120 Okay, this is F&#KING It

Thanks to everyone's generous contributions over the last 120 days of blogging, we have reaching a nice round number: 120! And, here, I think, we should end this ragbrai adventure.

Steven is right. We need to start dreaming of ragbrai future, rather than ragbrai past, and, so, I hope, this is the conclusion to this insane project.

When I set out to write about ragby, I hoped to out do last year's 45 blogs about ragbrai. And, well, we did it. Of course, as Masinga pointed out, a good chunk of that blogging was about the #rideout, but still, we, as a team, have managed what I consider a tremendous feat of bloggitude.

For one thing, I can't believe that I have managed, in one way or another, and with TONS of help, get get a blog posted everyday for 120 days. And, let's be honest, these were not the easiest 120 days of my life.

Yet, blogging became, in many ways, the vehicle that carried me through. Much like bike riding can get your head in a safe place to deal with some of your other sh!t, this blog helped me. I got to spend a little while each and every day remembering all that fun. And, to be honest, if everything in my life was going perfect, I am not sure I could have done it.

I am also proud of myself for pulling it off. As many things as I have given up or let slide in my life, I managed to do this. So, yah! me.

And, I am so, so grateful to Beaver Nation. I got so many text messages and Snapchats and phone calls mentioning the blog and how much fun it was to read. Both Pochy and Steve L told me it was part of their morning rituals! I just feel both humble and proud that so many people that I adore and respect and who are incredibly busy and important would be willing to spend a bit of their day reading my rambling stories about the ragby.

Another hidden benefit of all of this blogging has been a reminder of how much I really do love to write. As these months have gone on, a few new projects that are inspiring and fun have come to the surface (don't get too excited, mostly it is really bad poetry).

Blogging for 4 straight months not only gave me some space to process my ragbrai adventures, I feel like it brought me closer to you, dear readers, but also to myself. I am starting to develop a passionate love of the Truth, seeking it, telling it, understanding it, and it has been almost therapeutic.

So, what's next? Well, I do want to chime in on the 100MoN and explain the whole tattoo situation. And, I do actually want to write about the Brewery 100. And, I am sure there are a whole host of adventures that are yet to be discovered and covered.

Of course, dear Beavers, if you have topics that you would like to see discussed, please don't hesitate to send them my way. The glory of the ragbrai recap is that the topic is in place.

And, so, we say good bye to the ragbrai 2014 epic recap, but before we go, I'd like to send out some thanks.

Thank you to all of our host families, and everyone who rode with us, old friends (Team Awesomeness) and new (Fall Out Boy).

Thanks to my mom, The Deb, who only occasionally reads the blog, and keeps me humble.

Thanks to my step dad, The Dale, who is a bad ass, completely dependable, and also a lot of fun.

Thanks to my dear friend Lexi, who never reads this blog and thus we can have a completely blog free friendship.

Thanks to Goldie who gets the blog emailed to her when it is published and often sends me text messages while she is on her way to the gym commenting on the content before the sun is even up.

Thanks to Rrrryan, who I believe is too cool for school, and thus, I cannot believe is a reader.

Thanks to the Beaver Ranger, Dave, who is the most bad-ass living-the-dream dude I know.

Thanks to Too Much for doing everything except for blogging too much.

Thanks to Pochy, one of our newest beavers, who treats her fun and her blog reading with a business-like precision and determination.

Thanks to Masinga, who got us started with epic weeklong guest blogging. Masinga, promise me, you are coming on this year's ragby of your own free will. :)

Thanks to my blogger friends and my blogger reader friends, Marthy and H-bomb.

Thanks to Steve Lambert and all the other readers out there, silent but supportive.

Thanks to the Mayor, my dear, loving ragby husband, who is truly, an asshole with a heart of gold. I know the man would do anything for me, loves me to the moon and back.

And, most of all, thanks to Steven. Steven, I wouldn't even have a blog, or ragby, if it weren't for you. Thank your love, and honesty, and never-say-die positive attitude towards every fucking thing.

It's been a good year, beavers. I'm proud of you. Ragbrai 2015 is just 110 away. Let's make a deal: I'll try to keep a journal this coming year, if you continue to make it amazing. Because, it ain't a dam party till the beavers roll in.

love. love. love.

119 And Now We Reflect Part 2: What It Means to Be a Team

Because I just can never say goodbye, because it is easier to see the beginning of things than the end of things, because my dear friends continue to indulge me, here comes more reflecting on the ragbrai and the subsequent epic blogging about ragbrai. Free free to tune back in once the self indulgent stuff is over and I start writing about actual bike rides again.

Maybe it is because I started doing riding the ragby with my goofiest, craziest, high school friend (Steve!), the fun of ragby has always felt very primal and childlike--well, if children drank Busch Light in the morning, but still.

Steven, for those of you who know her, is an absolute goof ball. Being silly, playing, and having fun are core priorities for her, and she imbues everything she does with that sense of fun. When we were seniors in high school, she would often try to cajole me into doing insane things because, she would whine, "it's the last time we can _________ of our senior year." It was about not letting one single moment of fun slip away from laziness or caution, and this attitude fits perfectly with my life motto, "good stories are better than good times." (Thanks Mac McClelland for that one!).

I will always see Steven and the Mayor as the "core team." They are who I started with almost six years ago. And much like a child has no concept of what came before her (my parents had a life), I have no concept of Steven and the Mayor's ragby before me. I am convinced, also in a childlike way, it couldn't have been that exciting before I arrived on the scene. When it was just me and Steven and the Mayor, there wasn't much to worry about. Steven rode bravely with me. She bellyached to the Mayor. The Mayor encouraged me and bought us beer. I fussed and worried like a virgin on her wedding night, but also drank my share (and Sprocket's share) of beer.

Since I departed Sioux City on my first ragbrai, though, the colony has been growing. And, I think that is a wonderful thing. As the team grows, and we bring more beavers into the colony, I've been thinking a lot about how the team functions as a part of the experience.

This year, the theme was "everybody has to ride her own ragbrai." And, I think that is true, for the most part. Riding your own ragbrai means that taking care of yourself. It means being responsible for and taking charge of your own fun and happiness. It means asking for help when you need it.

And, yet, we are a team. Riding alone on the ride out reminded me that having a team adds both the comforts and joys of companionship, but it also comes with responsibility. A team works together, not to win a race in this case, but rather towards the goal of having a lot of fun. The team are the people who not only wish you to be happy, they are willing to actively participate in your fun, to be the co-conspirators in your fun.

There are just so many things that I haven't done because I didn't have the cajoling of Steven or one of my very brave friends. And, I have done so many hilarious, memorable, and silly things because they were there to encourage me, to be my audience, to offer moral support.

In the last year, I have learned both to lean even more heavily on my friends, but also how very strong they are. It seems that no matter how much I ask of them, how much pain and sadness and crying and whining and self-pitying I lay out in front of them, they are still there, looking back at me, saying, "is that all you've got?"

And, that is the magic of having a team on ragbrai. When you need them, when things are dark and grim they are there to offer up something. For me what usually works is either:

a) the Mayor's rendition of The Lion Sleeps Tonight 

b) Steven's hilarious complaining

c) Goldie or my Sister just chattering away at me, ignoring my grumping

d) anyone just riding along in silence with me, being there without asking too much of me.

Eventually, I bike it out (beeotch).

And, I am so grateful for their mitigating forces. They both keep me from falling too deep into the depths of despair and also raise me up to higher highest of speakers and funness.

I strive, and will continue to strive, to be as unflappably happy as Too Much or Pochy. They truly have characters that are immense and powerful--completely emotionally balanced and steady, with the compass pointing towards party.

But that is not me. I know that I will be grumpy, or hungry, or sangry, or just super disappointed not to be partying my ass of on a glitter spattered bus. Sigh.

I think about my relationship with my team as a bank account. When I am being a bag, I am making withdrawals from my account. They would, of course, never tell me this, or hold it against me, but my unhappiness, as much as I try to contain it, does take its toll.

So, I try to remember that while I can take withdrawals from this emotional bank, there is a limit! And, I don't want to go into the red. I have to make payments into that account whenever I can. I try to bring something to the emotional well being of the team whenever I am able. As long as I am putting in more than I am taking out, then, I am good to go.

While I totally agree that "everybody rides her own ragbrai," because no one can put one pedal in front of the other for us, I have to take a gander down at my jersey and see those (upside down) words: Team Beaver. My sporting and social club, a motley crew of fun lovers and goofballs that make ragbrai, and so many other things, just the best dam thing ever. They are there for me, so I have to be there for them.

118: The Beaver Glue

Just like senior year of high school with Normie...this blog-a-palooza will come to an end -- too soon, yet not soon enough. That is the fun of RAGBRAI, just when you are done telling the story of last year, there is a new year on the horizon. New teammates. new hopes (Goldie doing a whole week? The Dale comin' back for a sequel? Ma.Sing.Ga riding it with the new-found gusto of a non-newbie? The Boss and The Mayor returning to RABRAI synchronizaion?), and new adventures.

If you already couldn't tell, it is Steven. My favorite new game is to sneak into Normie's account and whip up some Team Beaver West magic.

I think it is time that we focus on our Beaver Glue -- Norman.

Look, us Beavers are a fun and scrappy little crew. We all have our weird idiosyncrasies that somehow come together into one ball of beaver fun. We all bring talents to the table...but the Beaver Matriarch is the one that brings them all together. She ignores the bullshit that spews from our mouths....

• The Mayor and his weather schizophrenia ("It's not hot! It's perfect! It's RAGBRAI!), 
• The Boss and her...well, bossiness, 
• Goldie and her "my Facebook name"-ness,
• Rrrrrryan and his unfortunate burgerlessness and ability to wrangle Goldie, 
• Ma.Sing,Ga and her Silent Bob approach to hard days on RAGBRAI, 
• Pokey and her optimism and pack-it-all-in-ness, 
• Grandpa and his Go-Pro-ing, 
• The Deb and her ability to write blog posts that don't actually mention the team members at all,
• The Dale and his alleged ninja-sagging
• Too Much and his sunscreen propaganda and end-of-the-week-food-belly
• Fall Out Boy and his wristband shenanigans

and steers us year after year to RAGBRAI glory.

For someone that hates spreadsheets and doesn't believe in listening to voicemail, Normie still manages to check all the boxes in the RAGBRAI-planning checklist and make sure all the Beavers and bikes are transported and accounted for.

She is the only person I know that can tell a story that transcends mileage (even when said mileage is in teeny-tiny circles).

She somehow manages to make any RAGBRAI situation a fun adventure worthy of the story-telling it will receive in December. I think Normie mentioned my comment at some point in one of her blog posts -- but I find myself thinking it often on RAGBRAI. "I can not wait to read how Normie describes this moment." Her perspective makes things that much funnier.

That said, it hasn't been an easy winter for our Beaver-in-Chief. And I think a little toast is in order -- to thank Normie for her Beaver service, loyalty, and willingness to engage in all things shenanigan.

So, Normie -- here's to you. For your amazing ability to put up with all of our shit. For leading the colony into fun...and then telling one badass recap of it every winter. For putting up with me yelling at you at least once on every RAGBRAI. For always looking out for a fellow Beaver. For loving RAGBRAI in all its glory.

You make our ride...and our lives better.

117 And Now We Reflect Part 1: Laughing Alone

I have been dreading this blog entry, or blog entries, for so long. Well, longing for it, and dreading it.

I think, dare I say it, we have reached the conclusion of my ragby blogging. Of course, as soon as I publish this, I know I will think of some hilarious story that I forgot. Or, someone (Too Much?) will send me more blog entries. And, of course, we will include them.

The last blogs, though, means that I need to do some reflecting. Not only do I need to reflect on the meaning and lessons learned from our ragby adventures from last year, but I also feel the need to reflect on the other epic journey, the journey of writing and curating this blog for the past 117 days.

Both have been journeys: long, sometimes tedious, profound, challenging and stupidly fun.

So, here goes. For those of you who are big on narrative, and not so into the sentimental and cheesy blah-blahing of a narcissist, these are not the blog entries for you.

As I look back on last year's ragby, as the routes and towns and playlists of this year's ragby start to reveal themselves, I can see how much I was going through and now ragbrai and the ride out let me process some of that.

Riding my bike seems to give me some mental space. I'm working and paying attention to the road, but it sort of quiets down all the humdrum thoughts and just lets me be with myself. Sometimes, alas, my self is not someone I want to hang out with. Sometimes I am mean, and grumpy, and whiney, and self-pitying. Sometimes I say the most retched horrid things to my self. Things I wouldn't dream of saying to anyone else.

But sometimes, if I work very hard on it, (and I have been working very hard on this), I just sort of let go, look around, and feel overwhelmed with gratitude, not just to have the luxury of doing something as fun and rejuvenating as riding by bike, but also to be on this planet, where red wing blackbirds sing in the ditches and roads, whispering promises, stretch out straight for miles.

I think back to the ride out, after so many long miles riding west, I finally got to turn north and pick up that glorious tailwind. I remember being all alone on the road, not a car or animal or person for miles, and I stuck out my arm and signaled that I was turning right, laughing out loud at my own joke. The sound of my voice sounded so foreign in this empty expanse of farm field, but yet, also, so right.

And, if I can hang on to that feeling, just the pure, lucky, happy joy, well, then I know I'll be alright, both on and off the bike.

Ragbrai, this year, gave me that moment, and I hope to cling to it like a tailsman, because that girl, the one laughing alone on a big pink bike, signaling to no one, just to make myself giggle, is who I hope to sometimes, always, be.

116 The Day After the Day After: Clean up and Mile 700

On Monday, I didn't have to go back to work or anything. With the summer off, I could start the ragby recovery at my leisure. There was so much gear sorting, laundry, and napping that needed to be done over the next few days.

Unpacking from ragby is always a funny experience. First, the contents of your bags and tent offer bits of souvenirs from the week before. There were kernels of corn from my night in Jefferson on the ride out. There were grains of sand from the river beach in Sac City. There were stickers and coozies from teams we had met. Various samples of chamois cream from vendors and the expo: some open and some not.

Of course, there's always the list of things that were lost. The most tragic loss in my mind were my lightweight head and tail lights.

The last time I remember using them was that ride out of Cherokee on my last day of the ride out. I had put all the lights on my MoTro so that I wouldn't get creamed by a semi in the pre-dawn mists. I thought I kept them for ragby, but for the life of me, I cannot find them. Bummer. If they turn up in your gear cache, please let me know! Or if you need a light recommendation, these are the best for road bikes. Just enough light to get you where you are going, but not heavy or complicated or ugly, and best of all, they are USB rechargeable!

Of course, while some things are lost during the ride. Some things are found. Like mysterious Nalgene containers of urine...or vodka....

Hmmmm

Of course, that turned out to be Goldie and Perfect Fit's "vodka."

In the middle of all this unpacking and gear wrangling, I got a text message from Goldie.

"Do you want to go for a bike ride?" (Monday is Goldie's day off)
"No." I replied.
"C'mon," said Goldie. "We'll get cocktails."
"Okay," replied me, "but I am going to be riding 7."

Goldie turned up and I miraculously found a clean kit and we headed out, very, very slowly and rode towards Mullet's where we had some bloody marys. Delicious. And, I felt for all the jokers that had to go back to work on Monday and were craving pie and a Busch Light at this point, but couldn't get it.

We headed back towards the Beav' and decided to stop in at Carl's Place for a break.

As we did, our ride hit mile 14 or something, which, I was happy to note put me at 700 miles in two weeks. I had ridden my bike 12 out of those 14 days, covering all the terrain from Des Moines to Rock Valley then back to Guttenburg, and then around DSM.

It felt good. I was proud. But, at the same time, I did realize that my love of bike riding and beer drinking does have a limit. I never realized it did. I could bike myself out, and I had.

As I creeped up Sherman Hill, my legs just totally dead, I thought I would give the bike riding a break for a while. And, I did.

115 The Day After: Breakfast and Goodbyes

In the morning, those of us at the Tiger Den eventually crawled out of bed and drank a cup of coffee. Then we wandered up to the Library Cafe for a much needed bloody mary and chicken fried steak. I was so hungry. Sitting at a table, wearing regular pants, and not having to go anywhere felt so good.

Back at the Den, we helped Too Much load up his car in preparation for his departure back to Minneapolis. It was hard to see him go, but I was comforted by the fact that I knew he would be back. Many times along the ride he had said something like, "Iowa is great!" And his love for this silly state and the bike ride that goes through it shone out of him.

This was great, because Too Much is just too much fun. It would be hard to imagine another ragby without him. And, it was nice to know that other people actually fall head over heels in love with ragby after just one week, like I had five years before.

Even better, Too Much is Minnesotan, and we all know how Minnesotans feel about Iowa. Actually, I think they don't think about us much at all. But, Too Much would carry the gospel of the land of the fields of opportunity and urination with him back to the great hipster north.

After we waved goodbye to Too Much, it was time to head over to Cutty's to do some last minute gear picking up and dropping off with the The Deb and The Dale. We had to discuss some logistics, and it was part of the long goodbye that is after-ragby life.

Arriving at Cutty's was a bit of a shock. The Ark was there, but it was denuded of tents, coolers, and bikes. Just a camper at a spot with an empty picnic table. Inside, the Ark had the not-so-pleasant but familiar scent of beer, vodka, sweat, and cheese balls. I am not sure the white carpet will ever recover (honestly, who puts white carpet in a camper).

As we chatted over coffee in the breeze of the campground, we talked about the week behind us. The Deb was hooked on ragby: hook, line, and beaver. She couldn't wait for next year. She was already making plans. (Mental note: order flag). The Dale felt different. He said things like, "now I can say I did it," (there's that familiar theme again), and "I only have so much vacation time." He seemed like he probably wouldn't be back again. He hadn't caught beaver-fever.

Eventually, it was time to crack on. The Deb and The Dale had a long ride back to Arkansas, and there was a nap in my future for sure.

In the afternoon, I curled up on the back deck and snoozed off some of my profound weariness.

Was ragby over? Well, I don't consider it over until I get things unpacked, so there's probably a few more blogs in this old beaver. Just you wait.

A Note from Norman: I did nearly nothing productive over spring break and now I am freaking out about a conference I am hosting on my campus on Monday, so apologies for the delays in posting. If you need some great reading, Steven is doing a slo-mo recount of the Hundred Miles of Nowhere over at www.seeteacherrun.blogspot.com

114 Ride Home: Tacos Tasty and Awesomeness

After a long and increasingly boozy ride home in the Beaver Ark, we hit I-35 and started rolling south, towards Ankeny.

Yes, Ankeny, where Ragbys truly come to an end. In 2013 we dropped off Ranger Dave with a bucket half filled with cheese-balls. In 2014, our journey would end in the Tasty Tacos parking lot. Easy access for the RV, central location for all the beavers to be picked up, and, of course, tacos.

For some insanity I was not actually hungry, and so, I did not eat any tacos. I know. Crazy.

I was a bit upset. I had been trying to coordinate my pick up from the Tiger, and he wasn't able to indulge my boozey-post-ragbrai-I'm-not-sure-exactly-what-time-we'll-need-a-pickup texts. You'd think one day a year a gal could be semi-irresponsible and ask something of her manfriend, huh?

But the Tiger wasn't living in ragby-land. He was living in normal land. (Happy Birthday to the Tiger, by the way! Today's his big day!).

While we were ordering tacos and sorting gear, a familiar bus pulled into the parking lot. Oh, yes. Team Awesomeness. A big white school bus full of hungry hunks! Hurray!

Washed pink in the light of TT

When they piled off the bus to order tacos, I sneaked on to their bus to tag it with Team Beaver stickers. In hindsight, I realize, that might not have been the best idea. What if they stuck to that plastic upholstery? But Goldie assured me they would find it funny, and I didn't stick them very hard. (TWSS).

It wasn't long before Masinga's folks arrived and loaded her into a car. And Magazita arrived to take away Steven and the Mayor. And, the Tiger arrived to pick up me and Too Much. My folks took the Ark to Cutty's where they would spend the night before heading home to Arkansas the next day.

Back at the Tiger Den, Too Much and I took turns in the shower and then turned in for a much needed snooze. There would be no post-ragby-wine-party at Goldie's, but we were planning on some Library Cafe in the morning to satisfy the gnawing hunger of post-ragby.

A hot shower. A beer and a soft bed never felt so good.

113 Ride Home, More Vodka, Clearly

How did we get home?

We loaded up the Ark and the Jeep with bikes and bags and beavers and departed, slowly, from Guttenberg. We were all wearing a combination of semi-clean cotton clothing, with the exception of Too Much, who just loves him some bibs so much he didn't take them off. 

Why change when you look this good?

The Deb, now an Ark driving maniac was behind the wheel. Over the course of the ragby, she had gone from being a timid RV driver to completely fearless and we burned down the highway. 

West Bound and Down

I love the ride home because you get to see all the signs for places and the cities we rode our bikes through the second half of ragby but at high speeds in a car. It is sort of like the week behind us gets unraveled as we cruise home. And, the novelty of traveling faster than 14 miles an hour is only something you get to experience this time of year. 

Somewhere along the route, Too Much and I decided we needed more vodka lemonade, so we convinced The Deb to stop at a gas station where we bought bottles of Country Time. Then, we drank it. 

If the accounts of my parents are to believed I may have gotten a bit obnoxious at this point. And, for this I apologize, beavers. I will plan on moderating my vodka consumption in the coming season. Beer is for fun. Vodka is for doomsday scenarios.

Anyway, we shot the shit, recalled our adventures, and laughed like crazy people in our mobile den. Though, there is a downside to drinking all that beer on the ride home: 

Nature calls

As we drove, reality started to come back. Text messages were sent. Families were notified of our impending arrival, and we all started thinking about going back to our "real" lives. But, we had one final stop to make before we could declare Ragby 2014 to be in the books. 

A Note from Norman: as you can tell from the Sunday "whoops I forgot to blog" situation, I am running out of steam. If you have any final guest blogs, I need them ASAP. Otherwise, I think we will be concluding this blog-venture probably this week.

112: The Day That Steven Saved

It's 11:20 CST and no blog has been posted. Soooo, I did what any great RAGBRAI teammate would do. I signed in to save the day.

I don't have much to say...and I'm typing on my phone. But this blog post will happen, dammit!

Normie forgot about a fun detail outside the bar at the bottom of the hill in Clinkertown. I think she might have been in the kybo...but something hysterical happened.

Too much got on Normie's teeny tiny MadOne and rode in circles. It was like RAGBRAI's version of a clown car.

Also, I proclaimed a new, albeit, risky theory in that bar. I proposed the idea that we might have drank too much on RAGBRAI. More on that hypothesis later...

Team Beaver West...signing off.

111 Day 7 I to G: The River

And then, as if by magic, we were there! On a quaint main street that ran along the river, cyclists darting to and fro, music blaring from the official dip sight, and all the happy business of the end of a crazy week. 

We found a place that looked like it went down to the river, so we sent Too Much on a little scouting expedition to see if we could get the bikes down there for a picture. It was sandy but manageable. 

Our virgins did some tire dipping. 

Assisted by that salty old dog, the Mayor.

And we got a beaver shot of the whole team (at this point).

I love, love, love these people. 

And, I insisted that Steven get a shot of me pretending to toss my bike into the river. Because, after some 685 miles of bike riding in 11 days, I had officially biked enough. I had reached bike capacity.

Beaver none!

We climbed back up away from the river, all smiles and were looking forward to the drunken shenangians of the ride home in the beaver Ark.

We found the Deb and the Dale on the street. They told us where we could find the Ark, parked on a side street, and we made our way there and began the routine of putting on semi-clean clothes changing in someone's back yard, stashing the bikes, and rustling up snacks and beers enough for the long ride home. 

I remember just sort of sitting in that yard and staring off into space. I was cooked. I was happy. I was ready to travel at 55 miles an hour under the power of internal combustion. 

And, you would think this is where I would start waxing philosophical about this year's ragby, because we have reached the end, right? Ragby is over, yes?

Nope. Not yet. Not by at least a few more blog's worth of yammering.

110 Day 7 In to G: Watch Out! Wait a Minute! Wee!!!

Steven, Masinga and I left the beef stick regroup. We heard Guttenberg was another 4 miles away, but that was according to a local, who can never be trusted with mileage or timeage. We were in a group of ladies, rolling towards town. It was a bit stop-and-goey as cars passed us, then had to wait to pass again, and we had to slow down too.

We were riding through this, all with our heads in the game, when from our right, usually the safe side, came the terrifying sound of a roaring engine and crunching gravel. We all startled, jumping and simulteneously preparing for the impact of another cyclist, car, and road, not necessarily in that order. 

It turns out, a HUGE DICKHEAD in a black Jeep had decided we were just taking way too long and he was special and important and was driving a Jeep so he would just skip all the rules of the road, and safety, and common sense and just drive the route on the gravel shoulder, scary the bejesus out of every cyclist and several motorists. 

I may have yelled an obscenity. 

As we were recovering from that unnerving event, we saw there was a party going on along the left side of the road, and in the middle of it, of course, were the Mayor and Too Much. (I will let Too Much tell the tale of their arrival at that party. It is very funny, but since I wasn't there, you won't get it from me). 

We were moving along at a clip, and with all the traffic and the cars coming in hot on going the other way, the ladies were in no mood to try to stop and join the guys. "We're rolling," I yelled and saw them hop up and make for their bikes. 

Soon after that the road took a precipitous dive down hill, through the bluffs, and the river spread out before us. The road was narrow here, lined with shady trees, and there were cars and bikes everywhere. Lots of cyclists were trying to turn left to get to a look out spot for pictures. All the while cyclists are careening down the hill at upwards of 40 miles an hour. 

Needless to say, not my favorite final mile. As we got into town, the cars were stacked up, stopped, trying to get to whereever they were getting. Bikes were streaming by on the left and right of them. 

I couldn't help but notice a certain black Jeep sitting there, stuck in traffic. 

Again, there might have been some not-so-lady-like language out of me as I rode past. I wasn't the only one hollering into his window, let's just say that. 

We did a bit of a scramble and turned towards a side street into Guttenberg, skipping the official route for a more beaver-ish trip to the river. 

109 Day 7 I to G: So Much Can Happen on Highway 52

So, one of the things about ragbrai, is that they don't close the roads. And, I think that is a good thing. The roads are open to cyclist all year, just as they are to cars. And cars and bikes have to peacably co-exist. Most of the time, cars are at the advantage, but on ragbrai, there are tons of bikes. Which, for the most part, forces cars to slow down and take it easy for that 1 painful 13 mile stretch of their day that year. It is sort of like a very open and friendly Critical Mass. 

So, Highway 52 wasn't closed. And, not only was it not closed, it was also the driver's route in and out of Guttenberg. Yup. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was on this road. Buses going into Guttenberg. Buses going out of Guttenberg. Regular cars. Cyclists. Everybody. Which was a bit hectic, to say the least. I always like my final miles to feel like I have just won something and it is hard when you are worried about living. Combine that with what is always a huge descent into the river valley and you have mayhem. 

You can imagine my delight, then, when I looked up and spotted Steven standing near a tent on the side of the road. "They have beef sticks!" she yelled. And I pulled over. Though the boys were ahead, this seemed like a good regroup spot. When I had inched away from Masinga, she was not a happy beaver, to say the least. And we thought she might need a bit of morale and processed shelf stable meat. 

As we stood there holding up the USTS, I heard a rustling and saw a middle aged man emerge from the corn with the befuddlement and wonder of Kramer entering Jerry's apartment. 

I started giggling and yelled out something like, "did everything come out alright?" And, he laughed and came over and we got to chatting. He was from Seattle, I think. And had some some ragby before. He loved it. Loved the corn. Loved peeing in the corn. Loved Iowans. Loved riding his bike. I agreed with everything. 

And, when I looked up Masinga had arrived. "We have beef sticks!" Steven yelled. 

We had assumed the beef sticks were going to be a screaming deal. Three for a dollar! Boom! But they were the tiny kind. Just a morsel, really. But we handed one over to her just the same and commenced to munching and watching riders and yelling stupid stuff. There may have been some crying too. Oh ragby. 

108 Gu to In: Up, Down, Up, Down, Beef Sticks

As I climbed out of Garber, I spotted a couple more Team Awesomeness representatives, including Hot Adam on a tandem with another TA-member. If two TA dudes on a tandem isn't the start of some really weird off the wall lady cyclist erotica, I don't know what is. 

Hot Adam, actually, is how I got to know TA. He was a rep for Cascade Designs and Pearl Izumi, and he and his friends have been our team-buddies since my first ragby, when they joined us in the wagon-sledding down the hill in Waterloo and drove us to eat Mexican food in their fancy car. Memories. I waved and watched them motor up the hill. 

Soon enough the road flattened out, a bit, and I was cruising along. At one point, we passed this huge road grade cut out, it must have been 20 yards high, on the north side of the road. I looked up and noticed that a cyclist had scaled it (it was kind of like a cliff) and was looking out from the top. I guess some people like climbing more than me. 

Of course, the problem with climbing is that you have to go back down. Can't we just climb without descending? At one point, I hooked up with Masinga and we took a mad descent into a little valley and were in about the same place when all momentum ran out and we had to pedal back up the other side. I was spinning (can you call it spinning if you are going like 50 rpm?) just a tiny bit faster than her, and was soon creeping up the hill, making jokes to the very few folks I passed about just how silly this hill really was. 

And, then, more zooming down hill, and then up a long open stretch, and down, and up, I lose count. But there was some legit climbing, and huge rolling hills, and sun drenched fields. I don't care what anyone says, Iowa is so freaking beautiful. I ran into a friend from Des Moines, Mary, and we chatted a bit, and then we arrived at the sharp turn onto Highway 52. 

Then, my sublime ragby afternoon came to a halt.

107 Day 7 In to Gu: Good Bye Garber, Hello Gorgeous

Of course we went to the bar! 

We dive bombed down the hill, me making a note of its contours for the mental pep talk I would need on the way back up, and we went inside and ordered a beer! The last beer in the last town on ragbrai for 2014. 

Those are some sunburned noses. Photo courtesy of Too Much

The bar was hot, and the bathrooms were weird, and there was a restaurant? Sort of which seemed to be run by a Vietnamese family. Mostly it felt like the kind of town hall-church basement-bar you find in small town Iowa. It was charming.

I don't really remember what we talked about. Everyone was a bit road weary, and Coors Lighted out, and both ready and not ready for all of this fun to end. 

Soon enough we were stuffing cash and coozies into jersey pockets and filling up water bottles for the last few miles of the ride, the majority of the day's climbing and Guttenberg still lay before us. 

In the end, the ride up the steep little hill out of Garber wasn't that bad. We even had a little competition to see who could ride it without getting out of the saddle. (Did we? I thought we did). 

Then we swung back on to the route and began to climb out of the town, and something miraculous happened. 

I just kind of loved it. 

I've had a love hate relationship with climbing. I'm heavy, so climbing, just thanks to physics is not easy for me, but there's something just transcendentally glorious about the experience. Once you let go of all those scary and hateful thoughts--people are judging me, I'm climbing too slow, I can't do this--and you just settle into it, one pedal stroke after the next, it is fine. Better than fine, even. It is that magnificent hardness that can just fill you with bliss.

Okay, maybe I am getting too romantic about this, but I really felt like I let go, in that moment, and let ragbrai.

Then I looked up and over and noticed that gorgeous Ryan from Team Awesomeness was passing me, chugging long, one hand on the handlebars, the other clutching and sipping a can of Coors Light, and I thought to myself: I love this stupid fucking week.

106 Day 7 Ind to Gut: The Garber Gather

I thumped into Garber on my gimpy, untrue wheel and walked my sad Mad One to the Bike World tent and got in line. No, I would not suck it up and ride my untrue wheel into Guttenberg. I wanted this bad boy fixed before I made anymore madcap descents to the river. 

In the past, I had avoided ragbrai bike repair like the plague. I just assumed it would be the worst thing ever. Mechanics, as a rule (Steve L you are the exception to this) are in general a) grumpy and b) terrifying and c) pretty much sure you, bike rider, are an idiot. Add high temperatures, long lines, crabby ragbrai riders, sleeping in a truck, and heavy substance use to the mix and, I imagined, the ragbrai mechanics would be the scariest thing ever. And, any repairs on ragby would cost 50 billion dollars. 

Not so. On day 1, way back in Hull, that gorgeous surfer-mechanic not only helped me in a friendly and inexpensive way to disentangle my bent deraillieur, but he also gave me a hug. Thank you Rasmussen's. And, remember way back in Storm Lake, when that super nice guy hooked me up with a lunch-time handlebar adjustment? (That wasn't technically on ragbrai, but still). I had had some very encounters with mechanics. So had Too Much for that matter. I guess it doesn't hurt that they get to spend the whole week outside and make some pretty good cash $$.

So I was feeling okay about standing in line. I was over feeling guilty about holding the rest of the team up. They weren't staying with me because they had to. They were hanging around, chatting me up in line because they like me, love me even, and would prefer to wait with me in a mechanic line, rather than riding on without me. And, that was nice to think.

Of course, Steven was happy to wait in line with me for one additional reasons. The mechanics on this particular day were way too cute. Bearded, smiley, hunky, charming dudes in their twenties, and even better, brothers. Me-ow. This wouldn't be the last time we would oogle at least one of these very helpful young men. 

So while beardy one trued my wheel (and my heart), we stood around making jokes and yukking it up with Steve and Leeann and the mechanics and other folks in line. With just 12 miles to go to the end of ragbrai, no one seemed all that stressed or unhappy. 

And, I mentioned to the hunky mechanic that not only was the guy from Rasmussen's on Day 1 super friendly, but he even gave me a hug, beardy #1, not to be out done, also offered a departing-post-wheel-truing hug. 

I accept. (I swear that I didn't tell the story about Surfer-Mechanic to suggest I get another hug. I was just making conversation, though, I reserve the right to make that ploy in the future.)

Anyway, wheel trued, and snacks begathered, we had an important decision to make. There was a bar in this town, but it was at the bottom of a steep little hill, which was even lower than the route which was headed up a not-so-steep but long hill. 

Did we want to go to the bar and have a penultimate beer, if that meant we would have to slug back up that little hill before climbing up the bigger hills.

If you don't know the answer by now, I can only assume you just started reading this blog. Today. 

105 Guest Blog a Bit More Too Much

Part 2 of Too Much's guest blogs. Note, I am just adding photos randomly. 

## 2. Graettinger 

I've heard a lot of Ragbrai mythology from Norman & Tiger so I knew a few of the rules: Bikes in the sun, people in the shade. Always stop for free beer. Raise one finger above your head to find your team. Never turn down a slip & slide. And avoid blacktop beer ghettos at all cost. 

The VFW and Jello shots.

Some time after our Graettinger yard beers, bike yoga session, and planking competition (which Goldie won), I found myself in the beer garden, soaking wet from a dunk in the fireman's pool, and wearing a skin jersey featuring beaver anatomy (thanks Steven). "Hey," I thought, "I think I like this." 

The crowned prince of ragby

By the time we ended up in the parking lot / dance party, I let the Ragbrai spirit take the wheel. I remember walking into the parking lot and getting a very clear impression that Masinga and Goldie were leading the party. Before long, I was enjoying my first ever flabongo and dancing like the awkward human I am. It was glorious. 

The happiest man wearing zinc oxide

104 Guest Blog: Too Much, Just in Time! Part 1

Beavers! Too Much just sent me a couple blog entries! Rejoice! 

Hey Beavers! I didn't know you could write in with a guest blog. Why didn't someone tell me? 

As you know, 2014 was my first Ragbrai. But it was far from the first time I'd heard of it. I met Lauren 5 years ago and she's been slowly selling me on Ragbrai for most of that time. So I finally said "yes", packed up my bike and way too much gear, and drove to Des Moines. 

Too Much love

And then I discovered Ragbrai. . . and it was perfect. I know it's really hard to read my emotions, but I had some fun during Ragbrai. How can you not get excited when you're riding your bike all day, AND you're drinking beer all day, AND you're wearing funny bike kit, AND it's totally (mostly) socially acceptable to pee outside, AND Iggy Azalia is bumping from every party town you pass through? What's not to love? 

It's been fun reading these blog posts to relive some of those moments. I'm not a good narrative writer, so I'll share a jumble of memories instead. [Norman, hope that's allowed on your blog]

## 1. Who busts a wheel on Day 1? 

Before Wheel-Gate

I was feeling great the first day, cranking it out as we neared Boyden, when I felt a big pop from my rear wheel. I executed a just-recently-learned "coming off hot" maneuver and flipped my bike over on the shoulder to find a busted spoke. Within a few minutes, a couple riders stopped over to help out but it wasn’t fixable, so I removed it entirely and walked it into town. Tiger herringed up the route and found me looking sad (thankfully, less than a mile away), and walked in with me. 

The Beginning of Too Much's Vision Quest of party

Shit. I’m that guy who flunks out of Ragbrai on day 1 due to equipment failure.* 

And then I discovered the most magical thing in the world: Bike World! A very nice gentleman put the bike on the stand and confirmed that my wheel was pretty much shot. He then trued a replacement wheel and moved over my tube & tire in about two minutes flat. It was amazing! He was a real bike wizard. Ragbrai was saved! And now I have a cool two-tone wheelset! 

 *ME!

103 Guest Blog: Masinga's Take on the Ragby Soundtrack, Thoughts?

Now, as you all know, this was my inaugural year riding an entire Ragby.  Y’all also know that I rode it my way.  

One of the things I’ve noticed is that none of the Beavers ride with a speaker blaring like other folks.  It’s fun to pull up next to another rider who has some killer tunes coming out of their Bluetooth enabled speaker that conveniently fits in their water bottle holder (I’ve actually got one of those myself). 

Even more impressive are the “amps” made out of coolers.  They make for a really awesome Doppler affect, warping the music as they pull away from my slow train chugging along.  Who doesn’t love cozying up next to a rider with some sweet music that gets your groove on the bike going and sticking with them for a couple miles?  

Then as we Beavers pull in to town and find the party, we shake our Beaver tails to the finest beats laid down by the best Ragby DJs on flat bed trailers.  

So I started a list last year, we’ll call it the Beaver Playlist.  Now, I started this list early in the week and realized as I went back to write this post, I kind of forgot about the list.  My last addition was on Day 3, oops.  Here’s what I, and some of the other Beavers, included over those days.  What else would you, dear readers, add?

It’s Your Thing – Isley Brothers

Timber – Pitbull, featuring Kei$ha

Club Can’t Handle Me  - Flo Rida, featuring David Guetta

I love It – Susan Mixx

My Songs Know What you Did in the Dark – Fall Out Boy

Cruise (remix) – Florida Georgia Line, featuring Nellly

Jump Around – House of Pain

I’m So Fancy – Iggy Azalea (Too Much’s theme song)

Get Luck – Daft Punk

Old Time Rock n’ Roll – Bob Seger

Cowboy – Kid Rock

Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough – Michael Jackson

Call Me Maybe – Carly Rae Jepson (There’s a tattoo!!)

Shoop – Salt & Peppa

Blurred Lines  - Robin Thicke (Goldie finding music)

A Note from Norman: I was just thinking I should buy a bluetooth speaker for the ragby. And, I have to make an important addition, since you hear it 12,437 times per ragbrai: 

102 Day 7 Ind to Gut: Emotional Rollers

The Penultimate 12 Miles

In Edgewood we found The Deb and The Dale, who was not riding--did I mention that?, parked near a pole barn with the other RVs. The Deb had set out the chairs and found us a grassy, shady spot, and we laid around like a bunch of very quiet, very tired lumps.

I was so, so tired. Physically tired. Emotionally tired. Metaphysically tired. Metaemotionally tired. Philosophically tired. Socially tired. Metasocially tired. Just tired. And, really not looking forward to the rest of the ride. I mean, I didn't want to quit. I didn't want that, but I didn't want to not-quit, you know? I drank some beer, and some water, and had some advil, and lolled around in the grass. I used the weird bathroom the pole barn, and when team who-ever-the-fuck showed up, I taunted them half-heartedly.

Oh Saturday is the cruelest day.

Finally, we rolled on to Garber. The penultimate town on the ultimate day, so sad.

The ride into Garber was super-duper insanely beautiful. That is the magic of the last day, especially up north. It is just so freaking glorious. And, this section of the state was especially glorious because there were all these Amish (?) farms. They are old timey to say the least. Bright red barns on top of green hills. Shaggy horses staring at the riders in fields. Those brilliant blue skies and views that just go on for ever. Deep valleys, rolling climbs, just absolutely insanely beautiful.

Ragbrai was making it very hard for me to be a hater.

And, that's what ragbrai does, I think, if you let it. If you just give in, and let go, and let yourself be in the moment, you realize you are riding your bike, in a beautiful place, surrounded by the good will 10,000 of your closest friends who are also riding their bikes and laughing and smiling. And, you realize you are just so damned lucky that this this stupid, ridiculous, nutty, hard, silly thing is what you get to do with your week, because you want to.

And then, just as these waves of realization come over you, you start a HUGE descent. And, you notice that as you brake (sorry Mayor, I do brake) that your brakes aren't nice and smooth. They are going thunk, thunk, thunk and you realize your wheel is totally not true and there's a huge possibility that you are going to die. And, then you see some idiot riding is bike back up this hill.

Honestly, I had a moment where I was like, am I in Utah? Is this still the freakin Rockwell Relay? Is this the mad descent down Boulder Mountain.

No, it's Iowa.

Then, you look up, and realize that there is a car on the right hand side of the road, so all of these bike riders are screaming down this hill, and forced into the left hand lane, and oh joy, there's a stop sign and a turn at the bottom. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Mayday, mayday!

And, that's how I got to Garber.

101 Guest Blog: Ragbrai from the Driver's Seat Part 8

Today, we come to the stirring conclusion of The Deb's Ragbrai Tale. I would have to nominate her "most improved" beaver for all of her accomplishments over the best week in the world.

Day Seven  

We tried to get you all to just pack it up and go home, not only in Independence, but also in Edgewood.*  

I finally got to taste some Toppling Goliath, but I am not so keen on IPAs.**  The one I had was certainly not worth the hype.  Sorry team, but that is my take on it.  

The Edgewood Locker had some great brats, and I still to this day wish I had bought a dozen to bring home.  I don’t know when I would ever get back up there, but that is a great hint for you Iowans – if you are near Edgewood, stop at the meat locker and pick up some of their chicken feta spinach and jalapeno brats for me.  Greatly appreciated.***  

On to the end: you could tell when we were on the last highway into town as the traffic southbound was horrible.  So was the northbound traffic. About five miles out, it was pretty stop and go. We just had to find a place for the Ark, hopefully near the end.  

Remember, The Dale took off the last day, so I had to drive so as to not freak him out. He had no idea what I had been doing all week, and that topic is something better left unexplored any further than I have done already.  

Well, we found the rider path to the river and ended up about six blocks up river. It was not bad considering the mess that poor town was in. We got to watch the locks work and started to stroll down to where the Beavers all would come in.  But the beavers beat us.  For the love of God, why would that happen on the last day?  I was there every other day when you ended your day but I missed that one?   

I will say that I appreciate the beavers's work in getting done so quickly so we could get Tasty Tacos.  I would otherwise not have had them on this trip to Iowa at all.  That is just wrong.

Conclusions

What did I get out of driving Ragbrai?  

• Confidence or just stupid luck in driving the Ark 
• A koozy from Team Awesomeness
• A home detox session in Arkansas
• Lots of fun and a great dose of visiting with countless strangers, which should not be underestimated in its value in life.  

I loved you guys and really felt like ‘mom’ to each of you, with the exception of The Dale, which would have just been way too weird.

I learned that beavers do not really like healthy food, their dens not correctly secured, and late evening excursions.

Can’t wait to see you all again, and don’t forget the FLAG!   

*I am pleased to see that this blog has become just an open letter to the beavers. And, I've said it before, and I will say it again, virgins, always wanting to get it over with. Bah!

**Fired.

***Shopping list.

Thanks to The Deb for all that you did for us, driving, moming, and partying. All of the beavers agree, you were ah.maze.ing. Love you!

PS The Deb's birthday is March 22, so give her a shout out!

100 Indep to Gutten: Bad News on the Ragby Circuit

What? You didn't honestly think I was going to let someone else have blog #100 did you?

Yes, we have made it to Ragby 2014 Blog #100. Congrats to all of you who have stuck with it. Thank you to all of you who have written your guest blogs, and commented, and sent me good vibes. If you still want to write a guest blog (Too Much), it's not too late (Too Much!), just send it over (Too Much!!).

And congrats to me for writing and curating so much content.

Dear Great Beaver, this has been a lot of work, but a lot of fun.

Moving on.

This blog takes place in Strawberry Point, still

We packed up from the initial hanger spot and moved down the road to the strawberry shortcake stand. As we were standing in line, I heard a voice say, "hey don't you work out at the YMCA?" 

I looked up and noticed a guy from the Tuesday morning early crowd. I said yes and hello. "Did you hear about Brad he asked?"

I hadn't.

"The guy who was hit by the car on the first night? That was Brad from spin class, the older guy with silver hair. Yeah, it was his host that hit him. She was driving drunk, coming back from town. She had her kid with her. He broke his leg and punctured a lung, etc. They arrested that lady right away."

I remembered Brad. He was a quiet, older gentleman with silver hair and crinkly eyes. It was hard to imagine him riding around in the dark, let alone hit by a car. But, it sounded like he would be "fine" after a lot of medical care and rehab. 

After that distressing news, we got back on our bikes and headed out of SP towards our ante-penultimate town, Edgewood, the "meet and greet" town, where we would find The Deb and The Dale for one last Ark hangout before the end of the ragby. 

I remember just sort of grumping along the highway; it was over cast, and a bit breezy, but not too hilly, which meant that all 3k of climbing would be in the last 14 miles of the day. This gal passed me as we were nearing town. I remember being super annoying her, "on your left." Whatever girl. Then, I decided to pass her and "smoke her" just to show her what was what. Then I did, but as I passed her I realized she was just a normal person, not evil or petty, just riding her bike. Then, I felt a bit bad. 

Then, I saw my friend Kathy, the crazy rode-the-whole-ragby-backwards-postal-worker Kathy, with her green "horny toad" trucker and her crazy hair. We had met way, way back in the day, on the Friday night of the ride out. I holler hello and we had a bit of a chat, though Kathy seemed as out of it as I did, I think. 

Soon I was chatting up a lady who was in the Iowa Bureau of Investigations, and that was interesting. She was really nice, but she refused to tell me any crime stories. 

And, then, soon enough, or too soon, or not soon enough, we arrived in Edgewood.

99 Guest Blog: Ragbrai from the Driver's Seat, Part 7

By Day 6, The Deb was making big strides and personal accomplishments. She had been nervous about driving the Ark. Now she was passing people left and right, cutting down busy side streets, and hot rodding past Lance Armstrong. Enjoy.

Day six already.  

The day started with a storm, sorry you all got so wet.  It was windy and rainy and yucky.  I had a horrible ride as I know you all were. 

The Ark doesn’t do well going in a cross-wind* and I thought I would have to join 3 Fingers and be the claw woman.**  

I knew I had to take the motor home to the meet town cause it was so cold and yucky outside.  As I was coming into the meet town, I thought I was waived off the road to where the support vehicles were suppose to park.  So I did what anyone else would do, cross the rider road and park on a side street.  

Even the home owners felt sorry for us. I had an ok visit, but they didn’t offer any beer.  I headed into town to check it out, met The Dale, and he needed a bit of warming up.  We were glad the sun was coming out.***  Then we went back into town to check the food and entertainment.  I think the rain really put a damper on the meet town, but Sumner continued to try.   

The beavers came, followed their ritual drink, scrounge for food, warmed up a bit more, drank and left.  Ok, off to the end town for me!  I cannot believe I got the ARC down the streets and between two other motor homes parked on a street.  But I didn’t kiss any mirrors, and off I went.  It was very nice, and had The Dale been driving I would have been a fricking mess!  

I arrived in the end town and found it was also a mess trying to get to our homestay. It was not easy at all.  

This was the first hostess that had food for us and was ready to get her party on!  She was such a great hostess. She had even bought breakfast sandwiches for everyone and was a bit disappointed when no one ate.****  Hmmm.  I stayed and visited a bit to make up for it.  

The back yard was quite a view of tent city in a wee town.  This was the first time everyone had agreed to go into town, but alas, no bus transit found.  Dejected we went back to the host family and ate leftover burgers and hot dogs.  Good save there!  

I just wanted to also remind everyone that Team Beaver should be proud of me. I passed Lance Armstrong's RV.  The pride comes not so much that it was Lance Armstrong’s but that I passed anything.  

I didn’t have much of a good impression of Independence.  I was looking forward to day seven.

*Funny, neither do beavers.

**I have no idea what she is talking about. Apparently she got into the Jack while she was writing.

***Thanks, Norman.

****What?? I have no recollection of this.

98 Guest Blog: Ragbrai from the Driver's Seat Part 6

Here we are: part 6 of The Deb's tale of the driver's experience. Waverly is where she really started to embrace her ragby-self.

Day Five:  Already?  Dang, we had not partied in any town yet.  This was not what I signed up for!*  

Ok, load em up, skip the morning run** and head off to Waverly.  

It was a long ride day and I was certainly catching on that I certainly didn’t have to hustle to the meet town.  I could have gone golfing, to the movies, or maybe to Jamaica (Iowa, that is) and back before I would see everyone in the meet town.  

Well, off to Waverly.  This actually was my favorite town, because of the great host family.  So I drove through town and beyond.  The I saw a host family sign on my right.  Whoops, missed it.  Being Iowa, always predictable, I knew I could just do gravel roads in 1 mile increments to get turned around.  On a prayer, and wishing I could grab a shot of Jack, I did my turn about and drove up the hill I went to the host house.  I kept thinking that it didn’t make sense, and I was never going to get the motor home out or down that driveway.  Good thing it was the wrong house, but a nice hostess!

And as if the Ark knew my fear, it wouldn't go into gear as I was trying to turn around and go back down the hill.  I was thinking, "I guess you have a new team joining you today!"  Our place was actually right across the street and down this dreadful hill.  

I so wanted to overcome the challenge that day, but I needed backup.  We called our hostess and her brother-in-law came over to help.  He had a motor home himself and got it to go into gear.  I really think the Ark wasn’t going into gear as long as I was in the driver's seat as a self-preservation effort.  The brother-in-law came to the rescue. He moved the Ark down that driveway and into place where it belonged.  Enough excitement for that journey.  

Tammie, our hostess, had the area marked where all 3 groups were to camp, and I carefully chose the flattest area and haphazardly put the tents up with no stakes to dry from the morning dew.  

The Dale arrived at our host's house, so I took him with me to town to get supplies. I then went back to the meet town in the Jeep again.  On the way into town, I spotted the Navy support vehicle and knew I would stop there on the way home.  

I had also been scouting for food, especially rhubarb pie for Too Much.  I finally found it! I made a mental note to pick that up too! Meet and greet*** town was ok, so funny that no one could believe I picked The Dale up in Waverly and came back.  Hmmm, will you ever know for sure?**** 

On the way back to the host's house, we stopped at Team Navy for a few beers and a visit. I loved their bunk beds and the shower system.  I had bit of driver envy, I think.   

We went back to Waverly to pick up dinner and visit with the hostess. We pulled out the lawn chairs and the beers.  SWEET.  The Dale showered and visited as well.  A few Jacks and Cuban cigars later, he was very happy in Waverly.  

The wind picked up, Lauren’s tent went flying away and it kind of looked like carnage in the yard.  I knew I should have staked them, but after a few beers, I knew I would be unsuccessful in putting them together right again.  Weh.  

We had a cice dinner thanks to the Methodist church and the Boy Scouts.  The pulled pork was fresh and very good, and I had a visit with the pit master.  And the pie was to die for.  One thing that does not grow here in Arkansas is rhubarb, well that and probably lots more things that I really don’t care about anyway. 

Now, I finally figured I had the pattern down.  Team riders, ride, drink, ride, drink, eat, drink, ride (and so on til the stopover town) where they drink, eat, shower, eat and crash.  I got this now.  I need to ride, drink a bit, ride, drink, set up, drink and hang out for dinner.  It started to make sense, and I felt less like I was missing the party in town.  

I just had to make my own…  Remember the guitar and corny songs by the campfire.  But I did forget the power hook between the jeep and ARC was broken and I had no power to the Jeep which could create ticket #2.  Our hosts certainly came to my rescue in Waverly, and even in that horrible rain, they came out and replaced the whatever it was.  I loved Waverly.

*In all fairness, she did not tell us "that is what she signed up for." We will try to accommodate this request in 2015. I did not realize there were so many beaver chomping at the birch to get downtown at night. It wouldn't hurt to have Going-Out-on-the-Town-Ranger-Dave to encourage and inspire us. 

**The Deb was training for a 10-mile run in Disney World. Long time readers of this blog will know which run, because I did it too. 

***Love the new name for the "meet town."

****Wait, what? Did the Dale not actually ride this whole day?! Beaver-scandal!

97 Guest Blog Ragbrai from the Driver's Seat Part 5

I hope you are enjoying The Deb's tales of her adventures as a driver. There were a lot of them, and I suspect, more that she's not sharing. 

Also, have I mentioned how much I am enjoying my blog-i-cation?

Day Four:  Forest City to Mason City.  

A very short ride day, especially since the team was already down the road.  Hmmm, the meet and greet town was just down the road from the Mason City YMCA.  

With the Ark, I certainly wanted to camp in a nice spot with the sun behind the camper.  Well I got there, found a spot and started to unpack.  Then it was off to Clear Lake and to visit the team.  

It was such a short drive with only the Jeep.  I found a great parking spot with all the other support vehicles and headed into town.  I think the riders actually beat me.  What the hell?  Was there no good party places along the way or was I just a slacker?  

But lunch – remember our first night?  I got to see the beaver habits in action: Beer, scrounge for food, beer.  

We were in the midtown and there was a crappy band with no one dancing, so the starting of the dance party was a lot of fun.  It was nice to be the trend setters, but it is not like being with a crowd that I will never see again would stop me from dancing.  

Now to admit the next rookie mistakes, boom!  Two in a row.  Parking ticket.*  I didn’t have the golden token support vehicle sticker in the jeep.  I didn't think that would have made a difference; I figured there were so many support vehicles that I had to be okay.  

Then I got back to the camper in the afternoon.  Hmmm, the sun was not where it should be.  I parked for the morning sun.  Damn.  Ok, move everything out of the way and turn the Ark around.  I had to feel a bit sorry for the next camper.  They were planning on my shade to keep them cool.  Sorry, not!  But I went over to apologize and snake some of their shade under the easy up and a few beers.  All was good; I believe beyond a doubt that if everyone that had a dispute got together for a few beers on a sunny afternoon, all would be good.  Beer is a gift to all of us!**  

Well, it was getting late, I knew the Tiger and Holiday were coming for a visit, and they got there before the riders.  What a nice surprise for everyone.  And, it was not only the Tiger and Holiday, but The Thunder too.  

We had dinner at the poor Pizza Ranch who apparently had not planned on Ragbrai either.  

By now, Casey’s had signs out for no pizza delivery after 4 pm in stop over towns.   I wondered if the Pizza Ranch early closure would precede the onslaught of the moving city called Ragbrai.  

Who wanted to go into town anyway!  I wondered if I was missing any bands that I would have liked or explored any new local beers?  Who knows.  Well the sun went down, the Tiger and company left, morning came on day five and we said goodbye to Pochy.  

Bye riders!  Have a fun drinking in the morning!

*Official Team Notice: The driver's parking tickets are covered in your team fees. All part of the service, folks.

**See, this is where I get it.