Ragbrai -- 2010
Ragbrai was great, if you consider riding 500 miles in 7 days ‘great.’ –
Here’s a synopsis…
- Sunday, the first day, 72+ miles and reasonably pleasant weather
- Monday, the second day, 81 miles and ‘ok’, (this is the day I ‘began’ to
develop a hot spot or two on my fanny.)
- Tuesday, the third day, 63 miles, arguably the hottest I’ve been since I
got out of the Army – heat index: 110 (not a typo.)
- Wednesday, the fourth day, 55 miles, not bad, kinda pleasant. (Fanny blisters started to bleed.)
- Thursday, the fifth day, 83 miles, a new personal record for me; i.e., I’d never ridden 83 miles in a pelting rain before (took my mind off the blisters.)
- Friday, the sixth day, 63 hard miles, -- dry, clean, clear, even a bit cool. (I decided to ignore my blisters, ‘blank’-‘em.)
- Saturday, the last day, 55 miles, hot, hilly, (there was a 17 degree-incline hill climb) – but, GOING HOME!!
So why do Ragbrai-ers do it? Right?? – I don’t know. Maybe the pie, certainly the ice cream, most definitely the friendships and camaraderie. This was my ninth one, I guess I’ll keep doing them till I’m dead, (or maybe just for the pie.)
This kind of explains it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJE25jtaoi8&feature=fvsr
==
Coupla other things, one member of our group rode additional miles every day -- so he could get 100 miles EACH day… that’s seven 100-mile days in a row; (think about it.) Oh yeah, he’s 69 years old… (NS!)
Another member of our group rode home after Ragbrai was over… ‘Home’ was in Ohio, 750 miles away… He’s a youngster of 68… (just saying…)
Come join me next year!!
“Roll on, Ragbrai”
Here’s a synopsis…
- Sunday, the first day, 72+ miles and reasonably pleasant weather
- Monday, the second day, 81 miles and ‘ok’, (this is the day I ‘began’ to
develop a hot spot or two on my fanny.)
- Tuesday, the third day, 63 miles, arguably the hottest I’ve been since I
got out of the Army – heat index: 110 (not a typo.)
- Wednesday, the fourth day, 55 miles, not bad, kinda pleasant. (Fanny blisters started to bleed.)
- Thursday, the fifth day, 83 miles, a new personal record for me; i.e., I’d never ridden 83 miles in a pelting rain before (took my mind off the blisters.)
- Friday, the sixth day, 63 hard miles, -- dry, clean, clear, even a bit cool. (I decided to ignore my blisters, ‘blank’-‘em.)
- Saturday, the last day, 55 miles, hot, hilly, (there was a 17 degree-incline hill climb) – but, GOING HOME!!
So why do Ragbrai-ers do it? Right?? – I don’t know. Maybe the pie, certainly the ice cream, most definitely the friendships and camaraderie. This was my ninth one, I guess I’ll keep doing them till I’m dead, (or maybe just for the pie.)
This kind of explains it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJE25jtaoi8&feature=fvsr
==
Coupla other things, one member of our group rode additional miles every day -- so he could get 100 miles EACH day… that’s seven 100-mile days in a row; (think about it.) Oh yeah, he’s 69 years old… (NS!)
Another member of our group rode home after Ragbrai was over… ‘Home’ was in Ohio, 750 miles away… He’s a youngster of 68… (just saying…)
Come join me next year!!
“Roll on, Ragbrai”
"Ragbrai" (bike ride across Iowa) -- 2009
Welp, it’s over… a week of riding my bike through the cornfields and towns in Ioway. It started on Sunday, 7/19… and ended on the following Saturday. Iowa’s an interesting state, the corn-fed citizens over there are inherently wholesome, honest, warm, and funny. If you’ve never ‘done’ Ragbrai before, well… you don’t get it. If you have, - you know in your heart-of-hearts you gotta go back. Ragbrai is the ultimate masochistic event. You ride your bike 500 miles… it’s alternately hot / hilly / cold / rainy / windy / stormy / hard, and L-O-N-G!
Camping and sleeping in tents enhances the pain (pleasure??) – I don’t know for sure, but Ragbrai has *something* - something magic in it. Maybe it’s the childhood experience of riding your bike again; a re-gaining of youth, if you will. Maybe it’s the simplicity of it – going simply from point-A to point-B, day after day in an extremely complex world. Then again, maybe it’s friends and smiles I only get to see once a year… I miss those Ragbrai folk. I miss their kindnesses, caresses, tender words and hearty ‘bon homme’. I miss the stories, the experiences, the ‘tales’ of adventure on long, lonely bike trails. (I also miss the ice cream.)
To me, a big part of the attraction is the ‘affirmation’ of it. My next birthday I’ll be 65. I do R’brai because I want to make sure I’m still here, that I can still hack it. If that doesn’t make sense to you… don’t worry, wait till YOU get in your sixties and you’ll see how important it is to still feel vital, strong, and ‘in-your-face’ alive and fit. I had a heart attack in ’05, then a mild cancer scare in ’08… A lot of my friends have already gone down “the trail” before me. - These days I can j-u-s-t barely hear some soft, distant hoof-beats way in the distance behind me. I don’t have the nerve to look back and see who it is… I’m too afraid I KNOW who it is. – So, I ride my bike… every year… faster and faster… just out of reach of some chilly fingers that are trying to reach out and grab me. I told my wife, friends, family… and most importantly, myself, “I will not go gently into the night.” I know I have a promise to keep, (you do too, by the way); I just want to postpone it for a while longer. So I ride my bike.
Here’s the quick synopsis:
Day 1: -- 52 miles, -- a gift really… cool, comfortable, refreshing.
Day 2: -- 72 miles, -- a HARD, HILLY day; it rained too…
Day 3: -- 77 miles, -- ditto, but even harder on every count
Day 4: -- 44 miles, -- the Ragbrai organizers threw this in to make up for the previous
two days (read: guilty conscious)
Day 5: -- 77 miles, -- ahem… back to the grind… this time, for REAL.
Day 6: -- 75 miles, -- should be titled: “Just in case you didn’t get enough yesterday.”
Day 7: -- 44 miles, -- Hey, going home… downhill all the way into Burlington, IA and the
Mississippi River.
(Trust me, the ice cream is worth it)
Camping and sleeping in tents enhances the pain (pleasure??) – I don’t know for sure, but Ragbrai has *something* - something magic in it. Maybe it’s the childhood experience of riding your bike again; a re-gaining of youth, if you will. Maybe it’s the simplicity of it – going simply from point-A to point-B, day after day in an extremely complex world. Then again, maybe it’s friends and smiles I only get to see once a year… I miss those Ragbrai folk. I miss their kindnesses, caresses, tender words and hearty ‘bon homme’. I miss the stories, the experiences, the ‘tales’ of adventure on long, lonely bike trails. (I also miss the ice cream.)
To me, a big part of the attraction is the ‘affirmation’ of it. My next birthday I’ll be 65. I do R’brai because I want to make sure I’m still here, that I can still hack it. If that doesn’t make sense to you… don’t worry, wait till YOU get in your sixties and you’ll see how important it is to still feel vital, strong, and ‘in-your-face’ alive and fit. I had a heart attack in ’05, then a mild cancer scare in ’08… A lot of my friends have already gone down “the trail” before me. - These days I can j-u-s-t barely hear some soft, distant hoof-beats way in the distance behind me. I don’t have the nerve to look back and see who it is… I’m too afraid I KNOW who it is. – So, I ride my bike… every year… faster and faster… just out of reach of some chilly fingers that are trying to reach out and grab me. I told my wife, friends, family… and most importantly, myself, “I will not go gently into the night.” I know I have a promise to keep, (you do too, by the way); I just want to postpone it for a while longer. So I ride my bike.
Here’s the quick synopsis:
Day 1: -- 52 miles, -- a gift really… cool, comfortable, refreshing.
Day 2: -- 72 miles, -- a HARD, HILLY day; it rained too…
Day 3: -- 77 miles, -- ditto, but even harder on every count
Day 4: -- 44 miles, -- the Ragbrai organizers threw this in to make up for the previous
two days (read: guilty conscious)
Day 5: -- 77 miles, -- ahem… back to the grind… this time, for REAL.
Day 6: -- 75 miles, -- should be titled: “Just in case you didn’t get enough yesterday.”
Day 7: -- 44 miles, -- Hey, going home… downhill all the way into Burlington, IA and the
Mississippi River.
(Trust me, the ice cream is worth it)
Ragbrai -- 2004
“Iowa is not flat, Iowa is not flat.” That was the refrain I repeated to my fiancé, Cecelia, as I chugged up some of Iowa’s hills. True, there were plenty of miles-long flats on the 2004 RAGBRAI route, probably more flats than hills. But there were some steep, long, “sumbitch” hills. Ragbrai has a reputation as a Mardi Gras on wheels, and every town along the route closed off its Main Street and set up booths selling food, souvenirs, and beer.
The route changes every year; and this year, it was 490 miles. There were 12,000 cyclists, from every state and from a dozen or more foreign countries. RAGBRAI has a reputation as being a ride where you hang out, see the small towns, meet people, and “pig-out” on food. The daily rides ranged in distance from 62 to 78 miles, and the scenery was truly spectacular. Admittedly, there are no Grand Canyons or Pike’s Peaks or Mount Rushmores; but there are plenty of rolling hills with sleepy silos off in the distance, where corn and soybeans are ruffled by the breeze. The only disturbing thing about the landscape was seeing pro-Bush campaign signs on people’s lawns, not as infrequently as I would have liked.
On the third day, I rode with my “troops”, Chuck Regan and Tom Sorensen. Early in the morning, we came into Eagle Grove, Iowa, - where there was a beautiful classic car parked in practically every driveway. Food was never difficult to find – there were roadside vendors who set up every day of the ride and had acquired a reputation for "American-quality" food:- Mr. Porkchop, - Pastafari, - Farm Boys Breakfast Burrito, - Cup-A-Joe, - Gimme a Sammich, and my personal fave… Beekman’s Homemade Ice Cream. Actually, these were fairly sophisticated operations that served thousands of cyclists on the fly every day. To the contrary, however, were the church-suppers in the evening, which seemed to serve only mediocre, somewhat leathery roast beef – or spaghetti. (Yuck)
The campsites were usually big fields out in the open – a ball-field, high school yard or state park. In Onawa, we were at the county fairgrounds, sandwiched between a horse track and railroad tracks, with lonesome locomotives wailing every other hour. In Lake View, we were at a state campground on a lake. Fort Dodge found us on a grassy lawn outside the high school football stadium, and Iowa Falls found us on a rugby field a good two miles out of town. In Marshalltown, we camped on the grounds of the Iowa Veterans Home. In Maquoketa, we were on the back lawn of Maquoketa High. In Clinton, we were next door to the Y. (To this day, when I see open fields, I wonder how many RAGBRAI tents could fit there.)
The weather was better than anyone could have imagined. Iowa was having a cool, wet summer. The first several days were bright, sunny, cool and dry, which made the riding easy and fun. According to a bank time-and-temperature sign we saw in Onawa, the temperature at 6:30 a.m. was 50 degrees; which was hard to imagine for Iowa in July. Thursday however, it started raining. It rained every morning, the rest of the week. My survival strategy was to stop, have a “serious” cup of coffee, and let the caffeine propel me forward at a fast enough pace to stay warm. That worked great until we hit a two-mile stretch of what would have normally been dirt road, but that day was -- mud! Everyone looked like they had done a particularly nasty mountain-bike ride. Iowans, true to form, set up signs offering the use of their garden hoses to wash off.
Clinton - was the last town. The route weaved its way through downtown, and I couldn’t help thinking of Paul Robeson singing “Old Man River,” since I was about to visit the majestic Mississippi River once again. I sang a verse or two out loud. “Body all achin’ and racked with pain” – that certainly described the state of my butt. Really, it was a wonderful moment, though tinged with sorrow, as a great week was coming to an end. -- If any of you reading this think it would be a good idea to do RAGBRAI, you’re absolutely right! Please DO train for it, and make sure your shorts don’t chafe, or else your butt, too, will be:- "all achin’ and racked with pain." And don’t forget to say “hi”. Wave to Tammy, and Pete, and Chuck, and Tom, and Cecelia, and Bill, and…well, any other RAGBRAI riders you meet. And, just once, have a large cup of Beekman’s Ice Cream and see how it feels to ride your bike the RAGBRAI way.
The route changes every year; and this year, it was 490 miles. There were 12,000 cyclists, from every state and from a dozen or more foreign countries. RAGBRAI has a reputation as being a ride where you hang out, see the small towns, meet people, and “pig-out” on food. The daily rides ranged in distance from 62 to 78 miles, and the scenery was truly spectacular. Admittedly, there are no Grand Canyons or Pike’s Peaks or Mount Rushmores; but there are plenty of rolling hills with sleepy silos off in the distance, where corn and soybeans are ruffled by the breeze. The only disturbing thing about the landscape was seeing pro-Bush campaign signs on people’s lawns, not as infrequently as I would have liked.
On the third day, I rode with my “troops”, Chuck Regan and Tom Sorensen. Early in the morning, we came into Eagle Grove, Iowa, - where there was a beautiful classic car parked in practically every driveway. Food was never difficult to find – there were roadside vendors who set up every day of the ride and had acquired a reputation for "American-quality" food:- Mr. Porkchop, - Pastafari, - Farm Boys Breakfast Burrito, - Cup-A-Joe, - Gimme a Sammich, and my personal fave… Beekman’s Homemade Ice Cream. Actually, these were fairly sophisticated operations that served thousands of cyclists on the fly every day. To the contrary, however, were the church-suppers in the evening, which seemed to serve only mediocre, somewhat leathery roast beef – or spaghetti. (Yuck)
The campsites were usually big fields out in the open – a ball-field, high school yard or state park. In Onawa, we were at the county fairgrounds, sandwiched between a horse track and railroad tracks, with lonesome locomotives wailing every other hour. In Lake View, we were at a state campground on a lake. Fort Dodge found us on a grassy lawn outside the high school football stadium, and Iowa Falls found us on a rugby field a good two miles out of town. In Marshalltown, we camped on the grounds of the Iowa Veterans Home. In Maquoketa, we were on the back lawn of Maquoketa High. In Clinton, we were next door to the Y. (To this day, when I see open fields, I wonder how many RAGBRAI tents could fit there.)
The weather was better than anyone could have imagined. Iowa was having a cool, wet summer. The first several days were bright, sunny, cool and dry, which made the riding easy and fun. According to a bank time-and-temperature sign we saw in Onawa, the temperature at 6:30 a.m. was 50 degrees; which was hard to imagine for Iowa in July. Thursday however, it started raining. It rained every morning, the rest of the week. My survival strategy was to stop, have a “serious” cup of coffee, and let the caffeine propel me forward at a fast enough pace to stay warm. That worked great until we hit a two-mile stretch of what would have normally been dirt road, but that day was -- mud! Everyone looked like they had done a particularly nasty mountain-bike ride. Iowans, true to form, set up signs offering the use of their garden hoses to wash off.
Clinton - was the last town. The route weaved its way through downtown, and I couldn’t help thinking of Paul Robeson singing “Old Man River,” since I was about to visit the majestic Mississippi River once again. I sang a verse or two out loud. “Body all achin’ and racked with pain” – that certainly described the state of my butt. Really, it was a wonderful moment, though tinged with sorrow, as a great week was coming to an end. -- If any of you reading this think it would be a good idea to do RAGBRAI, you’re absolutely right! Please DO train for it, and make sure your shorts don’t chafe, or else your butt, too, will be:- "all achin’ and racked with pain." And don’t forget to say “hi”. Wave to Tammy, and Pete, and Chuck, and Tom, and Cecelia, and Bill, and…well, any other RAGBRAI riders you meet. And, just once, have a large cup of Beekman’s Ice Cream and see how it feels to ride your bike the RAGBRAI way.
Ragbrai -- 2003
This year, RAGBRAI started in Glenwood and followed a southern route through Shenandoah, Bedford, Osceola, Oskaloosa, Bloomfield, Mount Pleasant, and ended at Fort Madison. We rode 7 days and camped 7 nights, including Saturday night in Glenwood. R’brai is a phenomenal ride -- bikers ahead of you, bikers behind you, all day long, anywhere on the route. Iowans treated us and greeted us all along the route. There were fund raisers all along the way, and I think I spent about twice as much as I had planned on. Many places advertised free Kybos. (if you have no clue as to what a Kybo is, it's a 'port-a-potty'.) I rode with “Pork Belly Ventures”. We have become somewhat of a “family”, with everyone looking forward to seeing their favorite “Porker” each succeeding year. A good group provides encouragement and support. Support as in - transportation to the starting city and back from the finish. Support in terms of having a good place to pitch your tent every night. Support as in getting us close to food and drinks and carrying our baggage.
Ragbrai -- 2002
It's the 30th anniversary this year. We cycled from Sioux Center in the west, to Bellevue in the east; covering 480 miles in a week. This year’s weather was very good, with the exception of the last day, (which I'll get to.) The ride started hot, but then we were in between storm fronts with cooler, overcast skies and rain only at night. We also experienced tailwinds, headwinds, and 2 miles of gravel. After last year’s longest, hilliest route ever; the route this year was made to please.- Day 4 was “9-11 Tribute Day.” Red, white, and blue was everywhere. Many town's streets had U.S. flags for their entire length. A huge banner filled with RAGBRAI signatures was sent to the NYC fire stations. I was in Rudd, Iowa when I was startled by a F-16 fighter roaring by overhead. That night in Charles City, we had an excellent program of fireworks and nostalgia. The next day, we saw the “Little Brown Church in the Vale”. This church is probably runner-up only to ‘Vegas in marriages. DAY 6’s route was smooth, flat, and tending downhill. It was also - fast!! - All day! We breezed into Anamosa, past the home of artist Grant Wood, famous for his “American Gothic” painting. -- THEN, there was “day-7” - It rained all night. Everyone slept in; it kept on raining. We slowly got ready - it kept on raining; finally, people began to ride off; (still raining.) My brother and I left.-- I have never ridden in rain that hard. Water ran down through my helmet and inside my eyewear, into my eyes; down through my clothes, through my underwear, and into my shoes. It was actually more helpful to have no eyewear. It rained more than 2 inches in two hours of riding. Strangely, by 11:00 am, it cleared, turned into an excellent day, and we cruised down to the Mississippi River.
Ragbrai -- 2001
About 10,000 riders choked Iowa's country roads. The range of riders was amazing. Quite a few looked like they had no business riding a bike 505 miles in a week. There were riders wearing thongs, loincloths, sawed-off jeans. They wore sandals, hiking boots, street shoes, knee-socks. Some guys were shirtless. Some women might as well have been. -- If you didn't have something like a plastic porpoise or cobra sticking out of your helmet, you were in the minority. Iowa isn't flat, and contrary to the popular putdown it isn't all cornfields; -- there are plenty of soy bean fields, too! Small towns are linked by a rolling ribbon of road that looks the same no matter where you're going. Now add an easterly headwind to slow the pace every single day. It blew so hard, at times I had to actually “gear-down” and peddle DOWN hill.-- RAGBRAI's final day was a short ride, only 49 miles into Muscatine on the Mighty Mississip'. People love RAGBRAI and do it for reasons besides the actual pedaling. RAGBRAI means: vacations, reunions, socializing, eating, drinking, partying, and tradition. For many people it's their life's greatest physical accomplishment. Perhaps the sign on the side of a bus summed it up best: "If you're not having fun, lower your standards."
Ragbrai -- 2000
The first day began at Council Bluffs, we assembled our bikes and pitched our tents amid thousands of others. The next morning we headed out en masse, and I mean masse. As far as you could see, ahead and behind, there were riders astride all manner of machines. Every state was represented along with 18 foreign countries. There were all ages and sizes: a 300-pound Dubuque hog farmer, a 90-pound Los Angeles grandmother, a 10-year-old boy from Cleveland. Navigating the route is simple enough; just follow the 5,000 people ahead of you. We camped mostly in small towns, overwhelming their parks and school athletic fields. It reminded me of locusts on the move, eating everything in sight (fortunately, there was an ample supply of food.) By 6:00 each morning, we’re gone again, and the thousands of tents are on the way to the next site. Every town has a theme. In one it was "Christmas in July"––its main street was decorated accordingly, and Santa and the populace turned out to wish the cycling hordes a Merry Christmas. Another town, decked with paper palm trees, was “Hawaii” for a day. We rode through Newton, of Maytag washing machine fame. I stopped at the town square to meet the "lonely Maytag repair man" but he was out to lunch - (probably spinning tales with the Whirlpool guy.)
Ragbrai -- 1999
Some people said the route of 530 miles was the toughest ever R’brai. I don’t know for sure… I WILL say this – you had to have your s**t together to complete it. The route was on the north side of the state and very rural. Of note was Wednesday evening in Clear Lake, Iowa; where we listened to “Vic and the Ferraris”. There was a fireworks display over the lake when the band took a break. Interestingly, Clearlake is where the music literally died, as in Don McLean's song, (American Pie.) This is where Buddy Holly, Richi Valens and the Big Bopper played their last gig in 1959, the night their plane went down in a cornfield a few miles outside of town. The town erected a beautiful monument to them in front of a spectacular 50's ballroom, which has pictures and newspaper articles all along a wall inside the cavernous building. -- On a personal note, I rode hard for 7 days, and had my best century-time (100 miles) ever, of 8 hours, 39 minutes, (with the help of a tailwind.) Thursday had a heat index of 122 degrees in Decorah. A lot of riders went to a movie theater simply for the air conditioning. We sweltered through the night in a stifling hot tent with no noticeable air movement outside. The next day is now referred to as “Fiery Friday”, the heat index went over 126 – Just like in ‘Vegas
