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| Winthrop, where are you? |
This was the first flat we'd had on Team Beaver in living memory. Oh, well. The Mayor set to changing his tube, while Steven and I "helped" by holding the bike, heckling riders, and complaining that even the Air Force guys didn't stop to help. Maybe it was because Goldie had cried wolf? Or maybe it was because they were in a Saturday state of mind: no civic duty on the weekends, yo.
No matter. The Mayor changed his tube, and as far as I can remember, he actually had all of the things he needed, which is a rare occurrence for a man whose no-nonsense, no-drama, no-preparation attitude towards bike riding has caused him to ride no less than 4 days without sun glasses.
We rode on into Winthrop, a little town under a big grain silo. We met the beavers, parked the bikes, and found our way over to the park shelter where they were serving the biggest, meanest, full of whatever you wantedest breakfast burritos a ragbyer could desire. It was more burrito than I could handle. I ate half, found some Advil, and drank a Gatorade.
From Winthrop we rode north and headed toward the town of Lamont. It was on the corner of two highways, so we had to take a hard left into the city. We slowed with the traffic, and eventually, found our way to the bar in town. There we ordered a round of bloody marys. The booze lifted my spirits. This was the last bloody mary morning of ragbrai! I think Too Much had a bit of a mechanical issue in this town, but he resolved it efficiently and joined us soon. \
Did something funny happen? I can't remember. I do remember seeing a guy on a fat bike and making some joke about trading bikes with him. I don't know why I said that.
The miles stretched out, on and on and on, just road for ever. Eventually, we turned east again and headed into Strawberry Point. Still riding fueled with ennui. Of course, I wasn't the only one having some emotions as we rode up the hills into Strawberry Point--home of the world's largest fiberglass strawberry.
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