86 Day 6 Wav to Ind: Deteriorating Conditions and Buggies!

We made some alterations

Eventually, the troopers killed the party under the pine trees and the beavers were roused from their drousing. We got back on the bikes and headed south. 

The next town was Olewein, but as you can see on the map Olewein was one of those towns they put on the map in order to make there be more miles. There was really no point in heading over there. We had just had a really nice, long stop, and we didn't need any methamphetamines.

Unless you are one of those freaks who wanted to be able to tell someone--should this hypothetical someone asks--that they rode every single mile of ragbrai. So, we made a team decision to give it the old "fuck it." 

Which was fine. We had some gloriously empty roads to where we met up with ragbrai again. 

Then, we found ourselves magically transported back in time. Someone old county road W13 was actually a time warp because the backdrop changed from tractors, trucks, and satellite dishes to draft horses, buggies, and bonnets. 

We were in the heart of Amish country and a prettier stretch of road, I couldn't have dreamed up. There were families, all in old timey clothes, out watching the cyclists ride by. Horses filled the fields, and the rows of overalls lined the clothes lines, big down to tiny. It was so freaking cool. 

So cool, in fact, I didn't spot to take any pictures. Ragby really does take you to some amazing places and there's nothing like seeing the world from bike speed. As we rode, we chatted with other cyclists, and waved to the children in the front yard. Suffice it to say, I was into it. I mean, I grew up a Laura Ingalls Wilder junkie, so this landscape porn! 

Eventually, we pulled away from the Amish farms, or maybe, I had to stop paying attention to them because the road became a cracked sh!t show. Not only was there a massive center crack, but there was also cracks scattered in both lanes. And because it was getting to be late afternoon, there were more cars on the road, forcing the cyclist into one lane. Apparently, the meth-Amish economy is not creating enough tax dollars for nice roads.

For someone with high levels of crackophobia, this was not my happy place. 

The fear increased as we passed an accident and the ambulances kept flying by. The sky was turning cloudy and gray.

Later the Mayor would tell a story of hitting a crack, feeling his wheels get stuck, then bunny hopping out of it. He can do that stuff, cause he's a bad ass. 

It had been an emotional 20ish miles, but respite was on the horizon.