Post RAGBRAI Flashback: They Call Me Norman, Darlin'

As I tried to sleep the Sunday night before last, on my Therm-a-rest, on the floor in Harlan, surrounded by restless Golden Retrievers, my brain wouldn't shut down.  Instead, it started flashing back.  I'd close my eyes, and sort of feel asleep, but my brain would start flashing images.  My bike tire rolling in front of me and then, WHAM! 

Crack.  

Or, I am JRA behind the Mayor and R.D. and then, the Mayor turns around, and slows, and I can't slow, and then, WHAM!

Not sure where these crash-backs are coming from.  Hitting the crack back in 2010 did mess with my head for a good six months or so, but I got some help from our foundation, Crackstrong, and I haven't thought about it in a long time.

Thankfully, I didn't have any more crash-backs on RAGBRAI, perhaps because my brain was numbed by can after can of Colorado Cool-Aid.  

Post RAGBRAI, though, I've been having brief flashbacks, but they are more fun-backs, rather than traumatic.  I think RAGBRAI is just such an intense experience, my brain doesn't have time to process it all until months later (hence the annual January RAGBRAI recount).  

I had a bit of a flashback today.  I posted on the F.B. about our upcoming trip to Amsterdam and Belgium.  Later, Chris, our Tuesday driver and general-all-around-unicorn-turned-into-a-human-being, responded, with "Have a wonderful time Norman!"

"Norman."  Who is that beaver running up that tree?

It's me. It's me. 

Steven and the Mayor have been calling me Norman since who-knows-when.  The name came from the massive older brother of one of our debate team members.  I'd be chatting with Gary on the phone and his brother, Tiny, would get on the phone and demand to know who I was.  I'd say "Lauren," and he'd say, "Norman."  I guess they sound alike?  

Anyway, no one really calls me Norman, except for Steven and the Mayor who don't really call me anything else.  (Now, naturally, their Small One No. 1 calls me Norman, which melts my heart a bit.)  This despite the fact that my beaver-name is "Stormin' Norman."  (I couldn't think of anything else for my t-shirt).

Until now.  I am flashing back to riding up behind the Mayor and R.D. and the Mayor would always yell, "Norman!"  Or "Hi Normie."  

It didn't take long before I'd ride up and the R.D. would yell, "Norm!"

He has never called me Norm before!  Most people don't really call me anything.  No one uses my proper name, Lauren.  In grad school we all called one another by our last names, so I was "Rice."  The name carried through to my friends and co-workers in San Francisco after my pal Mac (short for McClelland) introduced me to everyone.  

(It was also surprising in Harlan when the Junior Varsity Beaver Squad called me "Normie."  I'd be coming out of the house and they'd yell my name in their sweet voices.  "Normie, please come on this crammed Jeep ride with us!")

That thought got me thinking about how else the Mayor has indoctrinated our little beaver-crew.  Now, when the Mayor is feeling especially mayoral, and he's had the Colorado Cool-Aid, and often when he wants something, he starts calling me, and other women, "darlin'."  

He's not exactly known for his affectionate pet names so the "darlin'" is always a bit jarring when it rolls off the Mayor's tongue.  Also, it usually means that I won't be getting my way.

Then, one afternoon we were sitting around and I am talking to the R.D. and he. freaking. darlin'-ing-ed me! 

Now, the R.D. is actually pretty good at affectionate pet names, but to hear both a Norman and a "darlin'" out of his mouth proved one essential point.

That Mayor is rubbing off on people.*

Anyway, that is a little RAGBRAI snack that probably wouldn't have made it into the January re-cap, but I thought you'd enjoy this little bit.  I think it illustrates how far into your brain RAGBRAI wiggles.  Soon, everyone is speaking a particular RAGBRAI-vernacular, mostly, created by the Mayor. 

*that is what she said.