RAGBRAI 13 Stage 5: Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids

Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids: 84.5 (or 98)

I am just going to say it.  Marshalltown to Cedar Rapids was a 95% perfect day on RAGBRAI.  

Typhoon RAGBRAI broke the heat.  It was actually pleasant to ride out in the morning as the sun was coming up over Cedar Rapids.  

There were some lovely, fun rolling hills, no wind and some green countryside.  It was like another planet.  I don't remember the first town of the day, though at 15 miles in, we must have stopped there.  

I do remember riding a lot with my pal, the Mayor.  Sometimes he and I just get into a nice rhythm of riding and chit-chatting.  We did stop for a banana at the free banana stop only to find they were out of bananas.  

And, riding to the little town of Clutier, I passed a few folks I knew from Beaverdale and chatted with them, and I observed some great examples of "what people who are on the back of tandems do."  Next time you see a tandem, look at the stoker.  Sometimes they are focused and working hard, but sometimes, and this is really funny, they are just goofing off back there, reading novels, looking around, practically napping.  That's what I would do if I were a stoker.  

We rode into the little town of Clutier, and there the Mayor declared his love of people who descending from Czech heritage, rather than people who descended from Dutch heritage.  Clutier tricked us into leaving our bikes at the top of the hill and hid all the cool stuff at the bottom on the other side.  So we marched down the hill and found a pleasant array of snacks.  

Czech Your Self

My treat was an "ice cream cupcake," like an individual ice cream cake.  It was so gooey and delicious.  The Tiger and Steven enjoyed what looked like a turkey leg, and the Mayor ate, probably nothing, because he exists on air.  

Massive Turkey Something

Then, Steven invented a hilarious game, in which you imagine doing RAGBRAI, all the things one would do on RAGBRAI, but doing it exactly one week after.  

Sit in yard, eat chicken wing.

--Standing around in the street, waiting in like for a kybo to pee. 

--Drinking Coors Light at 11am and eating ice cream in someone's yard.

--Napping under a tree.  

It works for pretty much anything you are doing on RAGBRAI.  We named it SAGBRAI.  

He was so excited to find this jail.

After snacks we walked around and found the local jail and petted some farm animals and got water.  There was a promising looking bar, but it was still too early and we had a lot of miles to ride.  So, we walked back up the hill and onward.  

Jail Close Up

All the towns were pretty stretched out, but I believe it was Garrison in which we found another item from our scavenger hunt: a picture with a local octegenarian.  (Beaver Tail Tip: when you see one of your team makes sprinting off in an unlikely direction, you can bet they have spotted a scavenger hunt treasure.)

Hello Ladies!

The Tiger and I found some shade and drank some water and scolded some folks for putting their bikes in the very, limited shade.  Those ladies were not impressed.

I did pee in a historic bathroom.  That was cool.  

Out of Garrison, we rolled to Vinton and most of the hard work of the day was done.  And, it wasn't even that hot.  

Vinton was a cool little county seat.  I found some "monster cookie" ice cream, with oatmeal, peanut butter, and chocolate chips.  It was amazing.  And the Tiger found a cheese shop.  

The Tiger found a lot of unlikely spots, most of which, I was loathe to follow him to when I had found a comfortable spot and some ice cream, but he was convinced.  So, we walked down the street to the cheese shop, where, they had craft beer for $1.25.  We got some beer and some cheese curds and stalked a table.  

At our table we were joined by some guys who were riding with "Bubba's Charters" or something unlikely.  They were from Chicago.  As they described the Bubba-set up, we knew we had to recruit him.  We told him that we would be texting him throughout the year to find out what he was doing at that moment, to see if he was really Team Beaver material.  

Note on Friday July 27 we texted, "Beaver audition: what are you doing at THIS moment."  

He responded "Drinking a 32 oz High Life in the parkway across the street from Tapken's Convenience."  

So, I think he has some promise.  

I hated to leave that amazing cheese shop, but we had to roll.  There were lots of little towns that needed to be christened with drinking.  

Shellsburg: we had arrived.  

People in cycling clothes, working on classic cars.

Shellsburg, the last big town before Cedar Rapids was home of the Pearl Street Social Club, where the par-tay was happin'.  We found our way to the beer garden out back, complete with over-the-top dj, a hole in the fence where VeloRosa girls were popping in and out from some unseen location, a sprinkler/dance floor, coozies, t-shirts (the Tiger bought one that say "Ridin' the Rag"--classy), and, of course, Whiners!

If there is a party, Whiners are dancing.  They have untold energy for dancing.  They are amazing.  Somehow, we got it in our heads that we should trade one of our water bottles for a Whiner water bottle.  I did get in a little trouble when I swapped my super-nice-Valentine's Day gift water bottle for an old, crusty team Whiners water bottle, but hey, it's RAGBRAI?  

Suuueee!

We had some beers, danced a bit, and then, of course, had to roll on. 

And, then, as we rode out of Shellsburg, we all failed to notice, a shit storm brewing in the west.  

The "towns" that RAGBRAI listed headed into Cedar Rapids weren't really towns.  Most were hardly marked.  I was with the Mayor and Steven.  We looked for the Tiger in the Palo Community Center, but we didn't find anyone there, so we skipped the beer and headed to Cedar Rapids.

Cedar Rapids is a huge town, on a river, and finding our way to our home stay was complicated.  We had directions, thanks to Steven.  But at the end of a long day, we found ourselves riding along busy 4-lane highways, in semi-outskirty looking areas, and stuck at busy interstate overpasses.  We pressed on.  

The further we got into the depths of Cedar Rapids, the more worried I got about the Tiger.  This was confusing, and we had three smart people, smart phones, and a good set of directions.  The Tiger was on his own.  His phone was either dead or in his baggage, and he is not even from Iowa.  I wasn't even sure he had a Beaver Tail with the address.  

I know.  I know.  I wasn't supposed to worry about the Tiger.  And, it shows a lot of weakness on my part to be worried about the Tiger.  I wouldn't want to be lost on my own, so I make sure I don't get lost or on my own for too long.  The Tiger doesn't care, and he finds his way.  I know.  I know.  But, I was still freaking out.

Needless to say, Steven and I exchanged some harsh words.  And, there were some tears, on my part.  Even after we found our very lovely home stay and everyone reassured me and told me not to worry.  

Well, they can all f-themselves because they were right.  The Tiger, every self-assured, was fine.  He rode to downtown Cedar Rapids, met up with our friend Steve-Oh, and got directions to the house.  

Do you know what makes me mad, though?  Who the hell was worrying about me?  Was the Tiger concerned that I might be lost?  Or injured?  Or kidnapped by Whiners?  No.  He doesn't ever worry about me.  I don't know if I am mad that the person who is my life-partner doesn't concern himself with my well being, or if I am mad at myself for being so weak that I worry about him.  Either way, it is January, and I haven't figured this one out.  

I can't do anything right.  When I worry about the Tiger, everyone tells me not to worry.  Other times, though, when I am very caviler about the Tiger, people act like I am crazy.  Seriously, there are times when I am out and people are like, "where's the Tiger?"  And, I say, "I don't know."  And, people act like I left my baby to fend for itself at a truck stop in Guadalajara.  You can't win for losing.

We had a 98 mile day finding our home stay.  Eventually the Tiger rolled up.  He and Ham and Easy-E and the Thunder and some other folks sat in the front yard, getting wasted, etc. all night.  I, on the other hand, had to go to shower and go to sleep immediately out of embarrassment for being such a baby.  

To spite the Tiger, for his very un-partner-like nonchalance, I proceeded to "not worry" about setting up his cot or making sure he had a pillow when he came to bed totally shit-canned, and the evil part of me felt better that he had to sleep on the carpet.      

Thursday was 98% perfect, 2% shit show.  I wish I hadn't gotten into a fight with Steven.  Or worried about the Tiger.  My new motto is, "eh, fuck em."  

RAGBRAI '13 Stage 4

Webster City to Marshalltown, 77.1 miles

I had high hopes for Wednesday.

For one, Goldie and Ryan were riding with us.  Goldie and her husband are some of my favorite people.  They are smart, they are fun, they are attractive!  I just love them.  I knew they would buoy our spirits.

For two, I had a good night sleep, and another inside night was in my future.

For three, deep-fried, chocolate covered bacon on a stick was happening.

Here's mom, catching RAGBRAI fever!

After giving our love to our delightful hosts and my mom, who is the cutest, we took a short cut to meet up with the RAGBRAI.  It was so fun to be out on back roads in the morning.  It was quiet and the roads were good and we had them all to ourselves.

with sprinkles!

Our short cut made us miss the first town, and it wasn't long until we were heading into Jewell, where we were scheduled to get some bacon on a stick with chocolate.  My friend Troy and his friend Grant had set up a huge bacon stand at the end of town.  Though the bacon was ambitiously priced at $6, it was delicious, and it was so nice to see our friends.

Okay, Mayor, maybe we are hipsters.

Then, we salmoned up town to the bowling alley, Saturn Bowl?.  I think the Tiger had scoped it out, and we were game.  Inside the bowling alley was a little piece of heaven.  They had a bloody mary bar, a regular bar, and lots of wacky outer space chairs to sit in.  They played whatever we wanted at the DJ stand.  I could have stayed there all day.

I am going to do a little number from the rockumentary, Give Me Shelter.

Then, something magical happened: Steven found a microphone.  A microphone that broadcast her voice into the street.  If teaching doesn't workout for Steven, I think she should consider being a carnival barker.  She started heckling recruiting folks to come into the bar.  It was pretty dead when we got there.  She was also on the look out for someone from Alabama. (That was the challenge for the day).

Alabama!  We bought him a bloody mary.

And, of course, she found one.  The owner of the bowling alley was so impressed, he bought her a drink, and he looked pretty sad when we had to leave.

In hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have left.

We rolled through the little town of Ellsworth and headed to the meet up town of Story City, just north of Ames.  The Tiger, still riding his trucker, had packed along some good beers, so we drank some beer and had lunch and ice cream in Story City, land of the Swedes.

Oh, Ole!

It was a nice flat ride out of Story City to Roland, which, I believe we skipped.  We rolled on at a fairly good clip to McCallsburg, where we found an American Legion with a shady beer garden.  We took up residence at a table and drank a bunch of beers in the breeze.  It was lovely.

In hindsight, maybe we shouldn't have left.

I am pretty sure we skipped Zearing.  I think there was a general sense of "we move too slow" and "the troopers are going to steal all our beer" anxiety was looming over the group.  I remember seeing Ham and Emily in the grass on the outskirts of town.  They looked happy.

Outside of Zearing, we chatted with an Air Force guy.  He was harassing the guy at the front of his pace line for riding too fast.  "This is supposed to be an easy pull, Dave," he said, or something like it.

Then, because I was riding with Steven, I decided to chime in, "Yeah, Dave, do you have something to prove?"  The guys with the Air Force laughed, and one pulled off of the their group to chat with us.  He proceeded to tell us that the Air Force guys just turn every day of RAGBRAI into a century.  They just find a loop, and do a hundred miles a day.  What. the. F.?

Then, he rode off into the distance.  At some point, our lovely ride turned south, and back. into. the. f-ing. wind. And, it went up a huge hill.  Why don't the huge hills block the wind?

I plodded up the mountain  hill about as slowly as a person can ride and not fall over.  It was hot.  It was hugely windy.  It was hilly.  It was devastating.

At the top of Mount Pain, I heard some voices shout my name.  Steven and the crew were relaxing in what passed for shade in the yard of some house.  I pulled over, like a zombie, and tried to walk down the steep embankment.  Of course, I slipped and fell on my butt.  Hard.

Then, I trudged over to the group and laid down on the crispy grass.  It was like laying on those fried onions that you put on top of green bean casserole--same temperature, really as hot green bean casserole.  I felt like a green bean casserole, a big, hot, mess.

I think this is about when the heat stroke started setting in.  Chills, exhaustion, clouded vision.  Soon, we rolled down the big hill to the little town of St. Anthony.

You know you are in bad shape when you dump your bike in a yard, stumble up to the lady working the "gate" of the beer garden is like, "are you okay?  You don't look so good."

"Hmhno, I'myir fineer," I replied as I fished out my driver's licence.

Just at that moment, a guy from one of the stands brought over a bowl of ice water, "in case someone needs this."  It wasn't for drinking, but you could use it to cool off, so I stuck my face in it.

Then, I got a beer.  Then, I found some awkward shade on this weird shed with a porch.  Then, I grumpily drank my beer.

There was nothing in St. Anthony, nothing for miles, so we couldn't even give up and go somewhere better.  We had to keep riding.

We got back on the bikes and headed out of town, towards Clemons, the penultimate town, a whooping 16.5 miles from the end of the day.

We turned off the road in Clemons and headed towards town.  As we stood in the shade of poll barn, we noticed some cyclists swimming around in a small above ground pool, sort of tucked behind a R.V.

Steven looked at me.  I looked at Steven.  We knew what we had to do.

We got in the pool.  Granted, it was about bath temperature from sitting in the sun all day, and it was full of grass, but the feeling of slightly cooler, denser molecules making me semi-weightless was a join, wet chamois be damned.

The other RAGBRAI-ers left, and soon a truck with an older couple drove down the alley and stopped by the pool.  Steven looked me.  I looked at Steven.  Then, she asked that obvious question, like a little kid asks, or Tommy Boy, "uh, is this your pool?"

The lady nodded.

"Can we swim in it?" Steven asked sheepishly.

"I guess so," then they drove off.

Semi-refreshed, we joined the boys and found the "town."  Picture the scene.  Baking heat, some reports were that it was 104, my computer at one point read 124.  Shimmering heat.  Hot bikes.  Hot people.  Dead grass.  Refreshments were lined up near the church.  As we bought cookies and Gatorade, Steven over heard a voice coming in across the walkie-talkie that all small town elders get when they host the RAGBRAI, "Verne," the voice crackled.  "They found the pool."

We sloshed down to the ultimate beer ghetto.  A baseball diamond.  In the middle, of the baking field, was a huge fire hose spraying water.  A few brave souls were dancing around in it.  Music blarred over the rest of the people who were huddled in the shade, like cattle under the one billboard in the field.  It was just too hot to be happy, but we dutifully drank our beer, and contemplated our fates, and chuckled when the Velo Rosa girls mistook Steven for one of their own (because she borrowed my jersey).

Finally, we had to go.  The water left in our bottles was boiling.  I burned my leg on my pedal, but we had to go.  We tried to get out of town, and head up the huge, windy hill towards our 16 death miles.  I remember it like a fever dream.  The Mayor was with us.  Then he was gone.  Was he ahead or behind?  We looked for him.  The Tiger went back.  We found Ryan.  Finally we decided to move on.

Slowly, painfully, I made my way, pedal after dismal pedal stroke.  The sun beating down.  The wind blasting my face like the breath of Satan.  Everything was shimmering and brown and sun-baked.

A small relief came when we finally turned east, out of the head wind and into the cross wind.  We kept riding.  Who was I with?  Did we chase down the RAGBRAI DJ or was that a dream?  What was happening?

Then, like an oasis in the desert, we came to the BEST SLIP AND SLIDE EVER.

Some soul had taken yard, miles of tarp and stretched it down the hill in their front yard, and into the culvert between the road.  They piled hay bales on either side to keep the tarp propped up so the water pooled at the bottom, deep and brown.  The hill was steep and shaded by pine trees.  And, a huge water truck continuously drizzled water down the slide.  It was A.MAZE.ING.

Would you like to join PEN 15?

Steven was there.  And, Tracy, and the Tiger.  Was anyone else there?  The homeowner, who had been drinking Busch Light in the heat all day was passed out in his 4-wheeler, and some strange RAGBRAI-lady worked out some shady deal with me to get me a beer.  I might have sold her my soul, but I did have to sneak around the back of the water truck and "not tell anyone."

Goldie was game!

While I was getting my beer, Tracy and Steven had made friends with the handsome, boisterous and very topless young men of Team PEN 15.  Steven, because she works with middle schoolers, got the joke.  But Tracy got recruited to the team and was "tagged."  PEN15, get it?

No she gets it!

In exchange, we got the handsome bald guy to join Team Beaver, so we tattooed him with "I heart beaver."

Beaver Nun, Beaver 1, Let's all have some beaver fun.

This is what I needed.  It was a miracle.

We mounted up and headed the rest of the way to Marshalltown.  Some how the Mayor found us.  Then, the Tiger, who had been sulking all through the slip-n-slide time (cardinal sin!), picked a fight with the Mayor.  Fierce words were exchanged.  Nerves were shot.  Finally, gallantly, the Mayor tried to just slow down and let the Tiger ride alone, but the Tiger, not getting this bike-social-clue just kept riding with him.

It was a glorious landscape, and soon we rode into Marshalltown and passed the "last hill" guy.  I learned to love last hill guy.

In town, we plowed through many, many grilled cheese sandwiches, made by the brother of my friend Jen (who works as a VP at East high, what what?!).  After much sitting, and water drinking, and relief, and figuring out what to do, we got on our bikes and headed for our home stay.

What a blessing that was.  A huge, cool, clean home full of beds.  I drank so much water and ate snacks and showered.  It was amazing.  On our ride there, we had passed Easy E and Hammie who were going out with some friends to see the downtown.  While they were gone, Typhoon RAGBRAI rolled into town.  It looked just like the tropical storms I had lived through in New Orleans: wind, lightning, sheets of rain.

RAGBRAI stopped running the shuttles, so lots of folks were stuck down town during the tempest.  I can't imagine being in a tent that night.  But, we were safe and warm and ready to sleep off the stress of the day.  It had been a trying day for me, and for Team Beaver.  Nerves were shot.  Friendships were tested.  Slip and slides were not appreciated, and I don't think we were on our best behavior for Team Beck.  But, we survived.  We would live to ride another day.

RAGBRAI 13 Stage 3 Lake View to Webster City

Lake View to Webster City 81.2

I was so excited about Tuesday.  The route was long (80 miles), but mostly straight and flat.  And, we were staying in a house that night!  Finally, we were going to be able to ride with some gusto!

It was a lovely morning in Lake View.  And, it wasn't that hard to get up since we hadn't really slept at all.  After a brief directional-snafu about getting out of town, we had a lovely ride through the forest-like streets around the lake and then headed south out of town.  It was a hazy morning and the sun was just coming up.  There were a lot of folks on the road, but it felt very quiet.

As we rolled out of Lake View, I noticed the Tiger had pulled off on the side of the road.  He looked alright, and he seemed to stop kind of randomly.  Sometimes, it seemed he wanted me to stop with him, other times he brushed me off when I checked on him.  He is a deeply inscrutable man.

The ride to Auburn, our first little town, was uneventful.  The town itself was a little bump on the road, and it was packed.  We found some breakfast near a fire truck and relaxed in the grass.

Breakfast, pre-wind

Somewhere between Lake City and Lohrville, the wind started to pick up.  And, that would be the name of the game for the rest of the afternoon.  Wind, wind, and more wind.

We all washed up in the meeting town, Farmhamville and tried to connect with our large and ranging group.  I just never expected that trying to connect 6 folks would be that much harder than connecting with two other folks, but I have never been good at expectation management.  I always felt like as soon as I would find one person that I wanted to spend time with, another peeled off.

Farmhamville was hot and windy.  After some food and some water, we trudged into the beer ghetto, though, enthusiasm was pretty low.  We found a bit of shade in the fire station.  The big doors were open and the garage was empty, and there were fans.  We sat, and drank beer, and watched the folks who are not good at sitting and drinking beer wander around.

I guess I will try on this boot.

Steven, bless her, did attempt a bit of a shenanigan, in borrowing some fire boots as we were headed out, but even that had taken on the grim and dusty pallor of head wind.

The rest of the afternoon was just a blur of slow speed suffering.  The Tiger had his bagger bike, complete with panniers, so he wasn't moving at any rate.  I felt bad leaving him, and, to be honest, I wasn't moving much faster.  The Tiger, though, refuses to work together on bike rides and I find it infuriating.  When he is tired, he won't draft me.  He just slows down.  And, when I am tried, and I try to draft him, he gives me huffy little lectures about giving him enough space.  So, we rode, side-by-side, 10ish miles and hour, into the flat, straight headwind.

In Gowrie, I believe, we found a golf club on the outside of town.  Inside they had air conditioning, bathrooms and cheap beers.

One of the fun parts of the week was running into the Nada, Jason Walsmith every day.  He was riding with a different team every day, so he always had a different jersey.  He would ride with the team then play for them at night.  One day it was Upper Iowa University.  Another day it was Team High Life, but no matter what, we bumped into him.  We ran into him at the golf club.  I think it was this day.  I need to take better notes.

The Mayor is cooked.

After we left the golf club, we hunkered in for more long, hot, headwind.  Steven and the Mayor were waiting for us in Harcourt, but we missed them, and pressed on to Dayton.

At one point, on the ride into Dayton, I remembered seeing a kid, about 12, pull off in a gravel parking lot near some trees to join his friend.  Just as he turned to walk away from his bike, the wind blew the bike off its kickstand and on to its side.  The kid looked back, considered it for a moment, then, gave the kind of casual, over-the-shoulder-toss of his wrist that say, "eh, fuck it."  And turned back towards his friends.  It might have been the heat stroke, but I thought that kid was the funniest thing I had ever seen, and I felt exactly the same way.

When there are head winds, Easy-E always says she feels like pulling off to the side of the road and tossing her bike into a bean field, then just sitting by the side of the road until something else happens.  I am more like that kid, "eh, fuck it."

We pressed on to Dayton at a snail's pace and rolled through the little town at the was both the start and finish of the Karras Loop.  No way was I doing that stupid loop on this windy-furnace of a slow moving day.

Scavenger Hunt: Get a picture of a Whiner dancing--bonus, topless!

Instead, the Tiger and I putzed around town until we found Steven and the Mayor.  We found a bar, and a cool corner, and sat around drinking beer until the state troopers came in and kicked every one out.  That was a first for me, still being in a town, when they are kicking folks out.  With no more beer to drink, we grinded on to Lehigh, the "big hill" town.

The Tiger was still smiling.

The nice thing about Lehigh was that at least we weren't going straight into the wind anymore.  And, there was a nice, long down hill into the river town.  As we looked for a place to hang out, we bumped into Wisconsin, who told us he had been there all day, since like 8 in the morning, and had been taken on a tour around town, and was practically betrothed to local gal with a couple of kids.

Across the river, we found the action.  Slip and slides, folks jumping off the bridge to their certain neck-break, and some cold beer.  The hill loomed to our left, like a storm cloud.  Eh, fuck it.

The last stretch, riding to Webster City, was not a good time for me.  It wasn't the hills.  It was something else.  Like I was standing at the mouth of the pain cave.  I was alone.  It was still windy.  Still hot.  Still sun.  Still miles and miles to go.  I turned the pedals.  I went to the dark place.  I turned the pedals.

Miles later the road turned and a bunch of RAGBRAI-ers had taken up residence in a yard.  I heard my name.  I stumbled down the embankment into the yard.  I laid in the grass.  I thought of nothing.

They made me get up.  We rode more.  Finally, we found the road where we were to turn.  Then, we rode on, up and down a little country road, past farms looking for our off route housing.  Then, we were there.  Down a shady lane was parked the trailer.  And, the house!  And my mom was there.

If there was ever a day I needed my mom it was this one.  Slowly, I climbed out of the cave.  We showered and ate dinner and did laundry and set up sleeping arrangements.  We ate a glorious home cooked dinner and sat in air conditioning.  The "adults" went into town to listen to Three Dog Night, Les's favorite band.  The Tiger and I slept in an unfinished bedroom, on memory foam, over some air conditioning ducts.  It was quiet.  It was cool.  It was heaven.

What's Up 2013?

I think I have finally gotten settled into 2013.  It only took me 3 weeks, but I am not longer writing 2012 on checks and student assignment sheets.  And, now, that I am comfortably engaged in the year, it is time to make my event forecast: the winters are remarkably mild in fitness land!

So, you already know about the Ride-As-Many-Days-As-Possible Challenge from a previous blog. That is still going.  Still going, despite the fact that I was laid out with consumption last week.  The quarter of a mile I did on Monday about killed me, but I did it.  And, despite the fact that I almost forgot to ride my bike on Thursday.  I was trying to fall asleep when I remembered.  So, I hopped out of bed and did five miles listening to a Planet Money pod cast.  

To my great surprise, I have already ridden 139 miles this month.  For a trainer, some spin classes, and a bout with consumption, I would say that is pretty good.  So, my informal goal is to add a hundred miles a month.  If I get to 150 this month, then in February I shoot for 250, in March 350, etc. until I get to July when I have to ride a total of 750, but minus 450 for the RAGBRAI and 100 for Tour De Brew that's only 250 extra miles. 

In addition to that, here is what else is on the docket.  I was roughly planning on doing an event a month for the year.  

January--Nothing. I was thinking doing the Icebreaker Triathlon again, but I just couldn't get my biscuit motivated to get in the pool.  I tried running one day after spin class and I was just not into it.  So, January, nothing.  

February--Again, I was planning on doing the Red Flannel Run, and I might go out and walk/jog it, but I am not going to be serious about it, because, well, I just don't care enough.  I have learned, in my years of infinite blogging wisdom, forcing doesn't work.  Instead, I am on doing the BRR Ride for the first time next week!  And, there is a 5K in Columbia, Missouri the weekend of the True False Film Festival, which I plan on attending with my pals Matt and Martha.  Marthy is the one who suggested the 5K, so we will do it together. 

March--in honor of the Tiger's birthday month, I promised him I would do some sort of randonneuring event. The Tiger has decided he is no longer a "commuter" and no longer a "bagger."  He is a "randonneur."  (He is still searching for his bicycling identity).  I am not expert, but I think that randonneuring is like a long distance, self-supported, alley cat race, only instead of messenger bags, randonneurs like handlebar bags.  And instead of ear plugs, they like beards.  There are no winners, though, "you are competing with yourself."  And, from what I can tell, the popularity of randonneuring died out in the 19th century, which is why the Tiger likes it so much.  And, they give out medals.  I guess there are some permanent-do-it-yourself and write in for your medal-level events around central Iowa.  

April--Fight for Air Climb Redemption Redux.  The first year I did this event was not as bad as I would have thought.  Last year was pretty painful, both because I had less fitness and because I was fatter.  I hope both to be less true this year because I am actually going to train!  

Side note--on Tuesday night, I was laying on the futon in pile of my own phlegm when I noticed I had text message from Steven, "Aannnnnd, [the mayor] managed to donate a hundred bucks to your last years climb fundraiser instead of this year's. Fail." 

I have to tell you when I got that text message, my first thought was, "what stair climb?"

My second thought was, "Oh, yeah, I remember, I do stuff like that."  I peered back through my consumption-induced fog and remembered that even though I was sick, and hadn't worked out in several days, that I would get better, I would be able to climb a bunch of stairs, and someone out there, someone who is pretty serious about his net worth believed a hundred dollars in me!  I gave me hope!  

So, Mayor, whether or not those funds ever find their way to my fundraising account, I say, thank you for believing in me!  I will get better.  I will train.  I will climb those damn stairs.  And, when I get to the top, I will take a picture of myself wearing a Mayor-Mask. 

May--Still Looking for Ideas.

June--Copper Creek Triathlon--do I want to do this triathlon?  If I do, I have to start training, for reals in March.  We'll see.  Goldie, what do you think?  

July--Tour de Brew, duh.  RAGBRAI, duh. 

August--Beer, beer, beer.  Bike, bike, bike.  Belguim, Belguim, Belguim.  

September--Maybe the Beaverdash, maybe something else. 

October--Still looking, Night Cap Cross?  Yikes.  There's nothing scarier than the idea of doing cyclocross with a bunch of people watching. 

November--Survivor Cross--my goal for this year is to do well enough at Survivor Cross that I don't look like I need a self-appointed "coach" to teach me how to shift and stuff during the ride. 

December--Still looking.   

Blog Bite: bike shorts

Do you know what sucks? You need to workout, because you are tubby. But, because you are tubby, you look bad and feel bad in you bike shorts. And your bike shorts don't fit all that well.

A Pause for the Cause

So, I hopped back on the don't-eat-so-much-and-work-out-more wagon on January 7th.  And, it has been going pretty well.  I've been working hard in the gym, trying to sneak some cardio in through afternoon and Saturday spin classes, and I have been keeping track of what I eat in my little app.  I didn't drink during the week, and I didn't eat any of the "Welcome to DMACC" cookies that flood the first week of classes.

Yesterday, though, I was feeling pretty beat up, so I took it real-easy-like at the gym.  I did the work out, I just under achieved.  Then, I ate a monster cookie for breakfast in addition to my yogurt and blueberries.  Also, I dipped pretty heavily into the emergency-dark-chocolate I bought for my desk.  Also, we had pizza for dinner, and I had two mini-High Lifes at the Smart Wool Trivia night at Back Country (Team White Tiger won!).  And, you want to know what else?  I slept in today.  Yup, I skipped the gym.

And, I feel fantastic about it.  The great-and-powerful Ed, our fearless cult leader has been out of the gym for a week.  Reports are that he is just feeling pretty worn out.  I was feeling the same way: tired, burned-out, and I tweaked my knee in the hard/fun spin class on Wednesday nights.*

I don't want to get the death flu.  I don't want to get injured.  And, I don't want to get burned out.  Therefore, I am taking a little pause for the cause (PC).  The PC is a bit hard for me.  For one, it doesn't support the crazy-fast weight loss that I seem to expect and always allow myself to get disappointed over. For two, I know that there are people out there who work out way harder than me and NEVER take a break (Goldie, I am looking at you).  For three, the PC always risks the WLGU (week long give up), which can lead to a MLGU (month long give up).

But, for me at least, a little PC is necessary.  I am trying to think big picture.  I'd like to get to my 2010 "beastly" RAGBRAI weight, which is do-able.  I would also like to not go crazy and/or give up.  Also, do-able.

With that in mind, I would like to make a brief list of all the things that I do for myself that are good, like taking a PC, that are recommended, that are healthy.

1. I got a flu shot.  So, I am 60% less likely to have to take a fitness week off due to flu.
2. I get outside and walk the dog most days of the week.
3. I exercise.
4. I rarely eat fast food.  I eat a lot of vegetables.  I don't drink pop.
5. I get massages.
6. I love my job.
7. I have good friends and family and I try to spend time with those folks.
8. If I want something, I have it, and I don't feel bad about it.
9. I am mostly positive.
10. I went to the doctor.

A note on 10.  I hate going to the doctor, but I did it.  And, I had a clean bill of health.  It turns out, the only thing that is wrong with me is that I am fat.  And, so I am working on that.

*Dear Mayor--here is yet another reason I need you to move to DSM.  I need a local-cleat whisperer!

Blog Bite: Ride Everyday

I love riding my bike, but I don't do enough of it.  

I think about it.  Then, I talk myself out of.  I am too tired, too lazy, too busy, too unshaven.  

The solution?  Just ride every day.  So, one of my New Years resolutions was to ride my bike, or any bike, some every day.  

How far? I don't care.  I am shooting for a mile, but if I don't make it, that's cool too.  

How fast?  For now, it doesn't matter.  If I am tired, slow.  If I feel good, fast.  If I am riding a long time, slow.  If I am riding a short time, fast.  

What bike?  It doesn't matter: road, cross, back-up cross, cruiser, even spin classes count.

What happens if you miss a day?  Ha!  I already did.  January 3rd I forgot to ride.  In all fairness, I did go ice skating.  So, I won't ride every day of 2013.  I will ride most days, and 364 or even 350 would be better than most years.  

When I brought this idea up with the Tiger he said that I needed to think of a way that I couldn't give up if I missed a day.  Fatty over at Fat Cyclist said something similar about his weight loss challenge.  He gave himself 5-passes.  I am doing the same thing with missed days.  I am not trying to ride every day, I am trying to ride as many days as possible.

What's the point?  I don't know, really.  Fitness, sure.  Establish a good habit, yup.  Weird challenge, love it. And, I always say that the worst day on a bike is better than the best day doing anything else, so we will test that theory.  

I believe my pal and second biggest supporter, the Mayor, is participating as well, though only on the weekdays.  (Mayor, I have been instructed to give you sh!t about this fact, but hey, 5 out of 7 ain't bad, right?).

Right now, the bike is on the trainer, so it is easy to whip out a few miles in the evening.  

I have to say, I am 12/13 now and it is pretty fun.   You can follow me on my ill-conceived Google-Drive tables here. 

RAGBRAI '13: Stage 2 Cherokee to Lake View

Cherokee to Lake View: 62 miles

Again, I don't really remember what happened.  Steven and the Mayor are always so impressed with my RAGBRAI memory, but seriously, I don't remember much until the end of the day.  

I do remember that it was hot.  Like, crazy hot.  

We did stop for a cup of coffee in Cherokee that put us behind the rest of the crew, but there was a nice coffee shop in Cherokee and you don't just zoom by good coffee.  

8.2 miles to Aurelia?  Nope.

10.0 miles to Hanover Villege?  Blank. 

11.1 miles to Schaller--all I remember about Schaller, which is pronounced "shay-lore" is that I pretended that it was called "shaw-ler."  And I kept pronouncing it like "holler," which I thought was endlessly hilarious.  

11.5 to Nemaha--can't say what happened here.  Though, I believe, at one point, we stopped because there were some farm animals.  

Take one.

Take two.

Steven developed these hilarious daily newsletters full of information, comics, and a week-long scavenger hunt.  The Beaver Times?  Amazing.  One of the scavenger-items was "get a picture taken with a farm animal.  Do not smile."  Done. 

Hi Bob!

Also, photography note.  The Tiger's brother always sends us pictures of his face in cut-outs.  He never smiles.  It turns out, there are millions of those on RAGBRAI, so I took as many pictures as possible and sent them all to Bob as postcards.  That's why there are so many in this blog.  

Where?

I do remember Sac City--popcorn town.  I remember washing up in Sac City pretty broken down from the heat.  I was feeling a little woozy, and I remember a guy came by and said that a bunch of people had been hospitalized in Cherokee because of the heat and at least one had died.  Yikes.  

We went into the American Legion hall looking to cool off.  Unfortunately, 1702 of our closest friends were in there as well, steaming up the joint.  We found a back porch with some fans and some chairs that was quite as fusty as the rest of the building and drank some Coors.  Soon, we were joined by this crazy triathlete  from Wisconsin.  His name would become Wisconsin.  

We pressed on a little ways down the road and found a beer ghetto with some food and some ever diminishing shade.  No one wanted to press on.  It was just. so. hot.  

When we did leave, we turned the corner to head out Sac City only to find this ungodly hill.  Near the top, we saw the boys, the Tiger and the Mayor getting water.  Steven asked if we should stop, to which I replied, "eh, fuck 'em." 

That was hilarious to another cyclist who burst out laughing.  We figured the boys would catch us and it was only 9.6 miles to Lake View.  

Those were the longest, hottest, head-windiest miles in the world.  It was only out of sheer luck from the RAGBRAI gods that we found a weird little pace line, lead by two strong dudes leading two lines of two ladies who did not seem to know what they were doing.  

We tagged on and it was heaven: the-not-so-fast pace line on a hot, windy day is amazing.  We rode with them several miles until it broke up on an uphill.  

We overtook the guys in the front and Steven yelled her thanks as we passed.  One of the dudes yelled back, "we are reforming, if you want to join back on."  So we did.  Bless those strong dudes who pulled us all the way to Lake View.  I am not sure I would have made it without them.  

(The Tiger told me later that he was in pretty dire straits that afternoon as well, and that he wouldn't have been able to make it if the Mayor hadn't ridden with him.  I don't know if the Mayor knows how grateful the Tiger was for slowing down and riding with him that day.)

Soon we were ambling into town looking for our campsite.  Steven and the Mayor and I hobbled over to the lake with some beers and walked into the water, cycling clothes still on.  The water, because this was the hottest year ever, was bath temperature.  It was disgusting.  A local would tell us all the fish were dieing because it was so hot.  

Showers, beer, and pizza later, the Tiger and I, along with Emily and Ham decided to wander down to the party, which was, I thought, conveniently located near our campsite. Little would I know who inconvenient that would be.  

We look so happy!  Check out the sun burn lines.

We bumped into the nice hipster friends we had met in Cherokee and chatted with them a bit. Then, we headed back to camp for bed time.  

But sleep would not come.  

The list of anti-sleeping agents was incredibly long: 

1. Our campsite was adjacent to the bathroom.  All night long wooden doors slammed shut.

2. Our campsite was directly under the street light.  

3. It was 98 degrees out. 

4. The band was playing just blocks away, into the night.  

It was torture, knowing you need to sleep so much and not being able to do it.  This was the third night in a row that I was under rested and soon that lack of rest would start to break my spirit.

RAGBRAI '13 Stage 1: Sioux Center to Cherokee

Sioux Center to Cherokee: 54.4

Oh Sunday of RAGBRAI.  The day that lets you know just how much pain and suffering you are going to have to pay for a week's worth of fun.  It turns out: a hot lot.  

The Ham-a-Lam-A-Tandem Breaks Camp

We broke camp in Sioux Center after a rocky night's sleep.

Hammie and Emily actually arrived after driving across both Wisconsin and Iowa after an Australian Rules Football tournament in Madison, so they were sleepy.

We had several new folks and a new camp system, so it was a little rockier than normal, but soon we were all on the road headed for the breakfast town: Orange City.

As we rolled into Orange City, we heard the sound of music blaring from a trailer.  Then, over the microphone, came, "Good morning RAGBRAI!  Who is ready to rock Orange City?"  Everyone hooted as what would become known as the RAGBRAI DJ rolled past: a fella on a bike, with a huge Hawkeye speaker trailer.  He had rigged it up so that he could cut the music and speak into a microphone: genius!

We saw him several more times, and usually, he was playing pretty dope music, so even Steven and the Mayor had to forgive him his Hawkeye-love.

Northwest Iowa is Dutch country, and the Dutch are a conservative bunch.  So there would be no fun or shenanigans until we were further east.  I was particularly excited about Orange City, "like Pella only more conservative," because I knew it was a cute town and I had read they were serving "fudge babies"--a waffle on a stick dipped in chocolate and sprinkles.

We quickly found those.  And devoured them.

Then, I got in the coffee line and the Tiger went on his first prowl.  As I sipped hot coffee in the increasingly steaming sunshine, the Tiger returned with a magical treat: the pofterjy--tiny round pancakes in a buttery, orange Brandy sauce.  They were so good, we sent him back for more.

But, as there was no beer in Orange City, and it looked to be a hot one, we headed on a quick 4 miles to Alton.

Of Alton, I remember nothing.  I am pretty sure I had heat stroke.

Alton?

Same goes for Granville.  Nada.  Definitely heat stroke.

Grafton?

The next town was Marcus, the meeting town.  I am pretty sure that this was the day that Kelly met us.  He found a shady yard off the main street, and popped open the trailer and we drank icy cold beer, sat in chairs, and used the bathroom at the nearby bowling alley.  It was glorious.

The only problem was that we had to ride 17 miles still to Cherokee.  There is nothing worse than the longest stretch of the day being at the end.

Did I mention it was hotter than Hades out there?  Blazing, disgusting hot.  I think this was the day that the Tiger filled his panniers with beer for us to drink midway between Marcus and Cherokee and we stopped in the "shade" of a farm house and pondered the strange cruelty that made us choose this vacation with some poor virgin.

Marcus?

In Cherokee, we stayed in the basemen of some nice folks who lived at the top of the hill.  No one really wanted to go downtown, except for me and the Tiger, so we headed down to the main drag where we found some sandwiches, and some ice cream, and some beer.  We bumped into my workout buddy, Bruce, and his wife, who had ridden out to Cherokee.  Bruce is the nicest guy, but I don't think his wife was charmed.

At one point in the conversation, she turns to Bruce and says, "let's get something to eat."

He responds, "are you hungry?"

She says, "No."

And, they left.  We spent the night on the floor, which was cool, but I think the valve is broken on my Therm-a-rest, so I was pretty uncomfortable and I was paranoid that the Tiger's snores would wake the rest of the team like they were waking me.

RAGBRAI '12: Prologue

It has reached that time of year: when it is so cold out that all you want to think of is when you were so hot, you thought you might die.  Let me take you, gentle readers, in the way-back machine, to RAGBRAI 2012. What will follow is a series of 8-ish blogs detailed the exploits of Team Beaver's RAGBRAI adventures.

We laughed, we cried, we slip-and-slided.

It was a building year.  Know that.  We added a posse of new beavers.  We had virgins.  We arranged home stays.  We had a driver (who is a god!).  Cock ups were inevitable.  Glory was possible.

On Friday night, we loaded the trailer with the help of head Beaver Wrangler, Kelly.

Beaver None, Beaver 1

(Note the cache of beer behind Steven. This was the last time I saw Kelly in sleeves.)

Our driver to and from RAGBRAI was none other than Eric, cousin to Steven and high school-novio of yours truly, and co-worker of the Tiger.  Please note: he volunteered to drive us!

Weirdly, this photo featured even too much cleavage for me, so I edited. 

When he arrived, the Tiger and I were enjoying our first brews of the day.  We wrangled the troops and headed west.

Eric's head, being very polite and helpful.

We weren't very far west, not even to Earlham, when we decided we needed to be able to have some frosty brews.  So we stopped at a gas station to get empty cups.

We weren't far from the gas station when Steven remembered that she had left her RAGBRAI passes with her mom, in DSM.  We put the trolley in reverse, turned it around, and had an awkward rendezvous with the Magg-ster outside of the Hooter's in WSDM.  (She just wouldn't stop driving around the parking.)

And merrily, we went about our way, Steven and I providing charming and witty color commentary from the back seat, fueled with tasty beverages.  Eric listened very nicely.  The Tiger scorned our use of cups.  We did need to stop many, many times for comfort breaks.

Breakie!

In Council Bluffs, we stopped for a burger at 5 Guys, thanks to the recommendation of Eric.  It was delicious.  I started to get messages from Kelly asking how far out we were: the backtrack and comfort stops put us behind the rest of the team.

(Meanwhile, the Mayor, always one for adventure was riding his bike towards Sioux Center, having flown into Sioux Falls and stayed with some couch-surf people.  I really want to share an account of his story.  Perhaps he will guest blog for me if I ask nicely?)

Then, we proceeded to Sioux Center.  We got sleepy after all our beverages and burgers.  Soon, the roads started getting clogged with buses, trucks full of bikes, and charter buses.

Sleepy.

Soon, we were pulling off into a new subdivision, looking for the home of our hosts.  Sioux Center set us up with this couple.  The RAGBRAI coordinator told us that we had to have only "minimal partying," which seems like how we roll.

The Mayor's bike was in the yard and Kelly and Les were already there with the truck and trailer.  We piled out of the car, grabbed a handful of stuff, and headed into the house to meet our hosts for the night.

The guy who opened the door looked nice enough.  "Please take off your shoes," he said smiling after he introduced himself.  Steven and I put our stuff down and started taking off our shoes.  As I stood up, I noticed that the Mayor, Kelly, and Les were standing around awkwardly.  They weren't really settling in.

"You can sign in here, and here's a copy of the rules," our host said.  Rules?

"Okay," I thought, "Maybe this is for a guest book or something."  As I signed my name under the Mayor's I started reading the "rules," which had been printed out.  There were copies for everyone.  (Not that the MS Word formatting changes are still on the document).

The Rules!

No Smoking Allowed...okay.

No Drinking of Alcohol or Use of Illegal Drugs on the property...hmmm.

No burning of Candles or Incense allowed...what the hell?

Each Guest must provide valid ID and Register Name and Address...?

All Doors are locked at midnight. In the meantime, keep doors shut...okay.

If you move or relocate something, ask the hosts where it needs to go...what would we move?

Prefer no shoes be worn in the house...duh.

Advise us of your planned "check-out" or leaving time...okay.

Use the bathroom fan when showering...okay.

Do not use the land line phones in the house...okay.

No pets allowed...what am I going to do with the parakeet I brought?

Ask permission to eat or drink anything in the house that you did not purchase...do you have cheese balls?

Should go without saying --Do not take anything that is not yours -- We do same...what the hell?

If something breaks, let us know so we can work something out...you break it, you buy it, bitches!

Emergency & Non-Emergency Phone Numbers

Ambulance, Fire, Emergency: 911

City Policy Non Emergency: 712-722-0761

County Sheriff Non Emergency: 712-737-2280

Secret Service: 402-965-9670....what the hell?

FBI: 402-493-8688...in case we stumble onto a sleeper cell operating out of Sioux Center?

With much haste, Steven and I and the rest of the crew adjourned to the drive way for a little beaver-chat.  Kelly and Les were ready to abandon us to our fate.  They had a friend who lived in town who said they could camp in the yard.  (We had elected not to stay with said friend, because we wanted to get some A.C.).

Steven, because she is tough, decided to explain the situation.

She told the host that we might like to enjoy a few brews in the evening.  The host said we could drink, just not at his house.  We could go downtown if we wanted to (as long as we were back by midnight!).  Then, Steven, because she is tough, said thank you very much but we should really stay at this other house and we pulled the old "beaver leaver."

Kelly and Les's friend was actually the ex-wife of a client.  And she was awesome.  A RAGBRAIer herself, she may have been the only liberal in the city, maybe the county, perhaps the tri-county region.

She had a huge brick house, so we found a cozy corner of the yard to make camp, and laughed about our close escape from RAGBRAI purgatory.

We very politely drank some beer, wandered down to the expo to get some free stuff, showered, and then went to bed.

The Tiger and Kelly enjoying their first expo.

We had a fitful night sleep.  Easy-E and the Hampsta' rolled in late and had to make camp.  There was flashes of lightening and a touch of rain that sent us scrambling for the fly, only to be stifled by the heat inside.  And, after 10 our friend Steve-Oh showed up to hang out, only to find everyone sleeping.  How embarrassing.

It was a quite a foreboding beginning to our RAGBRAI adventure.