it last year, and I was determined to do it again. People were talking about how this was the “hardest century route in RAGBRAI history.” A quick glance at the elevation map would show you that century route riders would face many big hills. What that map didn’t show you was that the scorching hot winds would be beating you down for 90 of those miles.

century fuel

By 10am the temp was over 100 and it would climb higher as the day went on. I heard someone mention that over 4,000 riders decided to take the SAG bus instead of ride. I started the day sweating and would end it doing the same. Karras himself (the man who the century loop was named after) was sitting under a tent welcoming riders to the century loop town. He was a man of some years and I worried for his health in the heat. Many many people went to the hospital for heat exhaustion. I heard rumors that there were some deaths.

this guy cranked that P-far up so many hills! It was truly amazing to watch. On the down hills he just took his feet off and coasted like a crazy person.

At the top of one hill, low on water I pulled over to buy some watermelon (they had run out of water, watermelon seemed the best available option). A younger woman pulled up behind me on her bike and let it fall below her as she stumbled towards the table. She seemed like she was about to cry, and looked very warm. I asked her if there was anyone she was riding with, she shook her head with her mouth scrunched up in the way people do when they are trying not to cry. I got her some watermelon and we talked for a bit (well I talked at her, she nodded, eyes shrink wrapped in tears). We talked about ice cream, and cold breezes and shade, about finding our power animals, and the pain cave. She drank and rested, the tears never came, the red flush faded a bit. She got her shit back together, thanked me, and with a smile I took off.

As I left I was nearly run down by an ambulance that was picking up the lady laying next to the truck at the watermelon stand. She had passed out while riding. The signs of people falling apart were all around me as I decided to push forward through an extra 20 miles of this hell-scape.

The turn for the loop is marked by blue arrows (they use red for everything else), and it felt momentous to be committing myself to such a task. It was a point of no return, and the dramatic thinning out of riders was clear immediately. You get so used to being surrounded by thousands of cyclists that it felt lonely to suddenly be surrounded by only a couple dozen.

There was no escaping the wind now. I was on my own. I put my head nearly on my handlebars and began to slowly plow through the hot wind. Words fail you. The brutality of it is pervasive. Meditative even. You keep pushing and after a while your mind empties out and all you can focus on it is pushing each pedal down. The miles seem to take on a life of their own, stretching out time and slowing existence down. Just…keep…moving.

Getting my century loop patch was done in a haze, I got it, took a picture of Karras, then back on my bike for more miles. I was worried that if I stopped they would have to bury me in the corn.

Karras himself, still tough after all these years.

This was ironically the day I met the most cool people. Because it was so bad you had to team up with people to escape the crazy wind. I met 3 guys riding fixed gears out of Chicago (we had a mini fixed gear pace line for a while), 2 awesome bike kids from Columbus, who I would end up running into and riding with for the rest of the week, and innumerable other riders seeking solace behind any back broad enough to catch a draft from.

At one point I spent what felt like an eternity slowly grinding out miles, only to turn around and see that 14+ riders had been drafting me for who knows how long. They had seen me grinding out there alone in the wild corn, and had hitched a ride the best they could (I am not that big). I didn’t mind so much, any port in a storm. I would do my share of catching a ride that day as well.

Then there were the hills. Huge, long, daunting hills. With the addition of “real” cycling shoes this year the climbing was significantly easier. But nothing could prepare me for the down hills. Even my larger gearing was no help on one particularly steep and long down hill. You can’t coast on a fixed gear, so you basically have two options on the down hill, ride the brake (no fun), or take your feet off (dangerous). So mostly I would let go of the brake and spin to win. The problem is I can’t really move my feet much faster than say 55 mph, and at that speed only for a little bit. I nearly lost it on one large down hill that tested my ability to the limit, I was so close to spinning out that I am still not sure how I made it.

Inside your head at these moments you make devils bargains. You say things like “come on legs just a little faster” and you fervently hope that you can actually fulfill your end of the bargain. You go faster and faster until your legs look like a blur. You grit your teeth and swear and frothy spit is flying from your mouth and you are sure that at any moment your legs are going to give up and you will end up all over the ground. You try to keep your upper body loose so that your legs meet no resistance from your core muscles on their mad dash. And just as you are about give up, as you run out of air, as you see the edges of your vision go dark, you are heading up the other side of the river valley and your legs are slowing down. You’ve made it. The slow methodical climb, while much more physically brutal, is so much more psychologically comforting that you start to love it, and before you know it you have climbed all the hills.

The end of the day found me passed out in a heap in my tent, falling asleep so fast that I almost burned up on reentry.

Day 4: Webster City to Marshalltown

Another long hot day, but blissfully the winds had calmed a bit. I started the day by drinking two water bottles before I even got on my bike. I was sweating taking down my tent. It was 85 by 9am, and the heat would rise to the high 90’s. Luckily for everyone there were a plethora of towns to stop at, providing shade, water, and ice cream. My diet was much better this year, avoiding the worst fried food, and being much most selective about what I ate and when. My body was much happier with me. With a supplement of fruit, and bean burritos from the grocery store I was actually feeling pretty good.

You get a lot of strange reactions to doing RAGBRAI on a fixed gear. Lots of people want to know how many gear inches you have, or what your ratio is, or most commonly “Are you crazy!” But one man asked me “Is that a peloton bike!” In my head I quickly translated and said “yes this is a fixed gear.” He then said “Hey honey check this guy out he is on a peloton bike!” His wife then rode over and observed me, and made an excited face. We then reached a hill and as is my method (mash up, bomb down) I took off up the hill and the guy screamed “Tremendous leg strength! Tremendous!!” For the rest of the week that was a running joke in our group, any time anyone did anything they had “TREMENDOUS LEG STRENGTH, TREMENDOUS!”

its been dry in Iowa this year, real dry.

That night the sky suddenly started to flash, and before we knew it we were surrounded by a boiling cauldron of lightning and thunder. It blew in so fast that we hardly had time to scramble into our tents before high winds threatened to pull them away from us. Some people said later that the winds were gusting up to 60mph. My tent was bending down to give me wet kisses as the storm raged outside. It was hectic and wild, and the sky was alive with the static of hundreds of lighting bolts. It was a good old fashion Midwest thunder boomer! Just like I remembered from childhood. The best part being that after the storm left the temperature dropped roughly 20 degrees. Sweet sweet relief.

this guy and dog were so damn cute, that I had to sneak a picture, this little guy rode with his owner the entire ride.

they have a merry go round!

I think its going to rain…

Day 5: Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids

Bring out the hills! I remember this part of the state from last year. The endless rollers, the big ones, the little ones, HILLS! If anyone ever tells you that Iowa is flat, smack them right in the face. Be sure to do it quick so your hand connects with their face right as they are done making the “T” sound.

Breakfast! The first rule of RAGBRAI, if you see a line get in it.

But who cares! It was cool! That damn wind had stopped! The hell of the corn washed away by an angry storm to reveal a beautiful lovely Iowa wonderland. It was a long day, almost another century, but everyone seemed full of energy and happy. Beers that had been forgone before because of the danger of dehydration were imbibed, ice cream was eaten, and much joy was had by all!

Cedar Rapids went all out.

I ran into my Columbus friends again and we rode together. They were fast and it was a joy riding with people who love to ride bikes. There were light breezes and gentle sunshine, the joy of riding had returned. The day seemed to pass too quickly, almost as if we ran out of road before we had fully enjoyed our ride. I realized that RAGBRAI was coming to an end and I wasn’t ready to return to the real world yet. I would stay up very late this night trying to cram as much fun as possible into my week. Totally worth it.

Parking

We stayed out late…this picture makes total sense if you were there. Two words, “Lasagna Shapes”…

Day 6: Cedar Rapids to Anamosa

The shortest day of the week, but ironically the one that I spent the most time out on the road. We all knew it was going to be an easy day. We got up late (6:45am), took our time at every stop, had the most fun possible, and enjoyed the fine fine weather. In was beautiful and we tried to take our time and enjoy it. The heat behaved, the wind behaved, it was glorious. I met up with a friend I had made last year on the ride, and got some good riding in.

I saw a geekhouse on the ride!

Gorgeous for miles!

Chalk! I drew a mermaid.

I went to bed thinking “wow that was a really good day”

Day the last: Cedar Rapids to Clinton

The last day of RAGBRAI is always kind of strange. There are less vendors, the party atmosphere is diminished, and in general people are just riding to the end to get onto busses, planes, trains, and heading home. My Columbus friends had to be on a bus by 2pm, so I told them I would pace line with them to help get them there on time. We started early and got a good head start, around 11am we got a little cocky “We are so far ahead! Lets take a break and get some ice cream!” Well a ten minute stop turned into an hour long one, and before you know it we had to go 40 miles in two hours…whoops.

Jumping on our bike we began pedaling. We quickly became a three person machine. Three strong riders who know what to do and love to do it. We kept the pace above 21 mph, rotating the front if they fell below that critical number. We were like a swiftly moving snake, elegantly moving around and through all obstacles. Many people tried to get on our tail, and all of them were thrown off. Each time it was my turn to pull at the front I tried to get my tiny frame as upright as possible to provide a good draft for the people behind me. They needed the rest as we were each giving our all on the pulls.

The goal was speed, and speed was achieved. We were flying! It actually felt like we were winged creatures. Going that fast for that long just makes you feel alive and free in a way few other things can. Only Iowa provides the 40 miles of straight line nothing that you need to really crank out some serious miles. Our average speed varied between 21 and 26 mph for the entire 40 miles. It was the perfect end to a 550+ mile week.

Clinton was a snarl of traffic, pedestrians, and cyclists. It was just like being home! I took the lead and carved us a line right to the bus station, we arrived sweaty with giant smiles on our faces. High fives were exchanged by all. It was just so much fun to be able to go fast and not have a single red light or stop sign for 40 miles! We got there with 10 minutes to spare, everyone got on their bus safe and sound. I will miss those kids.

Because I rushed the ending I had a while to wait for my teammates to catch up. I sat next to the Mississippi and watched the endless hoard of cyclists come and dip their front wheel into the mighty river. The custom being you start by dipping your back wheel in the Missouri, and then ride across to dip your front in the Mississippi.

The endless parade of cyclists dipping, and then often holding up their bikes for pictures gave me a bitter sweet enjoyment. The week was over. I was already dreading the idea of a week where I didn’t get to ride my bike every day all day. I began to plan great things, like brining a touring bike on RAGBRAI next year, and instead of stopping at the Mississippi, just keep riding all the way back to Boston…the corn plants ideas in your mind.

I was tired…really tired. We dipped our wheel, got in our cars, and drove to Indiana, or maybe Illinois, or the dark side of the moon…who knows. I was awake and asleep at the same time. We set up our camp, and while I remember there being conversation all I really recall is having the most wonderful shower, and then passing out.

Day 8 return home.

4am, time to get up and drive to Grand Rapids, fall asleep. 1pm, get on your plane, fall asleep. 2:35pm Cleveland, sit awake, but asleep 5 feet from the gate you are supposed to catch your flight home on. Awake sleep through the boarding, awake sleep through the calling of your name, awake sleep through your plane leaving without you. 2:40pm wake up from your awake sleep, realize you have missed your flight. 2:50pm Paulette you lovely woman thank you for getting me a way home, fall asleep. 4pm get on a plane to LaGuardia, fall asleep. 5:30pm arrive in LaGuardia, immerse yourself in the massive shit show that is New York. Run to your plane, straight up sprint to your plane. Exit security, enter security, get your bag examined because of your multi-tool, run some more. 5:50 pm get on a flight to Boston, see the most beautiful clouds you have ever witnessed, fly through them like an earth sized cathedral, fall asleep. 7:00pm arrive home, get on a bus, get on a train, get on another train, walk home, sit in bed realizing you can’t sleep and that you deeply miss Iowa already.

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Leaving For The Corn

I will be leaving early tomorrow, and will be riding all next week. So you will only get intermittent updates from me from my phone…don’t break anything while I am gone! Ha ha.

If you are going to be in Iowa next week, especially if you are going to be doing RAGBRAI drop me a line ([email protected]) and let me know. We can meet up some place on the ride.

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