62 Day 4 Forest City to Mason City: Ain't No Party Like a Beaver Party, A Photo Essay

There was some confusion, leaving the Pyramid House. It seemed as if we were stopping at one beer ghetto, but then we ended up riding on. I was with the Mayor, thinking back to the first time I rode through the streets of Clear Lake with the Mayor on my very first ragby, five years earlier. 

As the Mayor and I were riding through town, over the sound system came the strains of that most important of Beaver tunes....

I knew we were in for some fun. We found the Deb parked under some shady trees in the village green, behind all the food, and in the midst of the sh!t show. We parked, each found food, and had a little beaver picnic, right next to the NPR (No Pie Refused) Team to our delight.

RD with the Liberal Cycling Media, Photo Courtesy of Too Much

That looked so good. Photo courtesy of Too Much.

Of course, Beaver picnics don't just involve eating. There is also yoga. 

Pochy and Too Much forward fold

I first witness the Too Much yoga when he and I did the Tour de Pepin. Of course, Pochy is a yoga devotee as well. Our tallest and shortest beavers went through a full sun salutation cycle.

Half raise

Masinga crunches

Now step into lunge...

Now move into sex panther

Oh, did you want some video footage of that yoga? 

Boom.

Steven demonstrates boob yoga.

Of course, both being competitive, Too Much and Pochy both had to demonstrate their headstands.

Spotting

Oh Yeah

That's a lot of white leg in the air

And then, from the loud speakers on the corner came the strains of a song. What song, I do not remember. I do remember leaping up, running to the dance floor, and proceeding to party.

The Beavers followed, of course. And, as we are wont to do, we got that party started.

Nothing Dances Like a Beaver!

Masinga getting her Whiner on.

At one point, Steven scampered up to the roof of a nearby building in order to get an aerial shot of the party, but apparently, we were not cooperating. We couldn't hear her from the steaming tar roof, so we never got together or even noticed. She was understandably frustrated that her epic climb was not rewarded.

Did I mention that Masinga owned this party?

Throughout the fun, we made friends with Team High Life. Well, Too Much made friends with Team High Life. 

His arms were made for selfies! Photo courtesy of Too Much

We also ran into the cute little bus driver from the day before. We drank a bunch of beer, and danced. The Deb and the Dale, both dancing fools, showed us how it was done. 

Abbey Rodeo was in love with Too Much. His photo.

Just enough cow bell! 

Eventually, with the party now thoroughly started, the Beavers hit the road. We did still have like 20 miles left to ride. We mounted up and wobbled north out of town, stopping at the fire station for water. The cops directing traffic across the highway were eating ice cream, and we just knew, more adventures were just down the road.

61 Day 4 Forest City to Mason City: Creep a Vacation House like an Egyptian

Ventura to Clear Lake: 5.5 Miles

There are a lot of benefits to being friends with Pochy. The one that was most evident at this point was the fact that she knew the people who  had rented the Pyramid House. 

What is the Pyramid House? Well, only the coolest house on Clear Lake. 

All 80s. All Egyptian.

So, when we arrived, we stopped, chatted and were given the full tour!

We're inside! Boom!

The Pyramid House has a lot of nice features. Like two kitchens. And a glass table for beaver summits. We should think of having our Annual Beaver Conference here. I mean, it is on a lake. 

Now, Beavers, come to order.

There was also plenty of space to just contemplate the magic of ragby.

A quiet moment for Too Much.

We also practiced our moves for the annual recital.

After the tour, we went out to the front yard, to cheer on ragbraiers. We helpfully offered them facts about Clear Lake, such as the fact that the bicycle had been invented in Clear Lake, along with oxygen and panty liners.

A good time was had by all, with very little riding to bother with. We left the Pyramid House, wound our way into downtown Clear Lake, another hop and a skip down the road where even more amazement waited for us.

Just how much fun can you pack into 40 short miles? Stay tuned.

Shotski! A Photo Essay

It has been unseasonably warm in DSM lately. The high yesterday was nearly 60 degrees, which kind of ruins the fun of writing about the hot, humid days of ragby. So, I offer a little chilly reprieve. 

Over MLK Weekend, I drove up to Hayward, Wisconsin--that great playground in the north--to see Ranger Dave and Ranger Katie. They were in the Midwest to do the Birkie Tour, which is like the American Birkebeiner, except noncompetitive. The reason they decided to do this marathon cross country ski event is because they are training to do the real Birkebeiner, like in Norway.

Anyway, I say, when your friends that live in California are within a 6-hour drive over a long weekend, you go and see them. And, Ranger Dave and Ranger Katie are very fun to see. 

As their unofficial and bumbling skidomestic, I took a lot of pictures, and so I offer you a little photo essay, documenting our shared time in the great white north. Hopefully, this will shame this Iowa winter into some cold and snow. I want to take my skis out again before it's time to ride a bike. 

Apparently they have a problem with trespassers because there were signs warning that the fence, standard chain link, was electric. Uh, sure. 

Hayward is a pretty adventure-prone town. Not only do they host an ass load of ski events, but they also host mountain bike races in the summer, and the world lumberjack competition in July. Further, there is a sport fishing museum, which features none other than a 2-story muskie--that great leviathan of the northern lakes. Much more impressive than the muskie outside the Muskie Lounge in Ventura. 

The Rangers needed to attend a waxing workshop. Which, I imagined would be something like this: 

But first, we had to get them fed. We stopped at a suitably Scandanavian joint, the Norske Nook. I enjoyed so much lefse wrapped cod that I didn't have room for pie. Which was unfortunate because I have never seen such a selection of pie in my life.

Both cheese cakes and cream cheese pies...who knew?

After we headed to Crescent Moon Bike and Ski to get waxed. It was full of skiiers shopping for last minute, uh, ski pants? And wax? And I don't even have the language for what they were doing.

Rangers getting talked out of renting no-wax skis and into expensive jars of wax.

So, I puttered around the shop, considered buying a ski-jor harness for Holiday, and found my way in the restroom. Everything in this town is covered in wood. I was happy to discover that xc skiers of repute also rock mustaches and cowboy hats. It's like a chilly version of American Flyers.

Mustachtastic

Outside, there was a stable of fat bikes for rent. Including a version that was both camo and equipped with a gun rack. How you get the deer home is your own business.

#foryourwisconsin

After the waxing, we went to dinner at the Rock Creek Inn, or the Creek Rock Diner. All the names of the folksy northern joints blend together. The food was so-so, but the art was amazing.

Lumberjacksexual Santa

Then we returned to the hotel room where the Rangers strategized about wax and I drank beer.

The black wax or the pink wax?

Thankfully, because we were in Wisconsin, there was plenty of both.

And cheese.

And because Ranger Dave is a Cyclones fan, he waxed and watched the game.

Multitalented

All you Beavers who have ragbraied with Ranger Dave know all about his mobile gear and nutrition laboratory. You will be happy to know it extends into ski season.

So many layers.

The next morning we got in the car and drove up north of Seeley where the Birkie Tour started. There was more waxing and gear wrangling.

The man knows how to rock the red sports wear.

And, I made them take an obligatory before the event photo.

Ski Rangers!

Then, they mounted up.

Do my bidding, skis!

Both rangers decided to wear distinctive outfits. RK wore her Packers scarf (they were in the playoff that afternoon. And, Ranger Dave, well, he could be seen from space.

I'm blinded! My eyes!

And, then, they were off. Because this isn't a "race" there was no group start. Folks could just start anytime between 8am and 9am. The Rangers left around 10 after 8. Right on schedule.

Skol RD!

Ranger Dave had his game face on. Ranger Katie I would describe as wary, but in good spirits!

Go Ranger Katie!

Both the start and the finish.

And, then it was time for me to go off and have some adventures. My plan was to drive back to the bar/coffeeshop/hotel/restaurant, change my clothes, get a cup of coffee and then, I would try to catch the rangers on the course.

I've done this with road races, inspired by the way the Mayor uses his bike to chase down Steven when she is running. I assessed the map and looked for a place where I could ski or hike in and see the skiers go by. 

Easy, right?

So, I drove up the OO Road to the trailhead, which was busy. I got my skis on and fielded some questions from some locals. Why they were asking me questions, I have no idea. I clearly did not look like someone who knew what she was doing. 

I put my skis on and then realized I had a dilemma. The cowbell. My cowbell is huge and way too big to fit in a pocket. How was I going to ski it in? I dumped everything out of my purse and slung it over my body like a satchel and started the trail. I was immediately intimidated by the skiing (oh, yeah, this is hard) and the super-awesome-I've-been-doing-this-before-I-could-walk northerners who were zipping along on their super cool skis. But, I trudged along, imaging it couldn't be that far. 

The trail was lovely. I climbed a little hill and realized something important. I don't actually know how to go down hill on my skis. Oh shit, and maybe I shouldn't be out here on the Birkie trail....with all these hills, with my limited skills. I decided this wasn't such a good idea, so I turned around and realized something else important. I was on top of a hill. 

F.M.D. 

So, I held my breath, clinched my butt cheeks, and skidded downhill, praying to all those fierce Scandinavian gods that I wouldn't crash and break anything. I didn't, thank goodness. I got back in the track and continued my retreat. 

I made back to the car in one piece, feeling defeated. 

I loaded up my car and decided to head back to Hayward. The night before I had been reading about other ski trails in the area. My friend Mama D told me the best thing about being around the Birkie but not on the Birkie was that all the other trails are completely empty! There was an area by the hospital that was described as "easy" and beginner-friendly, so I headed there. 

I found the parking lot and started changing into my ski boots. There another lady in the lot. A heavy-set older woman putting on snowshoes. "Do you know if these trails are very hilly?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "I've never been here before. I'm from Iowa," as if that explained it. It usually does.

I set my skis on the ground.

"Oh, you have the old kind of skis," she said. Thanks lady. "Yeah, I do the Birke tour every year, but I hurt my knee on New Years Eve when I was out night skiing, so I skipped it this year. My friend lent me her snow shoes, but I've never really used them before." 

"Ah-ha," I said. Not really knowing what to say. "It is really lovely up here."

"It is. I live near Avery. My daughter says I should just move up here." 

"Hmm," I said, fiddling with my ski boots, still annoyed by the old-kind comment. "Well, have fun!" And I took off.

Here's where I went.

And, I had a lovely little ski! It was flat and the tracks were really nice. I would have done the Buckthorn Loop, but there were some big trees down across the trail, so I started with the Lakeview Loop and then did the Pine Loop.

Look at those trees!

The snow was gorgeous and the trees seemed to go on forever!

Like a fairy tale.

It was so warm, I took my hat and gloves off, which was handy because I was soon texting with RK. She sent me some updates with her mileage (which had to be converted to ks or klicks), and her condition, and that she was eating. 

But first, I need to take a selfie.

"I've skied 10.67 miles and am a food place. Where are you?"

"More than a third f the way. Yay!"

I explained that my plan hadn't worked, so I would try to meet her on the north side, near Cable, 31 klicks in. I finished my little ski and loaded up the car. 

I met another Wisconsiner in the lot. Here we go.

"What loop did you do," she asked. 

"I did the Lake Loop and Pine Loop," I replied.

"Oh, you did two loops!" She replied, impressed. "I came out yesterday. I am trying to work off these 10 pounds I've gained in the last couple years. My boyfriend can just snack and snack and there is always food around." 

"Ah," I said, again, not sure what to say, but impressed by the very open and frank discussion we were having. "Well, have fun!" I said. And she skied off. 

I made a quick pit stop at the hotel for my sleeping bag, in case I had do some long waiting for rangers. And, I stopped at a liquor store for some stout beer to drink while heckling. 

And, then I drove north, towards Cable.

Time notes!

My plan was to drive up to Cable and then find the north end warming station because it looked like the race went right by there. I drove down a snowy road into the forest, under the powerline, until I found the trail head and the warming cabin. It looked like there were skiers going by, but no one had numbers on their pants. With the heavy-ass cowbell now in a jacket sack I went into the warming cabin to ask for directions. Inside was as cozy as a dream. A fire was going, a family was playing cards--where the heck was I? Some sort of Norwegian dreamland? All around me pine forests covered in snow rose and fell and clear-eyed descendants of vikings whizzed by. 

Doesn't it look like a place where the race would go???

I got some directions and this time decided to try to hike up to the cross over. Another bad idea. I hiked along the side of the ski trail, careful not to mess up the grooming for about a mile, but the trails were all winding and confusing and the map was pointless because there were no signs and there was certainly no signs of a bunch of ski-non-racers or a food station. A few people tried to help, but between the snow and the confusion, the attempt seemed pointless. 

I bailed out and started the arduous hike back to the car. I texted RK and told her I would see her at the end. A bit later she told me she was at the 31 klick stop and feeling tired. 

Now, I am going to ask you, how did they get the food in there to those food stations? And the volunteers? And, why not just have the BT come by the warming cabin? Why are these events so spectator unfriendly? 

I climbed into the car and headed back to the finish line. 

I suited up in my warm standing around clothes and hiked across a snowy field back to the start line. I couldn't help but notice that the whole field near the finish line was filled with packs of children, of all ages, getting ski clinics. While I walked around, looking for my ski rangers, I realized they were sending these kids down the trail towards the BT, so tired non-racers would have to deal with a pack of children at the very end of their event. That just seems so cruel. 

While I waited, I took pictures of the best ski outfits.

I call this one blue lightning. 

And this one is called party-camo

I tried cheering on the weary skiers who crossed the line. They seemed abashed and surprised that anyone would be there with encouragement or heckling. I need to get Steven up there to learn em a lesson. 

Then, I got a text from RD. He had finished and was moving the car closer to the warming tent. I must have just missed him. Then I got a text from RK. She was a couple miles out, maybe another 40 minutes. 

Then the RD came over. He was not his most cheerfulest Ranger-self. There was a lot of muttering and grumbling about the event, but he also brought beer, so it all balanced out. 

And then, came RK!

Go Ranger Katie!

And she was still smiling!

Get it, girl! 

Soon we adjourned to the tent where they were showing the Packers game. So, we hung out in a tent, drank beer, and watched football.

And this guy wore awesome blue pants!!!

Team Neon Zebra.

While we drank beer and watched football, RK and RD did some stretching and changing and warming of themselves.

Got to keep the biscuits warm! 

At some point, RK and I were not good enough football watching companions, so RD went over and joined some dudes in front of the screen and made some football-friends.

Everyone is so tall! 

And, of course, nature called, so I had to use the kybo.

The Return of Frosty Buns!

At halftime we made a mad dash for the bar in Seeley so we could eat and watch the rest of the game.

The Pack was not doing so well. 

When they tied and went into OT we made another mad dash back to Hayward, thinking we could catch the end of the game there, but we all know how that turned out. 

Then, we retreated to the hot tub. I forgot my swim suit so I had to improvise with a sports bra and Capilene undies. Not pretty, but I can't resist a hot tub. Then we showered up. 

I had it under the strictest recommendation to go to to the Moccasin Bar in Hayward. We couldn't talk RD into joining us. He put on his PJs as soon as we got back to the hotel room, but RK was game to join me for a drink, so we drove out into the night. 

It was worth it. Taxidermy heaven. Poor RK doesn't share my love of creative dead animals. But, the scale was amazing.  

Of course, there was the biggest real muskie

Imagine meeting that one when you are out for a swim. 

And, there was a huge display of chipmunks. 

Yodeling, fishing, what can't those squinnies do?

And, our spirit animal: beaver referring raccoon boxing matches.

I mean, why not? 

After the bar, RK demonstrated her amazing ability to fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. I chatted with Ranger Dave while he stretched on the floor and I reclined on the sofa. 

In the morning, I left the Rangers early. I didn't want to get in the way of all the packing they had to do, and then, I headed back to Des Moines. 

The Big D was experiencing the same warm up, so all the snow was almost gone. I kept my skis in my car for a few days, hoping I would get a chance to take them out, but we haven't had any snow, and my trip to the great white north began to feel more and more like just a mid-winter dream. With beer.