Annnd, My 2014 RAGBRAI By the Numbers

Miles cycled: 418
Hours in bus to Rock Valley, IA: 10
Hours in bus from Guttenberg, IA: 5
Nights camping: 6
Nights in a farmers barn: 1
Slices of pie consumed: 9
Slices of pie offered en route: 436,904,317
Mr. Pork Chop pork chops consumed: 2
Mr. Pork Chop yells performed: 1
Maid Rite burgers consumed: 1
Beers consumed: 19
Iowa breweries represented in the above: 5
80s hair band concerts attended: 1
Toilets or tank lids tossed: 0
Derailleur adjustments: 3
Neck/shoulder adjustments: 2
Maximum downhill speed: 34.8 mph
Memories made: unlimited

Reflections on RAGBRAI 2014

Way back in the dark depths of winter, I decided that this is the year I would ride RAGBRAI, a ride that has been on my bucket list for a few years now. Why this year? 1) Flattest and one of the shortest routes in RAGBRAI history 2) Bicycle Illinois offered, for the first time, a charter service to and from the ride 3) a friend agreed to sign up with me.

Flash forward to July. My friend has sadly had to drop out. I've gotten in some training, not as much as I would have liked, but it did include a century. I have a new bike that is lighter than the Jamis. I'm excited, and nervous, and trying to nail down logistics while gathering and packing gear. And then suddenly it's time to go, and I'm on a bus to western Iowa with 34 other cyclists dozing off and on during the 10 hour drive.

Arriving in Rock Valley, IA I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. Where do I take my bags and set up camp? Where is food? Where do I find the guy buying my vehicle pass? There are a zillion people wandering around, some looking as lost as I feel; there are bikes and bags everywhere. Somehow I work it out, sell the pass, and find the guy from ND who registered with my group. Cool, I know someone now.

On Sunday I rose early and rode, with hordes of others, out of Rock Valley, through flags and people cheering, and I am moved to tears (for the first but not last time). I found that there's a lot of walking in towns, that everyone is cheerful, that some people are fast riders and others are not. I discovered that my bags are heavy and that I want to camp closer to the baggage truck. I discovered that there are lines for everything, and that it's okay because you talk and laugh and make (fleeting) friendships with the others in line.

My routine became: up by 4:45 am, rolling around 6 am, eat every 60-90 minutes after that - with so many food options why choose only one place? Instead I spread my eating across as many stops as possible - a pork chop here, a slice of pie there. The time I got to camp varied, but the routine did not: pitch the tent, shower, eat and drink, in the tent by 9 pm. The inside of the tent went from chaotically strewn bike gear to organized piles. By day 3 it smelled like a boy's locker room, or as one camper yelled to his friend, "my tent smells like ass and socks!"

There were people I looked for and never found, others I bumped in to randomly, and others I met and rode with for a few miles or for a day. I rode the century with a woman who was a kick-ass rider - she trained doing 300 miles a week! - and she had saved her first century for RAGBRAI. We had a great ride and enjoyed all the towns, and at the intersection at the end she accidentally clipped in and tipped over, knocking me down as well. She was very apologetic but I thought it was hilarious - 106 miles ridden that day, in crazy headwinds and heat, and we collide at mile 106. How very RAGBRAI.

We had beautiful weather most of the week, headwinds aside; temperatures stayed below 100F and even dropped in to the high 70s some days. The one day that we had bad weather was awful - storms in the morning, with dropping temperatures leaving many - including me - unprepared and underdressed in the wet, windy hours. The rain left but the wind remained, and we chugged on determinedly until the day became bright again and joy washed over the roads like a tidal wave.

On the last night I stayed in a farmer's garage with about 50 other riders, all of us sacked out on the concrete floor in 2 huge spaces. People started getting up at 4 am, quietly packing and preparing for a 68 mile ride with 3,000 feet of climbing - nothing compared to, say, the Tour de France, but many were concerned about having the energy after already having ridden 300+ miles. The farmer and his colleagues set out coffee, donuts and apples for us before we headed out, one by one, lights blinking in the pre-sunrise dark, merging in with other lights on the main route.

As we rode, stronger riders caught up; early riders stopped for breakfast and started again; and the numbers swelled. Large bunches formed and steadily moved eastward. We clogged towns as we had every day for the past week. We stood in line for kybos (portapotties). We nervously chatted about the hills coming up. We rode, calling out "car up," "car back," "rumbles" as we had every day. The hills came, and some riders nervously braked all the way down while others flew; some flew up them while others barely moved. But we all got through them and when the overlook appeared, with the view of the Mississippi, I began to cry - with pride in my accomplishment as well as with sadness that this crazy, awesome, trying, exhausting, exhilarating experience was coming to a close.

And it truly is all of those things at the same time, both within oneself and within the larger ride. Throughout the week, I discovered that there are indeed several RAGBRAIs going on. One was the one I left with every morning, serious riders getting on the road, pace lines whirring by me on the left; people stopped in towns then moved on. One was the ride we caught up with when we closed the Karras Loop - a loud, raucous party, riders dancing in the streets, beer tents jammed full. Another was the one I found the day I plowed past the first town and hung out at the beer garden, getting a massage then enjoying a couple of craft beers; riders hanging out for an extended break before moving on to the next leg. On any given day you can pick the one that suits you or make your own.

And to me, that is the beauty of RAGBRAI - it's a huge Venn diagram of 20,000+ circles - riders, drivers, vendors, town residents - all overlapping, some a little, some a lot. But we all connect for at least a moment in time, and that little connection enriches every single one of us.

Biking Makes Me Strong! Redux

Yesterday I rode in the Tri State Tour, from Hammond IN to Kenosha WI. I did this same ride with Bill 3 years ago and I really have a soft spot for the ride as my first century.

This year, I was on my own. Very literally - I biked down to Hammond on Friday night to stay at the Super 8 (dear god never again! ugh). That meant packing all of my overnight and bike gear in a backpack, since the bike I was riding does not have a rack. I have no idea how much it weighed but it was heavy. Thankfully the ride has a gear check so I didn't have to ride to Kenosha with it!

So I woke up Saturday morning and rode on over to the start. There were 56 riders registered but several dropped out due to the weather forecast, which was calling for storms. The sky darkened as we waited for the start time and my phone told me there were lightning strikes nearby. Yay!

As we rode to Chicago, the skies opened. And poured down. And down. And down. After about 2 minutes, there was no point caring because we were so soaked. The water collected on the path, mud slid on to the path, and we rolled through it all. When we hit the first rest stop I realized I was right behind the fastest group.

For the rest of the day, I was pulling in to rest stops as the leaders were still there. I was the only female I saw all day. The guys started joking with me that I was just there to mess with them; one guy I'd been riding with called me She-Ra. Another guy said I was challenging him to ride harder. I was pleased when they included me in the group leaving the last rest stop for the end.

Unfortunately I got a flat on the last leg - but 2 guys were kind enough to stay and help. When we reached the end, one guy egged me on to finish the century; we recruited a 3rd rider and were the only ones to finish it.

Even with the flat, this was my best ride yet. Not just the time or speed, but being able to pull and not just sucking wheel. Having done the same ride 3 years ago, I can really tell the difference; I can even see improvement from last summer. Which is really exciting.

I'm not that fast - I'd be in the slowest group on a club ride - but knowing I am getting better, and stronger, is wonderful. Biking makes me strong; biking more makes me stronger. 

"I Didn't See You!!!"

I am so fucking sick of that sentence.

Guess what the driver who hit me said? And the guy who doored me? (Along with "It's too late for you to be out") And the woman who doored my friend, and the guy who sideswiped another friend.

They all said the same thing.

Like it is an apology or an excuse.

NO.

It's an admission of guilt.

As you steer your 2000+ pound motorized vehicle down the public byway, one of your responsibilities is to watch for, see, and avoid other users of the street. Those users might be in a car, or on a motorcycle, or a bicycle, or a pedestrian. But it is YOUR JOB to not collide with them. There are multiple statutes and ordinances that address this responsibility; bottom line, you need to pay attention.

"I didn't see you."

Just admit you didn't bother to look, were on the phone, were texting, whatever. You failed your responsibility. You were steering a huge heavy piece of machinery without awareness of your surroundings. You were, in short, a fucking idiot.

Admit it.

Oh right, you already did.

See: Passing on left and right,exercising due care, the "right hook" (my fave), using a cell phone.

That One Time When I Was Hit By a Car

This is the first time I've discussed being hit by a car. My lawsuit against the driver settled a month ago, and I got the check this week. Until now, I didn't want to put that in jeopardy. But it's over and done, so here it is:

It was a bright, sunny August Sunday afternoon and I was biking home from the ABA Annual to meet Bridget for a movie. I decided to swing by a condo building my realtor had sent me a listing from  since I had some extra time. Heading up California, I turned right on Diversey.

I'm Hit!

As I headed east on Diversey, there was suddenly a large black car in front of and perpendicular to me, entering the on ramp to I-94 as I was crossing it.

I don't know what happened next.

I remember being in an elevator that kept stopping at different floors. The doors would open and someone would tell me, "No, not this floor" or "This is the wrong floor" and I would wait for the doors to close and for the elevator to go to another floor. That's what I remember, but I know that didn't happen.

Then I was on pavement, on hands and knees, my vision completely blurred and I thought "That fucker hit me so hard he knocked my contacts out!!!" I tried to think of how I could find my contacts. I tried to think. I stayed there, blinking, and my vision began to clear a little.

I remember jumping up and screaming "You fucker, you fucking hit me, I'm going to fucking kill you!" and running up the on ramp to the car. That's what I remember, but I know that didn't happen.

I realized I was in the middle of the road. I realized that was a bad place to be. I started crawling to the curb. How far is it, maybe 20 feet? I crawled and crawled and maybe I was kind of crouch-walking by the time I got to the curb. I don't remember for sure.

I was at the curb. My bike was there. My head hurt. A man was there asking if I was okay. I said "no, no, call 911." He was upset and asked if I was sure and I said "My head hurts, call 911, my head." And I sat and held my head. I thought it might explode if I took my helmet off; the back of my head throbbed violently. I sat on the curb and heard him call 911.

I sat there forever. I sat there for 10 minutes. Or was it 20? We heard a siren; it went the wrong way. It came back. A fire truck and an ambulance appeared.

Somehow I got my things from my bike - my pannier, my phone. My bike left on the fire truck.

My First Ambulance Ride

The paramedics talked to me. They asked if I blacked out and I said no. They asked if I remembered what happened and I said not really and told them what I remembered, seeing the car... then being on the pavement. They looked me over and shrugged. They asked if I wanted to go to a hospital and I said yes, my head hurts, it needs to be checked out, but I need the police to come.

They waited, they asked me to get in the ambulance, and I said the police need to come. Eventually they said, "Go now or we leave without you." I became upset - the police needed to come and file a report - they said they would come to the hospital.

I asked the driver who hit me for his license. He told me his name but it would not enter my head. I persuaded him to hand me his license and I stared at it, trying to read it, and  eventually was able to write down his name. Sometime - now? earlier? - I staggered up the ramp to his car and took a picture of the back of the car.

An SUV was parked on the other side of the ramp. I walked over and the driver's window came down. "I saw it all," the driver said, handing me a paper with his name and phone number. He said the driver passed him in the left lane then cut right in front of him to get on the ramp. And hit me. Later I saw that there were 2 calls to 911; the SUV driver must have called as well.

I got in the ambulance for my first ambulance ride in my life. They looked in my eyes and shrugged. I babbled about Natasha Richardson. The female EMT told me I shouldn't ride a bike in Chicago, it wasn't safe - I stared at her, angry and dumbfounded. I didn't make it not safe.

It occurred to me to text Bridget. It took me a long time to text her that I was hit by a car. I couldn't make the letters type correctly, I had to backspace and try again over and over. She asked if I wanted her to meet me at the hospital and I said "You don't have to" and she ignored me and said she was coming.

Hospital

I was in the ER. The woman asked me about my insurance, and I got the answer wrong, knew it was wrong, and then got it right. I had to fill out and sign forms. After all of the forms were done, I remembered the Road I.D. on my shoe and showed the woman. She admired it and the idea behind it. I wished I'd remembered it earlier, I wouldn't have had to answer so many questions. I took pictures of all of my scrapes and contusions.

Bridget came. I asked her if my one eye looked funny because it wasn't working very well; she said no, it looked fine. I got cold and someone gave me a blanket. A junkie was put in the bed next to me; he kept vomiting, and Bridget had to leave every time. I couldn't leave. My ass hurt and I think I said that every 30 seconds - I couldn't find  comfortable position on the bed.

I argued with the hospital about getting my head scanned. They didn't want to do it - too much radiation for too little reason. I said bullshit, Natasha Richardson, and I get more radiation from flying - scan me. The scan was fine. They wanted to x-ray my huge left knee bump and they did - no breaks.

Eventually I was discharged with a recommendation to see my own doctor in a few days. They sent me home with nothing - no pain meds, no ice packs, nothing.

Epilogue

My bike wasn't as beat up as I was. A coworker got it from the fire station for me.

I had to go to the police station to file a report, as the police never showed. The driver never got cited for any of the laws he broke when he hit me.

It was a good 2 weeks before my neck stopped hurting from the strain of holding my head up. My brain stopped feeling fuzzy after a week. The back of my head hurt longer, and I couldn't bike for a while because wearing a helmet hurt. I went to physical therapy for my neck, shoulder and arm for 6 weeks. I eventually went to physical therapy for my tailbone, for 2 1/2 months.

I still get headaches where the back of my head hit the pavement. And my tailbone, while better, is not good as new; sitting for long periods of time - a meeting, a flight - causes extreme discomfort.

But tonight, I destroyed the straps on my cracked helmet and threw it out. It was an emotional moment for me, symbolically closing that chapter in my life. I may not yet be whole, but I am strong, and I still bike.

Strength Through Biking

No, not physical strength, although that comes too. I'm talking about inner, emotional and psychological strength. This weekend was a great example of why I ride and how it makes me strong.

On Thursday, I felt terribly small and weak. A confrontation with an enraged driver left me scared, shaken, and afraid. Luckily, a friend had asked me to ride Critical Mass on Friday to give her emotional support to participate in the Underwear Ride. The timing could not have been better for my first Critical Mass. We joined numerous other bikers - I couldn't even guess how many - filling the streets with our bikes and our joy. Our joy was, for the most part, shared by onlookers and drivers who waved, cheered, and yelled "Happy Friday!" back to us. The rare irate driver was, for once, overwhelmed and powerless against the endless bikes. It was the slowest 14 miles I have ever ridden, but one of the most powerful rides I have ever been on.

Sunday was the Venus de Miles ride, an all-women ride with proceeds supporting the Greenhouse Scholars. Last year, their first year in Chicago, I participated and loved the energy of the all-female event. This year was just as fantastic. I discovered how physically strong I have gotten from my daily commute and was surprised by how many riders I was able to pass. A few times, I caught the rear of a group moving at a good pace, and would thank them at the rest stops. Toward the end, I managed to get between packs of riders and caught up to a woman rocking it out at a great pace and stuck to her wheel; another woman got on my wheel. At a red light we chatted and the lead woman asked who wanted to lead next. I said I would, but didn't think I was fast enough for her; she responded that she was going faster for me! So I pulled out and took the lead on the next leg. At the end, I bumped into her and her friend - who, funny enough I had met earlier in the ride - and we ate lunch together and exchanged contact information. I left the ride proud of my physical performance, which was so much better than I'd anticipated, and pleased to have met some very cool people.

That asshole from Thursday has nothing on me. The rest of the weekend reminded me that I am part of a huge, supportive community; that I have both the physical and mental stamina to knock out an awesome 67 mile ride; and that most of the people on this planet are pretty cool and friendly. Knowing all of that gives me an inner strength that can never be down for long.

Bike VA

So, this weekend I participated in Bike VA, a moving annual bicycle event. There's a week-long ride and a weekend option, and I (and my friend Robin) opted for the latter. The registration was pretty steep for a weekend, and the hills freaked me out, but it looked like a cool event.

Which it is - the people riding are awesome, and the countryside we biked through was utterly gorgeous. And while the hills did not stop me in my tracks as I expected, they really cut down on what I was able to do each day.

Exacerbating my physical challenges were the lack of appropriate support from the ride organizers. I was really bummed by the lack of nutritional food on the routes as well as the presence of only warm water, even though it was in the 80s. Going up those hills, I could feel my core temperature soaring, and every ride left me drenched. I started riding slowly in any shade I encountered.

Worst of all, as I looked at the short route the final day, there was no stop over 20 miles. None. No water station. The bike I was borrowing had 2 bottle holders, thank goodness, but when I opted to ride the 34 mile route and rolled in to the rest stop at mile 16, I had very little water left.

I did, however, have the excellent fortune to ride a demo bike from Specialized on Saturday. I Googled it after getting back to the B&B on Friday and panicked when I saw the price, terrified that I would wreck and inadvertently buy a $4800 bike. Yes. $4800. I did not wreck; in fact, I fell in love and if I ever win the lottery, will be buying that bike. It was a true dream to ride.

What did I learn over this weekend? I learned that sometimes, I truly underestimate my ability. That I am more of an athlete than I think. That I am insanely stubborn about getting things done, even the last 300 feet up a hill. That sometimes, you get what you pay for and sometimes you do not. And in the end, hanging out with amazingly cool people and flying down a hill on a bike can make everything else less of a big deal, at least for a moment.

Final Goodbye

Grieving over the loss of Dozy and saying goodbye has truly been a process, not an event. Each little thing is another goodbye, another flow of tears, another moment of grief. Getting the call to pick up her cremains; picking them up; deciding what to do with them; picking up each of her belongings and deciding what to do with each; taking things to donate them. Writing a blog post. Each action brings new sadness while at the same time, marking a step forward in grieving and moving on.

Last week I adopted an adorable pair of little furry dudes. I hadn't planned to adopt so soon, but they were so sweet and in need of a home, and it was so difficult to come home and be in an empty apartment every day. They brought life back to my home, and they make me laugh, and they keep me from wallowing in grief.  They also let me see how right my decision with Dozy was; watching their crazy antics helped me to see how much quality of life she had lost at the end. It's hard to see when you're in it, and they brought me a perspective I needed to be at peace with my decision.

Bringing home these two guys meant I needed supplies. Some of Dozy's things were already gone, some didn't suit them, and some they didn't care for. One thing they didn't care for is her heated bed - I guess young kitties don't need that quite yet! So today I finally washed the cover of her bed where she spent so much time in her last couple of months. I had no idea this little act was going to bring on so much pain; as I cleaned away the last signs of her physical presence, rinsing them down the drain, the tears poured down my face. This is it. She's truly gone, at least in the physical sense.

I will always miss her.

And even though this post is "Final Goodbye," it's not really. Dozy will always be in my heart.