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.

RAGBRAI 2013 Preview: Why You Don't Want to Be Slow

As all three of you readers know, my January RAGBRAI recaps have become a heart-warming winter treat, so I won't give away all the fun, but I do want to post a few reflections this summer and fall about the big show, now that RAGBRAI 4 is in the bag.  

This year, as predicted, I was the weakest link on Team Beaver.  I decided to swap out working for fitness this summer, so I would have the funds for all the fun, even if I didn't have the fitness to actually make them fun. 

Of course, we had a solid squad this year.  The new-and-improved Mayor always gets fast and sassy on the ragby, and we brought rookie of the year Ranger Dave along for the week, and he's a racer.  In the past, I have always been able to keep up-ish.  This year, meh, not so much.  We also had a very fit Goldie and Co. and a Masinga who like runs and stuff.  I was just the Red Lantern.  Whatever.

Here's what I learned from being at the back of the pack, and after careful consideration, I realize, I'd rather not stay back there for my 5th RAGBRAI (only 357 days away!).  

1. Slow Folks Don't Get to Pick the Stops--the fast guys do.  If they see a promising stop along the road, they can pull over and flag the other beavers down.  Slow gals have to keep riding until they see the other beavers.  Of course, I could stop wherever I want to, but that would throw a kink in the beaver-chain (more on that in the future, Goldie), so mostly I just kept moving until I found the R.D. and the Mayor.  

The Mayor and I encountered this issue when we were riding through DSM.  We were pulling up the rear into the State Fair grounds.  We looked for a beaver on the way through, but we didn't see anyone, so we figured they must have rolled on, as Goldie and Co. were excited to get to Runnells.  We kept riding and not seeing anyone and grumbling that they were eager beavers to the free banana stop about a mile outside of town.  

There we checked the phone and realized they had stopped, a lot.  And, we were losing RAGBRAI by being in the front!  (In our defense, no one stopped and put up the Universal Stay Together Signal).  The RD was about 8 miles behind us (a 6-7 nanosecond ride for him), while Goldie and co. were still in DSM!  We had to cool our heels in the beer garden.

We could have stopped for beer and an amazing slip and slide, but because we thought we were the slow guys, we had to keep on trucking.  We rode like 20 miles!  In. a. row!  Before snacks or beer!  

2.  Slow Folks Don't Get to Buy the Beer--which is not all bad, but buying beer for your friends is fun on RAGBRAI.  When you are slow, the beer is either there waiting for you, or one of the fast guys is already in the line buying the beer.  

Every time I tried to buy beer, I would arrive, with three Busch Lights and find that the Mayor or the RD had already bought three Busch Lights.  Then, we'd have 6 Busch Lights, and you know what happens then.

3.  Slow Folks Ride With Whomever Wants to Ride With Them--when you are fast, you can just slip off the front and ride ahead, or coast back and pick up whomever you want to talk to.  When you are slow, you don't have that luxury.  So, for example, when you are panting up a hill, and maybe you just want to go to the dark place to brood about your poor decision to not ride bikes so much this summer, you can't, because your cheerful friends are riding along side.  

I had a moment outside of Minburn, after an 8:45am shot of whisky (!) and a Busch Light at a free beer stop, when I was getting super-hangry, but the town was running out of food as the horde of spandex locusts had fallen upon it.  I needed to get out of there, otherwise, I might unleash my hanger on my dear friends.  Thankfully, they let me bike it out that morning.  I made it to town ahead of the group (they stopped for pee breaks and snacks along the route), and I mauled a piece of pie, a banana and a breakfast bowl and felt better.  

I'd prefer to have the option to keep my hanger, and sanger, and baggitude to myself, but when you are slow, you don't have that option.  If your friends want to try to cheer you up through the hanger or drag you out of the dark place, you just have to let them.  

4. Slow Folks Gets Tired and Can't Go All Out--being out of shape meant that the ride took a bit more of a toll on me, so in Osky, when the crew decided to keep things real and head downtown, I had to hit the Therm-a-rest.  I hated missing the fun, but I was so, so tired.  

Don't get me wrong, I don't really care where I stop, and I love to have people buy beers for me, I am super into sleeping, and a lot of times, having a little cheerful chit chat during my dark-places rides is fantastic, but I was surprised by the way that just being able to "drive heave" the Ragby limited my options.  

It's like pie (it is always like pie).  When you are fast, you can make it to town before the rhubarb runs out.  If you are slow, you are stuck with whatever pie they have.  That pie is still good, but it's not rhubarb.

Fast guys having fun.

To make a getting-to-be-long-blog-short: fast guys have more fun.  Rhubarb me!

Brewery 100 4.0ish: My 200th Blog!

Welcome to my 200th Edition of Half the Rice.  

Fitting that it should be a ride-report for the longest, drunkest, sh!t-showiest ride of the year: 

the Brewery 100 version 4.0-ish.  

You can read about Brewery 100 1.0 the Steven-birthday edition here.  And, the my first Brewery 100 here.  And, the 3.0 here, when we had our biggest showing ever: four riders and 8 breweries.  But, today, we'll focus on 4.0.  

After last year's, record 8 breweries we decided to scale things back.  No Left Hand.  No Fort Collins, but adding in Grimm Brothers, which is weird and good.  

I flew in on the 3rd and hung with with family and Masinga who graciously drove my bike to Colorado on the 4th.  It was a day full of splash pads, naps, and beer of course.  Then, I headed off to bed to be ready for the next day.  

I got up early, threw on my clothes, and started my coffee, so I could get a bit of food and caffeine in me before we hit the road at 530-ish.  I commented on the cloudiness.  The Mayor said it wasn't cloudy it was my sunglasses.  I retorted that I wasn't wearing sunglasses.  Then, we rode to Niwot which is secretly uphill and always makes me think I am not going to be able to do this ride even in the first 1.5 miles.  Then, it goes blissfully downhill.  

Before, so happy!

Someday, I always think as we ride through the quaint streets of Niwot, I will return and check out this adorable town.  But, I never make it past the two Oskar Blue's establishments that are within crawling distance from the Steven/Mayoral Homestead.  

The Mayor and I ride pretty well together.  We ride at about the same pace, though I ride slightly faster with him than when I am alone.  And, we chat.  The Mayor spends a lot of time on the internet, so he knows a lot of stuff and is a charming conversationalist on a bike, which requires a lot of subjects and fluidity of subjects.  

Then, we rode past a snake on the side of the road, and I tried to kill the Mayor.  

Then, we rode past a deer hanging outside of Hygiene.  

Then, we rode through Hygiene through a flock of peacocks.  

Then, we rode past the house with the towers on the top of the hill, and past "regroup" farm, and past "regroup" base of the hill.  

As always, when the offered the choice between one road toward Rabbit mountain and the other road that goes towards Berthoud, and then we are always distressed by the smallness of the shoulder and the fastness of the traffic, and I am always excited about the llamas.  

And, we road into Loveland and stopped at the Walgreens for a snack, where we pondered the voice of the blind-assistance crosswalk and had a snack and sent our whereabouts to Steven so she could estimate our half-way beer (a new edition!).  

Walgreens!  Still happy.

Then, we rode through Loveland and over the hump of open land into the sprawl of Fort Collins.  We stopped at a new gas station.  It seemed a bit forgotten and lonely, but it smelled like freshly baked muffins.  The Mayor ate an ice cream bar as is his way, and I ate a Snickers and some coconut water--the mayor made fun of me for drinking coconut water.  The Latino kid at the counter said he wanted to get into cycling, so I tried to sell him the Mayor's bike, but the deal didn't go through.  Next time.  

Then, we road through Fort Collins, and through NoFoCo, to the glorious stretch north of the city.  You have to climb a bit of a hill, but the payoff is a beautiful decent to a lake, then past a farm with a truck full of skulls out front.  Awesome.  

Mile 50 is just a bit after we turn back south again.  So, when we got there-ish (our computers were slightly different) we called Steven to find out how close she was and if the half-way beer was Blue Moon (Steven gets beer as part of her payment for tutoring, but the beer is Miller-Coors products, but despite the free-ness, I still don't love to get down with Blue Moon).  Steven was still a bit out and it was Blue Moon, so we rode on.  

Mile 50. Still smiling.

At this point in the ride we always wonder, "where is that trail?"  Or, the Mayor wonders and I know.  You have to go over a bridge to get it, but the Mayor always thinks we need to get off early (that's what she said).  Finally, we found the trail, turned on to it, and were promptly passed by a girl (lady), which made the Mayor start pronouncing that we need to get faster.

I suggested that we should find some locals and just follow them to the New Belgium brewery, as I have yet to do this ride without getting lost on the Fo-Co trail system.  Which, we did.  We found some dudes on hybrids who were nice and were going past the turn off and let us ride with them.  We suggested they do the B100 next year.  

And, then we arrived: New Belgium!  Huzzah.  Just in time for the Steven-mobile to roll up and we all went inside and enjoyed some tasty refreshments and free postcards.  I had a pluot beer which was very tasty!  Masinga, who was co-piloting the Steven-mobile until she joined us to ride at Big Beaver, had a beer that tasted like a s'more.  

Then, we rode on to O'dells.  My favorite brewery on the trip, and the site of the sandwiches, which were Ah.Maze.ing.  New mystery ingredients included dried cranberries and chocolate covered pretzels!  I humbly added maple-pumpkin butter to the mix.  Steven asked what I wanted on my sandwich and I told her I wanted the WHOLE enchilada.  Though she looked at me with suspicion, it was so good.  

You want EVERYTHING? Her eyes ask.

Yes, everything!

After hanging around outside, finishing the beer of the odd-duck camera guy (more on him over at Steven's blog), we hopped back on to our bikes in the heat of the day and headed back to Loveland.  The "hump" on the way back is always a bit more painful.  I am slightly drunk and it is way hotter and more windy.  I just dug in and rode.  The Mayor chilled out on my wheel.  That's fine.  If he wants to be towed at seven miles an hour, more power to him.  

As we rode into Loveland, we noticed a bunch of people staring at a tree that was surrounded with caution tape.  I yelled over to an old broad standing on the sidewalk, "what's going on?"

"There's a bear in the tree."  Obviously, we had to pull over.  A baby bear had climbed a tall oak tree on the side of the highway and was just hanging out in one of the tall branches.  The TV news was there along with a lot of rubber neckers, so I didn't think he'd be coming down soon.  

We continued on to Big Beaver, which involves going through a neighborhood and a gate, but we rolled in just as Masinga and Steven and the small one drove up.  Big Beaver has great beer, and nice folks, and they loved that Steven was rocking her "Team Beaver" t-shirt.  I drank a peach beer that was a delight.  After a couple pints, Steven and the small one had to call it a day, so Masinga joined us for the ride to Grimm and beyond.

Beaver, upsizing!

The classiest logo of them all.

Of course it rained on the way to Grimm.  And, though he is isn't using Google-maps, and doesn't know the way, the Mayor spends a good deal of time second guessing my directional choices.  

Wet and wooly, we arrived at Grimm.  We met a posse of folks who were visiting the "Napa Valley of Beer," which I thought was a great way to describe it.  And, drank more beer.  Too much beer it turns out.  

Finding our way to Berthoud and City Star was the next challenge.  I had Google-maps, but I don't know what roads are "good" and what roads are "terrifying."  The Mayor was being supremely unhelpful in this process, which I assumed was him being just a plain old pain in the biscuit, rather than inebriated.  After a hair raising ride out of Loveland on the interstate, we found a passage to a more quiet rode and made it to City Star just as the sun was coming out.

At City Star, we met a parrot.  

The Mayor kept insisting he didn't know the way, which I thought was unfair since he had PLANNED the way.  Again, I thought he was just being weird.  Probably because I was pretty tipsy.  I am pretty good with directions, so I know that I could get us back to Longmont the way we came, but the Mayor didn't want to go that way.  He thought we should go another way.  

So, we turned off the scary-speed-llama road and headed somewhere.  Masinga, I have to say, was a great sport.  And, it was nice that it wasn't raining on this long leg of the journey.  The Mayor, alas, fell over.  

Then, he had to pee, which he did at a stop sign.

Then, he fell over again.  When he started telling me that he could ride, but he "couldn't ride in a straight" line, I realized, finally, that he was wasted.  After the second fall, I considered calling his wife, but I felt like that would be a betrayal of our relationship, so I let him bike it out, bee-otch.  

We made it to the Pump House, where we were so hungry, we considered eating some abandoned hot wings, but the waitress talked us out of it.  She like Masinga also liked to put a little creature on stuff on her adventures and take pictures and FB-them.  Masinga's was a Godzilla toy.  It was pretty cute to see Godzilla's adventures, and I have to say he was in better shape than we were.

We left the Pump House and headed to Oskar Blues.  Enroute, we got a flat.  We made the Mayor change it, which he did with aplumb, despite the beer.  And, we rode on into the sunset, on sidewalks, to Oskar Blues.  

Drunk and still talented!

On the way, I tried to cut the corner and ride over the grass.  Why I decided this was a good idea, I have no idea, but I did, and immediately, before I even fell, I knew I would fall.  "Oh well," I thought and hit the dirt.  A Swedish family was walking up behind me when I popped up.  

"I'm okay, I'm okay," I told them.  The mother, who I think wanted to be more helpful than I would let her, finally shouted, "FINE! Go!"  And, I did. 

Mayoral Blood Bath

Our road rash and ourselves go a table and ordered the hot mess express.  Steven showed up but we were too battle scarred to make the eating and drinking full.  It felt sort of cursory.  And, then, many, many hours later, we retraced our ride from 5:30 in the morning back to The Steven-Mayoral Homestead.  

The poor Mayor.  He has recently sacrificed a good chunk of myself to the low-carb gods.  And, (I know from experience), when you lose a bunch of weight, it totally throws off your "tolerance."  When I realize how bad of shape he was it, it was good late.  I had already been a total bag to him. I just I couldn't compute that he might actually be drunk.  Sorry for being pissy, Mayor!  

Before bed, he came and wished me good night and apologized and we had a bit of a love-festival.  Then, he went to bed and apologized to Steven too, a lot.  Neither Steven nor I is totally sure what he was apologizing or thankful for, but we appreciate it all the same.

All in all, we rode around 104 miles, at about 14 miles per hour, and an estimated 14 pints of beer! 

Conclusions: we all decided that we needed to scale back even more.  We can make it to seven breweries, but it needs to be more like wine tasting and less like a frat hazing.  Maybe, perhaps, just one pint per brewery?  

Other ideas include doing a Brewery 100 5.0 in Iowa.  Whether the roads of Iowa are ready for the hot mess express, I know not.  

200th Blog Thoughts: Well, it has been a long and painful journey.  I have had my ups and downs (in weight, in fitness, in eating, and in terms of rubber side down) documented in this blog, but I have to say that if people keep reading my hack-ass writing back to me, I am going to take the damn thing down.  I have bought new bikes, sold old bikes, and now I am embarking on my 4th RAGBY.  

Where will the next 200 blogs take me?  

Who knows?  

But, there had better be beer.