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.
