90 Day 7 Independence to Guttenberg: The Beginning of the End

69 = Fun???

In the morning, the beavers had two sad goodbyes. First, we bid farewell to FOB, who was riding his bike from Independence to Cedar Falls? Or something along those lines. He was getting a ride from there. He assured us he'd be fine because most of the route was on a bike trail. 

We would miss his solid, steady presence with the beavers. He was a man of few words, but they were all the right ones! We can't wait for him to join us for more ragby next year. 

The other goodbye was a more surprising one. The Dale was in his civilian clothes. Not spandex. He had decided not to ride that day. He told us he wanted to be help the Deb with the RV and that he had ridden "his ragbrai," but I think we were all surprised by his defection. First because he had rocked the socks of ragby '14, and second because no one was looking forward to 69 miles of climbing into Guttenberg (not to be confused to Graettinger [GreeTYNengyeR]). And he was getting out of it.

Of course, I've never been a fan of Saturday. It bums me out. I hate having to ride to a schedule. I hate that everyone else is riding to a schedule. I hate that ragby is almost over and won't come back for another year. I hate how tired I am at this point, but I hate that I am going to stop riding now that I finally feel like I got some fit. Meh. 

But, beavers, I am turning a new leaf in my life, and I hereby declare, from deepest darkest winter that I will attempt to change my attitude toward Saturday. I will try to be like the Mayor and embrace every moment of the ragby, and perhaps, learn to love Saturday, even though and maybe even because it is sad. 

I mean, some of the greatest misadventures have occurred on Saturday. There was the time the Mayor and I managed to bike ride no less than a case of beer back to the Bike World bus in our jerseys. And there was the time we spotted Easy-E Rice at the bottom of the scariest hill, making friends and munching hot dogs. There was the Saturday when I wore that ugly Grateful Dead jersey and dipped my tires for the first time with Steven! There was my Potter's Hill push! There was that Saturday that Steven and I sagged in with Kelly and rode the second half and Steven got in so much trouble with the Mayor. I mean, it is always hilly as a mo-fo, but it is always freaking beautiful. Saturday! I get can get down with Saturday. 

Anyway, where was I? Oh, so we said goodbye to FOB and the Dale and the dogs and with tiny group of weekers we left departed Independence. 

I was riding along with Steven and the Mayor, just flat out straight east into the rising sun. We weren't too far into the ride when something happened that had never happened to us before on the ragby. 

89 Day 6 In Independence

I don't know about you beavers, but I am getting a little blog fatigue. Still, I promised a century of blogs and a century of blogs there will be, by ragby-gods. Though, I can tell from the number of comments I've gotten from readers about "needing to catch up" that I am not the only one faltering at the end. Send me some positive beaver vibes to get me through the end! 

Independence, and all

The Deb, of course, had made friends with our hosts, the parents of one of my sister's friends from college...yep, that's ragbrai. Everyone was hanging out on the back deck, drinking beer, playing with the tiny dogs, and eating snacks while we cycled through the showers and organized our camps for the last night.

The funny thing about ragby is that by the time you actually start getting into a groove, like knowing exactly how to set up all of your stuff and where to put your toothbrush etc, it is almost over. The beavers were planning on an early morning as Saturday's ride was the not-fun-kind of 69 (miles, har har) and the hilliest day we'd see on this ride. We needed a good night's sleep to get us through the following day, and I needed a good night's sleep to get me through the melancholy of that last day of camp feeling. 

The beavers decided, after hearing there was a shuttle pick up, that we'd walk up to the hospital, just a couple of blocks away, and head downtown for our last night of our senior year. It was dusk and we weren't sure exactly where we were going. We found the hospital, but there was no one there. And, no shuttles. 

We hung around for about 15 minutes, some of us laying in the grass, or picking pebbles with our shoes. We could hear the bands playing at the bottom of the hill, but no shuttle arrived. Finally, we gave up and walked back to the house. 

After we turned on the street to our hosts, we heard a noise, turned back and saw a shuttle bus pass by, heading down town. FMD. Too late.

The beaver tide had turned, only, we didn't have supper. Now what? Noting our predicament, our hosts kindly opened their fridge. They had some cold burgers and hot dogs, cooling in white-meat fat, some salads and chips and a big bowl of chocolate. We fell upon the food and destroyed their kitchen, happily saying yes to all that was offered us. 

Demoralized from our failed attempt to get downtown and exhausted by our long, and in some cases, vodka-soaked day, we retreated to the comforts of our little tents and went to sleep. 

88 Day 6 In to Wa: Pulling the Bagger Train

Short and sweet, like I like my men!

It was just a hop and a skip into Independence, just 3.7 miles from Otterville, through a winding river valley.

It was fun to be on roads that curved around stands of trees and over little creeks and in front of little ramshackle houses and farms. This is not a wealthy part of the state by any stretch of the imagination.

The vodka has finally burned out of me and I was running on pure CL, a much cleaner and happier burning fuel.

Too Much and I were riding side-by-side, just chatting and enjoying the scenery when we noticed something. We had company.

Two shirtless baggers were tagged on. One behind Too Much and one behind me. Too Much whispered to me, "we're pulling the bagger train," and he gave me a delighted grin.

We took our responsibilities seriously. We kept the pace steady, slowing a bit if they fell off and tossing jokes over our shoulder. I suggested that they should probably hook us up with some beer, since that is what baggers are for, but they didn't really say much. Just sort of rode along back there keeping their own company.

Soon enough we were arriving on the outskirts of Independence. We crossed some tracks and pulled into a bar to beaver-regroup. I saw the baggers and tried to make a joke about how they should buy us a beer, for the free ride, but they were just kind of awkward, so I let it go.

Baggers. You gotta love them.

We rode our bikes into Independence and did our nightly beaver-shuffle of trying to figure out where the hell we were and how the heck we would find the Deb and the beaver-Ark. There was some confusion and consideration of going downtown, but soon enough, we rode through the mess of ragby and found our way up the hill to the east side of town.

The beaver ark was parked in front of a modest house with a big garage and all the tents were set up in soft grass of the back yard, dry as a bone. Thanks Deb!

It was our last night on the ragby, but we didn't forsee where the night would actually take us.

87 Day 6 Wa to In Otterville is Tractor Heaven

Do you know who loves tractors? Too Much. 

Do you know who loves ragby? Too Much. 

We arrived in Otterville after the glories of Amish farmsteads and the dangers of crack-kills roads. We found a "town" that was no really a town, unless you count tractors as citizens. It was more just a jog in the road, a farm house, some beer for sale and bunch of tractors. 

The guy loves his tractors.

We stopped, ditch the bikes in a weedy ditch, and then got our beer and did some hanging. Conditions were not great. The grass was tough, the sky was gray, but do you know who was having the best time ever? 

Too Much.

Just a word on Too Much. He is awesome. 

I met Too Much on a backpacking trip. He'd been alone on the Superior Hiking Trail for a week, and he shared our campsite and our booze and lots of great conversation. Too Much was using his bike to shuttle himself back to his car and he made is own alcohol stove out of a can of potted meat. I love this guy.

Since then, we've been friends, at a distance. He's very busy and very fabulous, but when we had the chance, we've had some fun together, in Minnesota and in Amsterdam. 

Too Much took to ragby like a beaver to water. To say that he was a good rookie would be an understatement. To say that he was a great rookie would be an understatement. If you took all the ragby goodness of the top 50 best ragbiers of all time and blended them into a smoothie of fun and awesome, Too Much would still transcend that. 

He delighted us all with his jokes, his enthusiasm, his willingness to slip-n-slide, his round-buying, and his can-do spirit. Whatever drugs he's on, I want them.

We are just so lucky to have Too Much on the team. He's promised a blog of his own, but I wanted to spend a bit of time in Otterville paying tribute to this new beaver. Is Too Much a beaver, because dam! 

Different day, but still tractors. 

Anyway, we drank our beers and milled around and Too Much took pictures of himself with tractors. He's got the perfect arm-length for selfies. And, then, eventually, we mosied back to the bikes for the short 4 miles into Independence.  

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

We made some alterations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

85 Day 6 Wave to Inde: Craft Beer and Dreams

Somewhere between Westgate and Oelwein we spotted a little slice of Ragby heaven: a farm yard, covered in evenly planted tall pine trees, sweet, cool grass, and craft beer. We'd had a couple near misses with the craft beer tent, but not today.

We all pulled over and had some fun in beer heaven.

This will be my online dating profile picture. 

Steven even managed to get a coveted "I tapped it" tshirt for buying the beer that killed one of the kegs.

Tapped it! Photo courtesy of Steven.

Then we took our beers and retreated to a spot under the trees for a mid-afternoon nap, or in my case a "booze snooze." 

Beavers nap in clusters: Thanks Too Much for the Photo!

I feel like there were stories at this spot, but for the life of me, I can't remember anything that happened here. Did something funny happen with the troopers? Did we meet someone we knew? All of that is lost to ragby memories. Blame it on the vodka. 

It was a slice of ragby heaven, though. All the beavers, relaxing, enjoying just being in this perfect moment: gorgeous, DRY! weather, tasty craft beer, friends, and a Friday afternoon with nothing before us but more bike riding and beer drinking. 

Is this heaven?

No, it's ragby.

84 Day 6 Waver to Indep: Korean Barbeque, Dairy Queen, and Being a Beeotch

On the top of the world!

I rolled into Sumner still feeling like a million vodka-soaked bucks. I don't know how we found the Deb. I think she was waiting for us and then we had to take a long walk to her parking spot on the far side of town. I do remember arriving, tossing down the MadOne, and lolling in the damp grass near the RV.

Then, beavers started to scurry. Food was to be gotten, etc. I wasn't too worried about any of it. I am pretty sure my mom, the Deb, made me a cup of coffee, because that is what she does when she realizes her eldest is a bit "tipsy." And Too Much returned from the food gathering and brought me some Korean Barbeque! 

What? Where did he find that. We were in this Scandavish town, in the middle of nowhere and I was eating a huge, soggy, delicious mess of Korean bbq. Amazing. For some reason, I decided to eat it in the RV. I say decided, but probably my mom thought I would distress the homeowners being wasted in their yard. So, I stunk up the Ark with cabbage and kim chi and what have you. Yum. 

Then, me not completely sober. We left. And, we rode on out of town. At this point, I was sobering up, which was probably a good thing. I think I had switched to my regular glasses and was decidedly not so tall anymore, which was sad.

We arrived in Westgate and I was starting to feel a bit crunchy, but there was homemade ice cream in the town served by the Dairy Queen. I asked her if she had to wear her tiara for the entire year. She told me no, just for official functions. We agreed that was a good thing. 

Thanks for those sunny skies, Norman!

The beavers sat on some steps and watched the ragby roll by, pointing out people we knew or boyfriends or whatever, eating ice cream and drinking our water. Westgate was a bit of a forgotten town, pretty in its ruin. 

Soon enough we were headed out of town, and I was riding with the Mayor, and clearly I was getting sangry, because I started to tell him what I thought about him. I don't think the vodka was so much truth-serum, as bitch-serum, because I was all like "you do this, and you do that, and blah blah blah, asshole talk." 

Thankfully, the Mayor loves me more than I deserve because later when I tried to apologize for said assholishness, he kindly said he didn't remember. In fact, he was chuckling the whole time I was ranting. 

Before long we saw something promising on the horizon: craft beer tent!

83 Day 6 Waverly to Independence: I am the tallest human in the world!

Thanks again to Masinga for her epic and forthright 5-part guest blog series! But, now, back to me!

Tripoli to Sumner

Most, if not all, of the beavers were impressed by amazing abilities to bring out the sun. Though, as you have read, and as you will read, those sacrifices were not without consequence.

Photo courtesy of Steven, pre-slap heard round the dam.

I was wasted when we finally left that VFW. No matter. There is a lot of drinky-cycling in DSM, so I'd been there before. And thankfully, I had the love and support of the Mayor, who seems to love me and adore me even more when I am drunk, ridiculous, and kind of an asshole. That's why he's my ragby-husband.

We rode out of town, down a long hill. I remember seeing some nice trees. I remember riding up some hills, nothing serious. A nice stream here and there, and then eventually the road opened up and we were out in the countryside. The Mayor rode with me for a bit, I think. And, I asked him to protect other riders from my dangerous and erratic potential.

Though, eventually, I got separated from my team. That's okay, I thought. I got this. Oh, vodkfidence.

In fact, I was better than "got this." I was having a blast. All lingering pain had been numbed by booze. And any lingering concerns I had about my abilities were washed away. And then, I realized something else.

I was soooo tall. Well, I wasn't actually tall, but I felt really, really tall. Like my 48 cm bike was now a 60 cm bike, and I was on top of it. Higher than all the other bikes. Higher than the cars! Higher than the corn, even! Weeee!!!!

In hindsight, I think this is actually an optical illusion caused by a combination of vodka and polarized lenses because when I rode in my regular glasses, I shrunk back down to mini-size. But, it was amazing. I felt like I had no legs! And, I was flying over the road! Yippee!!!

Then, I stopped to have a pee in the corn. It was muddy. This made me giggle to myself. Hilarious. Ragbrai was hilarious. And, it was sunny! And I was riding my bike! Magic!

82 Guest Blog: Masinga-Week Part 5

A Note from Norman: we have reached the climax of our little beaver's journey into her own personal heart of darkness. Thank you Masinga for your honesty! We are so proud of you!

ENTRY 5 - CRY #3

Saturday – The last day.  The whole week as my mental and emotional capacity was deteriorating, I couldn’t help but think, I can’t say I rode my first full week if I skip a day.  I was going to make it up these hills, one way or another.  I was feeling okay about some of the climbs.  I could do it.  I think it was the next to last town.  That’s where I blew up. 

I think my problem with RAGBRAI is the booze.  You get so full from drinking beer after beer that there isn’t any room for food.  I was hangry.  I was 400 miles in.  I did not want to climb out of this town.  I really didn’t want to go down the hill to a bar.  Let’s just get on the road and finish RAGBRAI.*

This is how she was feeling towards Too Much.

This I do remember.  Too Much yelled at me.  I was one of the most angry people he had ever met.  I yelled back.  Not everyone can be happy all the time like you.  I stormed off.  I was hurt.  I stuffed my feelings down, in the form of a sandwich chased by a Gatorade.  I rode down the hill to the bar.  I drank my beer in silence.  I rode up the small steep hill on my way to a ginormous hill.  I was angry.  I made it up the giant hill, only to discover we had to go back down.  I knew there were more hills to come.  I ran into one of my friends while in Garber, she informed me there were two really big ones left before we went down into Guttenburg. I rode my own RAGBRAI; let's leave it at that.

When I got to the top of the last big hill, on a flipping US highway that was not closed to traffic, Normie and PBear were waiting for me with a tiny beef stick.  I was super excited to see them.  And I broke down.  It was my final cry.  I cautiously coasted down the hill into Guttenburg.

We rounded up the Beavers and took one more Beaver Shot down by the river.  I was spent.  We got drunk in the Beaver Ark during the ride home.  My parents had to drive me and my gear home. And I slept in my clean fresh sheets. I survived the riding portion.  I struggled with the mental game.  I didn’t ride fast enough.  I wasn’t fun enough for my fellow Beavers.  I didn’t buy as many rounds for my fellow Beavers as I should.  Somehow I felt extremely alone, surrounded by a sea of cyclists.

I really did feel as though I was coerced into riding the entire week instead of making that conscious decision for myself.  I couldn’t understand why I didn’t walk away from my first full week loving every minute of it. Maybe I don’t have to love it.  Maybe I can just be in like with RAGBRAI.

In the back of my mind, I understand I will never be the driver again; The Deb has filled that role and she’s really good at it.  I don’t know that I can be a co-pilot; anyone who has ever been on a road trip with me knows I’m not a good passenger, ever. I’m not sure how I fit in to Team Beaver and the RAGBRAI experience. It has taken me many months and however many days of the Ragby recap to be reminded that somewhere along the way, I had fun.

Made it.

What I do know is that I have decided to try again.  

*This is the problem with virgins. They just want to finish too soon.

81 Guest Blog: Masinga Week Part 4

A Note from Norman: welcome to part 4 of Masinga's 5 part mini-series of mayhem and meltdowns. Shit's gettin' real.

ENTRY 4 – Three Cries Allowed – Cry #2

I don’t remember if everyone was wearing rain gear when we decided to roll out.  All I knew was, I was unsure and I didn’t want to be the newbie and ask what I should do.   I fiddle-f@#$ed a ton because I was hoping my team would postpone our departure and wait for this impending storm to blow over.  I was scared to ride in a thunderstorm.  I was scared to ride on wet pavement.

Finally, we took off, and me without a raincoat.  Too Much didn’t have one on.  I could be tough too, besides I didn’t know what I would do with it after I wanted to take it off.  Then the rain really started. It was cold.  Then the thunder and lightning got more intense.  I was terrified.  We think we pulled over in Bremer.  There wasn’t much, if I remember correctly.  My breakfast was a soggy bagel under a pop-up tent.  What I do remember is seeing Too Much whipping out rain gear.  I’m pretty sure I had the most pitiful look on my face after seeing that.

We got back on the bikes and went on to Tripoli, as the rain continued to intensify.  We stood in the overcrowded VFW, where it reeked of dampness and it felt 20 degrees warmer inside.  We huddled together.  Drank more beer, or in Normie’s case, vodka.  What?  Where did that come from?  It was still extremely early in the day.  I may have started to be a serious Debby Downer.  I don’t know what when down, but I do know that I got slapped.  Maybe she remembers the context, but I remember the action and it didn’t feel good.

We eventually left when the rain let up.  I was not a happy Beaver.  I’m pretty sure I stopped and cried somewhere in there.  I begrudgingly kept churning out the miles, happily skipping the jog over to Oelwein. Why take the route over to a town when we could just continue on the same road?  Apparently we missed a party with that decision.

80 Guest Blog: Masinga Week Part 3

A Note from Norman: Welcome back beavers! We are in part 3 of Masinga's 5 part recap of her first riding ragbrai. Stay tuned! Oh, yeah, photos are Masinga's, captions are mine!

ENTRY 3 – Three Cries Allowed - CRY #1

When I pulled into the grocery store parking lot in Forest City I was ready to shut down.  I didn’t want to talk to anyone.  I was pissed.  I felt like they were angry with me not knowing anything about our host in Forest City, even though I arranged the stay.  It’s a funny thing, when you say do you know someone who lives in one of the overnight town, it’s a convoluted statement.  One of my co-workers knows a guy who is from Forest City and we could stay with his parents.  OK.  The address is Forest City. I forget that small towns are a different beast.  Gorgeous house!  But we definitely needed the lift out to the house, there was no way we were up for the ride out to their fortress on the hill.  I retreated to the front porch to watch the sunset in quiet solitude.  It was what I needed.  Tomorrow was a new day! And a short one at that.  I slept hard and woke up ready to ride. This is where I really start to forget things.  Made it through Wednesday.  Yay! 

Pretty good!

Pretty sure Masinga won the RD Boyfriend challenge with this one.

Thursday, we had a joiner.  Jake.  Let me tell you a little story about my 2014.  I set out on a mission to let myself go on dates.  So I did.  I had a spreadsheet so Goldie, Norman and a chosen few could ask questions and keep all these guys straight.  In the midst of that, Norman tells me she’s got a guy she wants to set me up with, would I be up for her handing out my number to this dude.  Sure, why not?  Couldn’t hurt. Until he comes on RAGBRAI after not using my number.  Sweet!  Commence a silent ride for a handful of miles.  Sorry if I wasn’t very good company Jake.  I still liked having you there!

Licence and registration, ma'am.

Somewhere along the way, I took a turn for the miserable.  I think there was a hill and I was ready to be done.  Lo and behold Norman and PBear were at the top, along with the Dirty Lemonade stand.   I pulled up and apparently I had the most pathetic look on my face just as cloud of dust blew around my head.  PBear laughed.  I started crying.  She then shared her theory that she allows herself three cries.  If I didn’t get to the first one until Thursday, I still had one more left for each of the remaining days.  I quickly fell asleep that night, but woke up terrified as the wind started blowing and the storm slowly rolled in.  

79 Guest Blog: Masinga-Week Part 2

A Note from Norman: Greetings beavers! I hope you are enjoying Masinga's description of her journey need into the heart of darkness that is Virgin-Ragbrai. This part 2 of 5. Voila!

ENTRY 2 – Who’s ready to Dance?

I woke up ready for Monday!  Ride, ride, ride. Hanger. Sanger. Ride, ride, ride.  I’m going to jump ahead to the dance party, that’s what we all want here. 

I don’t even know how it started. It was so much fun. I think it went like this.  Goldie, JK, and I strolled into the front doors at The Lodge on Main.  We walked through the dark bar and out to the patio where the louder music was coming from.  There was a DJ on a flat bed trailer, weird.*  There was a large tent with a number of mostly empty picnic tables.  There were a couple tables set up as outside the bar with troughs full of cold beer behind them.  There was definitely an empty area between the picnic tables and the flatbed trailer.  That empty area was perfect for a dance party. 

Obviously.

If you know me well, you know I’m not a dancer.  There either has to be a great party happening that makes me want to shake my beaver tail or I have to be well on my way to schnockered.  I don’t remember being that far into the sauce, I could have been mistaken.  Maybe it was the two friends we three lady Beavers made on the “dance floor”.  Two Jug Sniffers showed up and they were down to shake it.  They may have been touting their Flabongo (see picture below), which may have tipped me over the edge towards schonockered-ville.  When in  Clinkerton. 

Suck that bird!

Making friends.

Holy shit did I shake my booty.  Old Men.  Ladies. Young hot men. Young hot mustached men.  (see picture) You name it.  Everyone was at The Lodge to party!  The rest of the Beavers showed up! Team Awesomeness showed up.  It felt like a time stopped.  I don’t know how much time passed, but I was feeling good.  I met my RAGBRAI doppelganger.  I got a couple of sweet coozies – thanks Jug Sniffers and the one I swiped from The Lodge.  I don’t know why we got pulled out of there.  Was it because the DJ had to shut down or the beer sales had to stop? Why did it have to end??

Wait, we've seen this dude on this blog before...

Doppleganger!

Fun note – A story that was published after RAGRBRAI interviewed a young man who had been battling cancer.  After consulting his physicians he decided to continue with his plan to ride RAGBRAI despite the prognosis he was given earlier in the summer.  The journalist asked what his most memorable moment was.  The young man mentioned being in the middle of a thumping dance party in Graetinger.  I couldn’t help but smile and think, “Yea, we started that party.”  Here’sthe link.

Umm?

I vaguely remember the team discussing a new slogan, something to the effect of “the damn party doesn’t start until the Beavers roll in”.  Pretty sure I went to sleep in Emmetsburg hoping that the rest of the week would be that awesome.  That or I passed out not knowing any better.

V for Virgin!

The next day, I didn’t talk to anyone until 1:30 in the afternoon.  I don’ t know if it was my semblance of a hangover or the first sign that maybe RAGBRAI really isn’t for me.  Only time would tell.

*Not actually weird. Pretty standard DJ behavior. DJs are like Goldie. They like to be up high.

78 Guest Blog: Masinga-Week Part 1

A Note from Norman: Oh beavers, do I have a special treat for you. Masinga has come down hard on the request for guest blogs. Her epic recount of her freshmen-ride is not 1, not 2, not 3 blogs long, but 5! Yes, I present to you, Masinga week. Enjoy! 

ENTRY 1 - “Everybody rides their own RAGBRAI.” But what if RAGBRAI isn’t for me?

2013 was such a fun time as the driver.  I felt appreciated.  I felt adored.  I felt needed.  I impressed my team with great attitude and decent cycling abilities on the ONE day I rode.  I amused them with my sing-song attitude instead of anger when the riding day got too long for me.  Then I really kicked it up as the driver.  My parking places were stellar, snacks were always out, and the requested beer was always cold.  By the end of the week I apparently asked too much in terms of communication.  I thought I needed to be responsible all the time.  I was apparently wrong about that. I threw in the towel in Osky and got drunk in our hosts’ front yard.  Then I salmoned up stream on my bike and found their party.  I was winning at RAGBRAI! They were having so much fun on the route, how could I not enjoy riding the whole thing myself???

So for 2014, I registered as the driver, with the understanding that we would try to organize a schedule so I could ride a couple days and drive, maybe even alternate.  It was going to be epic!  Then news came that The Deb didn’t want to ride at all.  Ok, so that means I can pick and choose when I want to ride?  Awesome.  Then I got guilted into making the commitment to ride the entire week.  “If you say you’re just going to ride when you want, you won’t even consider riding the whole week.  Just tell yourself you’ll ride the whole thing.”  Point taken.  Mentally prepared for 400+ miles.  Or so I thought.

Pre-Ark Beaver Depart!

The ride up in the Beaver Ark was awesome!  Got drunk with PBear, which I think was a first for the two of us together.  PBear recounted the SAGA superbly.  And it was so much fun! We descended from the Ark in a surprise drunken stupor.  I set up my borrowed tent, honestly I think it was set up differently every day.  I enjoyed wandering around the expo with the team.  I felt excited to be there.  I felt excited for what the week had to bring. 

Fort Beaver in RV, next to the RV

The first day was rough for the Beavers, as we’ve heard Normie tell.  Lots of mechanicals for many of the Beavers, except Too Much and I, so we rode on.  Too Much was a tad adorable.  That made riding with him a little nerve wracking. Thankfully, we spotted the White Tiger. I needed a buffer. I think I got drunk and hit on Too Much, or at least I couldn’t remember if I did or I was thinking about it so much that I thought I did.   Should be part of the official Beaver rules, never hit on a teammate.  Overall, made it through my first day of my first full week, relatively unscathed and looking forward to the next day. 

Oh, those silly little dogs!

77 Day 6 Waverly to Independence: Sacrifices Must Be Made

And it hit me like a bolt from the sky. There was only one way to appease the Gods of Ragby and make the rain stop. Someone had to get almost too drunk to ride her bike. Here. Now. In this VFW hall. The drinking would have to continue until the sun came out. 

And, that someone would be me. 

Yes, me. I would make that sacrifice for my beaver friends, for all of ragbrai, indeed for this good state of Iowa. 

The day before I had made a dangerous discovery. Vodka. On ragbrai. 

Now, I've dabbled with booze on ragby before. I'll have a bloody mary in the morning, if they look tasty. But, for the most part, I stick with beer. It's cheap. It's refreshing. There's lots of water in it. It's plentiful and it doesn't take a long time to get one at a bar. 

But vodka. This was new. I did have to admit that the one or two(?) vodka lemonades I'd had the day before at the Dirty Lemonade Stand Regroup was pretty darn tasty. 

If my goal was going to be accomplished, and I was going to get sacrificially-wasted, I knew beer wasn't going to do the job. I'd have to drink like 65 Coors Lights to get that drunk. I'm not actually sure it is possible to get drunk on Coors Light (though, the Mayor might be an example to the contrary). Much like the Milk Challenge, your body might not be able to accommodate enough CL to achieve a reasonable blood alcohol level. 

So, I ordered another bloody mary. And, another. And, then a vodka lemonade. Then I got a beer two. God didn't give me two hands for nothing! Ha! Then, I "found" an abandoned bloody mary on a table near our beaver huddle. I drank that. I drank it all. 

My view as I got drunk

Which was pretty easy to do. Beavers were buying drinks, and there wasn't actually any room in the bar to like walk around or get distracted. I was just bundled up between FOB, my party periscope, and Masinga, who was tap, tap, miserably tapping away on her iPhone. 

Now, before I get into what happened, I want to remind you all that I was doing a service and I was pretty well on my way to accomplishing my goal.

And, here's the thing. No one can remember exactly what happened. Half the beavers didn't even see what happened. And, the other half can't remember what predicated it. But, happened it didn't.

Masinga said something. My guess, based on my reaction, that it was something nasty about ragbrai. I asked her the other night if she can remember what she said. She doesn't. 

And. 

Before: Check out the crazed look in my eye! 

I slapped her. 

Not hard! Not hard at all! But without my really realizing what happened, I reached up and popped her on the cheek. 

Though, in my heart, I felt it was right--someone had to defend the honor of ragby, I felt bad. She'd suffered a great deal, already. Masinga was not having a good time on ragby. She and ragby were not getting along. It was unclear whether she even likes ragby, to this day! But the slapping was yet another straw on the back of already beleaguered beaver. 

Tears welled up on her face. She turned back to her iPhone. I tried to give her a few pat-pats on her shoulder to try to make it up to her a bit. Please remember, I was drunk. 

And then, on the side of my face, I felt it. Something strange and long forgotten. A rider had opened the back door and was stepping out. In the crack of the open door, there it was: 

The Sun. 

76 Day 6 Waverly to Independence: Washing Ashore in Tripoli

We arrived in Tripoli, which being named after the capital of Libya, one would hope would be warm and dry. But, no. We dumped the bikes at a promising looking VFW and went inside.

And inside it was what one would imagine on a cold rainy day on ragby. The bar was packed, wall to wall with wet, grumpy, stinky cyclists, with rain water squelching out of their chamois into their shoes and slurping all over the floor. They had the hollow eyes of refugees who had fallen off their raft in the middle of a dark and stormy sea, only to be swept up on some lonely shore. They slurped beers and bloody marys and wandered out back for the promise of a breakfast sandwich, or huddled in a corner, alternatively shivering and sweating, trying to maintain their hard-won 12-inch square piece of linoleum floor.

Inside the Refugee Camp/VFW Hall. Photo Courtesy of Too Much

This was our fate. A bleak one at that. I fought my way to the bar, bought a bloody mary and went out back. I checked out the breakfast sandwiches, but they were being served on Wonder Bread. No thanks. I decided to avoid the crowd and hang out under the tent. Most of the tables were empty, but I made some friends with locals, who told me out Tripoli is actually pronounced: Try-Polly? Trip-ilolly? #whocares?

They told me all about their town! Volley ball champions! And some other stuff I can't remember that seemed cool at the time! We had a nice chat. They were a friendly couple with a couple of kids in high school. They had ridden a day or two of the ragby. Their house wasn't locked, so if you ever need a place to stay in Northeast, Iowa just try the door at 1543 Main Street, Trippi-lly. Just kidding. But I was asking around for possible bail out opportunities. The apparition of a warm, dry bed floated through my mind.

As we were talking the rain picked up. I eyed all the cords, running through the muddy puddles in the yard, going to the DJ booth under the tent. Did that seem like a good idea? I mean, these guys, in theory survived, you know, like 'Nam and Dunkirk and Falujah. Aren't we scared that we all might be called to the great stop-loss program in the sky with all the cords all over the place? Yikes.

Then, a huge crack of lightening lit up the sky. I noted the massive aluminum pole that held up the tent. Oh dear.

As the rain pounded the plastic roof of the tent, I held my bloody mary in one hand, and shook my other fist at the sky, cursing the Gods of Ragbrai. "We've already sacrificed a virgin! What more do you want from us?!"

And, then, like a bolt of lightning it hit me. I knew what I had to do.

75 Guest Blog: Pochy Part Three!

Note from Norman: Okay Beavers, it's Friday the 13th, and I hereby curse myself. We have reached a blogging milestone. 75 blogs about ragbrai. I have come to an important decision. This muthafucka is going to do the century. 100 blogs about ragbrai. There are still many, many adventures and shenanigans to document, and Masinga has promised a 5-part manifesto. Strap in: 25 blogs to go.

I always knew that Clear Lake was a summer-fun tourist town, but this day felt especially significant for me.  Growing up in Clear Lake, I always had to work at events like this.  I served ice cream, did face painting for little kids, participated in whatever the town needed to make an event nice for the tourists.  This day of RAGBRAI was the first time that I felt like a tourist in my own hometown - and it was wonderful! 

Amazingly, the Beaver meet-up signal actually works and we found each other pretty quickly.  We put our bikes in the sun and sat down in a nice shady spot.  Some Beavers went searching for food, others went searching for beer, it was very relaxing.  I ate something that reminded me of the state fair, and then promptly went upside down for some yoga and headstands. 

By the time the rock band started to play, we were ready to dance.  If I remember correctly, we started that dance party! 

Beavers V. Whiners dance off: Whiners always win

​

This dance party was right next to my favorite Clear Lake bar, the VFW.  The VFW had air conditioned bathrooms with no line!  The VFW also had one dollar jello shots, so I grabbed as many as my tiny hands could carry and spent as much time dancing as I possibly could.  

Then I saw the Sterzing's team!  Luke and I have a love/hate relationship with Sterzing's (the chips, not the people).  Luke used to live in Burlington, so he really wants to love those chips... they're supposed to be a local favorite.  I hate those chips because they taste like they've been fried in donut grease - sort of like a potato chip that wants to be a funnel cake.  I think they're disgusting. 

Chips!

It started to feel like we were never going to leave Clear Lake.  Realistically we didn't have to - the day was early and we were already almost done with the ride.  Eventually we shuffled out of town and started the longest ride of the day (which was still incredibly short).  

We stopped for some ice cream, and then we stopped for some free lemonade, and then suddenly we were in Mason City!  We sat in the shade at a gas station, drank beer, ate candy, did more Beaver Yoga, and then a short ride later, we were at the YMCA. 

The Mason City YMCA had a nice big grassy area where our tents were already spread out and waiting for us!  (Deb is amazing)!  They also had a pool (where we got yelled at for trying to stand on those little floating tiles), and a hot tub, and showers! 

We walked across the street for dinner at the Pizza Ranch.  You'd think this place would have been prepared for RAGBRAI, maybe some extra staff on hand, but they were not.  We all ate our fill, but there were several times that we had to wait for pizza, and eventually they just said screw this and closed the restaurant early.  

I've always had good experiences at VFW bars.  I've even partied in the Mason City VFW in the past, so when we all walked into the VFW next to the Pizza Ranch, my expectations were high.  The bar was empty, with the exception of a few older locals, but they were excited to see us because they had a DJ coming that night!  

I don't even know what to say at this point.  I love to dance.  I don't love it when I feel obligated to stay on the dance floor because no one else is dancing and the DJ really, really, really wants us to stay.  We sort of dance awkwardly for what felt like hours, and then we made a quick escape. 

I thought the night was winding down, but there was a big surprise waiting for us back at the camp! 

74 #tbt Sunday: 2nd Mechanical, 3 Stop Town

I totally forgot a significant chunk of beaver-fun. So, today, we have a #tbt! 

I think it was on Sunday. Probably it was on Sunday because I think the Tiger was with us...we were riding into some town, Sheldon? And we were beaver-regrouping at a Casey's on the edge of town. But there was no Too Much. 

What had happened? 

Soon, the Tiger arrived and told us that Too Much had broken a spoke. He was fine, but it would take a bit longer than usual for him to limp into town.

We made a temporary dam in the parking lot and watched the mayhem. The Bad Boys were there and the whole Casey's parking lot looked like Spring Break Daytona Beach 1997! (That was a good year). We bought some snacks and a half-rack and hung out and watched bagger bikes topple over. We also made friends in the bathroom.

Finally Too Much arrived. He was cool. But he did need a bike shop, so we rode to the park, where Bike World was set up (we love Steve and Leeann) and Too Much got a new wheel. I hid in the trailer shade and took a pseudo nap.

Soon enough, Too Much had a new wheel and we were ready to ride! Yah! But, then, we got to the outskirts of town, and either there were already some beavers there? Or, we decided it looked like fun, so we stopped again. 

This was a three-stop town (this is why we have to get up so early in the morning). 

The golf course was fun. I got to introduce all the beavers to all the Des Moines bike folks I knew. And, they had good beverages and nice grass. 

That Sunday was a double-mechanical day, which made it extra challenging, but when I think about that Casey's/nap/golf course, I do remember having some fun.

73 Day 6 Waverly to Independence: I can stand the rain

Oh no, the penultimate day!

Norman Note: No pictures. It was too rainy to get the phones out. Enjoy the prose. 

I woke up early in the morning on Friday to the sound of a storm and heavy rain rolling through Waverly. "Oh, dear, Lord, please can we just sleep in for a bit?" I prayed. It's one thing to ride in the rain, but it's another thing to start a ride in the rain. It's one thing to start a ride in the rain, it's another to have to break camp in the rain. If we could just snooze a bit more. I was just so tired. 

Eventually, the rain slowed, the beavers--those great aquatic rodents--emerged from tents and packed up quickly and efficiently. It wasn't raining when we hit the road, well, it was just raining a bit. I grabbed my Westcomb jacket and stuffed it into my jersey pocket. I noticed that neither Masinga nor Too Much had jackets. Brave souls. I have a super fancy rain jacket, but it's not even up the task of keeping me dry on the bike, but it does provide a bit of extra warmth, which I appreciate when I am shivering in some church basement or beer ghetto.

We navigated the wet and busy streets through Waverly and joined the ragby. It was a quick ride to the town of Bremer, just 6.5, but the the time we arrived it was straight up raining. F.M.D. I put my jacket on and took shelter under the EZ-Up of a townie who was selling homemade granola bars--they were good, so I bought two and scarfed them both down while watching the rain. 

And then, of course, some douche bag with a recumbent wheeled his bike under the tent, put the kick stand down, and bought a granola bar. Really. Really? This is the exact same issue as the sun versus shade. Does your bike really need to be out of the rain? I mean, you have to ride it another 60 fucking miles. Wouldn't it be nice if a sentient being could be dry for a bit?! Maybe we can pass some Ragby Ordinances about this "situation," start passing out tickets? 

As I was simmering with fury and considering how to "accidentally" bump the bike over while it's owner wandered away, I looked up and noticed Masinga. She was soaked, poor thing. She came over and joined us under the tent. Then I looked up and noticed Too Much. Now, he was clad rain coat and hooded. I looked at Masinga's face. Crestfallen is the word I would use to describe it. Two jacketless beavers suffering in solidarity is one thing. One jacketless beaver suffering alone is so tragic. 

Poor Masinga. These are the mornings that are just so hard on virgins. It's Friday. It's been a long fucking week. There are still 60 miles to ride, and another hilly day tomorrow. You're exhausted and sleep deprived and dehydrated, and now, you're fucking wet and cold. There's nothing anyone can say to make it any better. You've just got to dig deep, chuckle at the humor of the ragby gods, and ride on, but that is hard to do when it's your first time. On the positive side, sometimes, the ragby gods will accept the sacrifice of a virgin in exchange for improved weather, so we had that going for us. 

When the bar in Bremer didn't materialize, and the rain didn't seem to be letting up, we reluctantly trudged back to the bikes and embarked for Tripoli. I don't remember much of this stretch of ride. Just glimpses of from under my hood of the gray clouds scudding across the sky. Spray of water kicking up from tires. I rode near Steven and Fall Out Boy (FOB) but we mainly rode in silence, hunkered in our own little bubble of woe as thunder boomed out of the north. I wished for the security and fenders of my MoTro and thought about the day the Tiger and I rode along the canals of Flanders into Antwerp. It was kind of like that, kind of. 

Eventually we turned north. The roads took a precipitous decline in quality and we bumped and straggled into the town of Tripoli, where our fortunes and the weather would take a turn. 

72 Guest Blog: Order in the Court! Fall Out Boy Speaks!

A Note from Norman: Boy, oh, do I have a treat for you beavers today. Jake, aka "Fall Out Boy," wrote an amazing guest blog. He actually sent it to me on the 23rd of December. A+ student, clearly. 

FOB's post made me chuckle; I remember trying to explain who he was to the beavers, "well, he's this guy I went on a bike ride with once." But, I think my favorite part about Fall Out Boy is his amazing stoicism. He doesn't say much. At one point, at the party in Clinkerville, I checked in with him, "you are having fun, right? I just want to check because it's kind of hard to tell." He said he was. That he gets that a lot. And, from his blog it sounds like he did have a good time. I hope he'll join us again this year! It never hurts to have a lawyer around...

I first came upon Team Beaver in what I believe is their natural habitat, stretched out behind a sheet metal fire station, a steadily rising pile of empty tallboys at their side.  Yes, I thought to myself, these are people I need to get acquainted with.  In the beginning, my connection with the team was tenuous to say the least.  When friends and family would ask who I was riding RAGBRAI 2014 with, I would stare at the ground and mumble “my neighbor’s college English teacher from a few semesters ago…and some people she knows…I guess…”  By the end of the week, however, I was rocking a customized Team Beaver koozie with my name written on it in Sharpie marker, the ultimate sign of RAGBRAI acceptance.

With thirteen RAGBRAIs under my belt, I thought had seen everything this ol’ ride could muster.  My time with Team Beaver, however, opened up a whole new side of things.  I think it best to fill this guest post with some of my new found knowledge:

1.   1.    It is possible to not own biking gloves, yet still possess a sweet pair bicycle rain goggles.  I thought I had acquired every piece of cycling accouterments known to man.  Tad Johnson, you not only proved me wrong, you gave me a nice addition to my Christmas list this year.

2.   2.   There are songs which can “kill RAGBRAI”.  It appears that nothing can stop a group of rowdy, hard-drinking cyclists quite like a Lee Greenwood patriotic ballad.  When Mr. Greenwood’s vocals lit up the speakers, the Clarksville beer garden stopped its hug dancing and merrymaking, unsure whether to rock out to a classic American anthem or stand in silent reverence until Cotton Eyed Joe started up again. It was then that Lauren and Beth explained to me that “God Bless the U.S.A.” was one of the few songs which could stop a RAGBRAI party in its tracks.

3

3.     3.  No one restarts a RAGBRAI party after Lee Greenwood kills it quite like Team Miller High Life.  Seriously, who could deny that the dude with the crazy blonde hair and bandanna had some moves?!?

4.      Even with RAGBRAI rocking nearby, it’s still illegal to drink a six-pack of Coors Light outside a Kum & Go in Bremer County, though the sheriff’s deputy will let you “drain’m quick ” if you complement his hat.

5.     4. The very best way to wait out an epic rainstorm is huddled in a tight circle around the Touchplay machines in the “Trip-O-Lah” American Legion.  Ingest a steady stream of Old Milwaukee (heavy) and fried egg sandwiches for good measure.

6.      5. It is possible to get Korean BBQ in North Central Iowa.

7.    6.   It would appear from Norman's FaceBook post there a number of Team Beaver members I haven’t had the opportunity to meet, including my high school English teacher (Jennie “Ms. Lippold” I was the very tall guy in your American Literature class a few years back who liked to write about John Steinbeck), and I look forward to meeting you all in 2015!