R15 91 Mount Vernon Part 3 Pride Goeth Before a Fall, or Not

Mount Downpour

Sooner than later, the rain was forcing our hand. In a fit of beaver-panic, I decided to run down the street and try to seek shelter under the awning of an artistic welding shop at the bottom of the hill, but when I got there, I realized it was not roofed. It was a g-dang decorative awning. Stupid!

So, I started to run back up the sidewalk seeking shelter. While I was running, I tripped. Like slow motion, almost-saved-myself, arms flailing tripped. But as soon as I was down, I popped back up and kept running. 

The damage

I ducked into a pink doorway on the uphill side of the deck where we had been hiding and tried to press myself as far back into the doorway as possible. 

The rest of the beavers retreated to a porch across the street of a closed antique store. I could see them over there, and they were gesturing to me to join them but it was pounding rain and I wasn't about to leave my snug little doorway.

The view of the beaver shelter

Someone gestured to my knee, which looked way worse than it was, as the rain turned my slight bleeding into what looked like a stream of gore down the front of my leg. 

And then, the wind shifted. Before the rain had been pouring straight down, and my little hollow was warm and snug. Then, it wasn't. Rain started pouring in. 

It was time to beaver-frogger across the street and join the rest of the team.

Speaking of falls. I just remembered another fall of the week. The Mayor's matching knee wounds weren't from power posing or Vikinging. They were from a comical tumble down the stairs of another porch in Vinton. Whoopsadaisy! Be careful out there beavers!

R19 90 Slacker Sunday: Growth and Logistics

And that's not all of them.

Oh how I love this picture of the beavers! Aren't we darling in our matching kits?

We had nearly 10 riders for the entirety of the R15 event, and that didn't include our various beaver-clingers, puppies, and the Deb. We are getting to be a formidable colony.

And this year we hope to be even bigger, with the addition of some beaver-kits from Minnesota and a beaver-buck husband from Des Moines, and perhaps some beaver rangers on honeymoon? Eh? 

This, I think, begs a question. As we continue to grow, can we continue to operate the way we do now. For me, this is an issue of the strategy of waiting on the outskirts of town/beer stops for the rest of the beavers, beaver-gathering, and then all drinking and socializing together. 

As we get even more eager beavers and slow beavers, are we really going to be able to keep doing it that way? 

The Wait-And-Gather strategy worked really well when it was just me and Steven and the Mayor, but what happens when this group becomes 15-20 people big? Might we need to rethink some of our beaver-habits? 

Pochs and I discussed this on our bike ride last weekend. She said, no. We're fine, but I don't know if I agree with her. 

Perhaps we need to think of a smaller group, beaver-buddy system. Or maybe we should just call the Whiners and see how they roll.

R15 89 Mount Vernon, Part 2, Under the Deck

Mount Vernon

The Deb led us to a parking lot, just down a hill behind a historic brick building. There we started unloading the snacks. Scotcheroos, Oreo rice krispies, the works. And we all settle down in a gravel patch under a deck for some munchies. 

Not a great picture, but captures the hunger happening here. 

Whilst we were picnicking it started to sprinkle.

Hmmmm

But as we sat there the drops got bigger and bigger.

Check out FOB's nap! 

And started coming through the slats. Soon, we would have to make a decision. Should we stay under the deck and try to stay dry, or should we find another spot to hide that would be further from the beer. 

Decisions.

"Old Style" was my first word. You can see why! 

R15 88 Mount Vernon, Part 1--Somewhat Fun

Meat Town! 

We convened in Mount Vernon under sprinkling skies. We found a patch of grass across from the college. It also happened to be a stop where a hilarious and very brazen college student was hocking beers from a lemonade stand. We bought some. 

And, then we did some catching up on stuff. LLL was having some trouble with her bike, so with Too Much as the bike stand and the Mayor doing is begrudging and judging mechanic work, they got the bike to function somewhat better. (PDBA: Anyone want to start a bake sale for a new bike for LLL?)

Both these beavers look pretty hunky in this shot

And we chatted with The Thunda, who was riding with this friend Demetrio on this leg of the journey. He met up with us in the morning and we had seen a bit of him during the day. Apparently Demetrio, an immigrant from Mexico, had a bit of an accident. Some gals veered in front of him and he zoomed into the ditch, did an endo, and cracked his helmet. 

He seemed somewhat okay, but he and The Thunda were off to look for a new helmet for the poor guy. Of course, the Thunda was laughing and telling the story over and over again in his thickest Aussie accent. He was delighted with the turn of misfortune, as only Aussies can be. 

It was, though, starting to sprinkle, and had heard from the Deb. She'd found a parking spot down the way, so we grabbed the bikes and marched through the disaster area of bikes until we found her. She was bopping around in the dance party, but under some persuasion she led us to the Jeep and our much anticipated picnic. 

R15 87 Post-Food, Post-Caring

No photos in Springville either folks.

So maybe it was the fact that everyone and their professor was riding this day, but Springville was PACKED. It was out of this world packed. We dropped the bikes near a bank and scattered, promising to meet at the bar with our grub.

I got in line at the VFW for whatever they had at the end of a massive line, but I got so hungry and discouraged I gave up and went inside. There I found the busy bar and ordered a drink. But they didn't have any food. So, I went back outside to the line. Still too long. Ugh.

Fuuuuuuccccckkkk it. Who needs to eat?

I went into the bar and found the beavers at table. The bar was serving loose meat sandwiches. No thank you. So just hunkered down and drank my calories and my feelings, while we all assessed the looming massive storm headed our way. Yikesy.

After Springville we got on our bikes and headed towards the meat town, where we knew we could at least find the Deb and a g-dang scotcharoo and some no-line beer. It was funny riding into Mount Vernon this way.

One of those ragbrais yonder, I had ridden from Mount Vernon TO Springville, so I knew the hills that were headed our way. But, it was okay. Just lots of long, windy lovely eastern Iowa climbs. And I think the sun was out, despite the black clouds looming over the horizon.

And soon we were riding into Mount Vernon, an absolutely picturesque college town. Good thing it was so pretty because were going to be there for a while.

R15 86 Magic Mike: Rookie Magic XL

Finally heading south! 

Apparently the beavers were not very photo happy on this leg of the journey, because there is no documentation until we arrived in Mount Vernon. But stuff happened. All kinds of semi-boring, perfect for a Wednesday stuff.

After we left the gypsy RV we rode into Whittier and there we found a huge shit show of bikes. Just everywhere, packed, no where to go, walk through town, hot mess, and so this is how you know it is Friday. We just skipped it.

Yup, we skipped a town. Rare for the beavers, but not unheard of. There wasn't anything good happening and Springville was just down the road, so we kept rolling.

As we rode into Springville, I was riding the the Mayor. And, I was getting into the Mayoral spirit. I started chatting with a dude that rode next to me. His name was Mike. He was a big guy, construction worker type, wearing  a tee shirt and one of those string back packs, riding a heavy looking hybrid.

We got to chatting. He asked about the Team Beaver gear and we said we were from Beaverdale in Des Moines. Turns out, he was working on renovating one of the schools in the 'hood. He was an electrician or something.

Anyway, somehow he decided to do ragbrai. He had never really ridden a bike before, but he trained for the ride. He started telling us about how he had already broken a few spokes, destroyed a derailleur, and needed a new wheel but he was loving life. He was absolutely delighted with ragbrai.

"Mike," I said. "You are amazing. There's no way I could ride a bike like that, or deal with all of those mechanicals. You are a beast!"

The Mayor agreed.

He just chuckled and downplayed his accomplishments.

I told him to find us on Facebook and come and ride with us this summer. I haven't heard from him yet, but I was so impressed by this guy. Magical Mike!

He was the perfect example of classic rookie luck. Rookies don't know they are riding heavy ass bikes in sandpaper cargo shorts. They just do it because they don't do any better. That makes them unwitting badasses.

Magic Mike, the beavers salute you!

And soon we were zooming into Springville.

R15 85 Good Morning, Please Don't Kill Us

So, in the morning, around 5:50am, I heard a creaking on the stairs and then a gentle, slightly Lutherned accented whisper, "beavers?"

I'll let Pochy tell the story.

We were all really tired in Hiawatha.  It had been a long day and we definitely needed some rest.  At some point, I thought we all decided to get an extra hour of sleep in the morning and roll out at 7:00am instead of 6:00am.  I thought this was a decision we made as a group, but apparently Tad was not in the room when this was discussed. 

Poor Tad.  He slept in the basement that night, so as he got up, packed up his sleeping bag and got dressed for the day, he didn't realize that ALL the other beavers were still sleeping.  I don't think I've ever seen Tad as disappointed as he looked when he came upstairs and found out that we had all decided to sleep in... and nobody told him.

So, yeah. That happened. Sorry Too Much! Not sure how that communication didn't get passed along the beaver-chain. 

Anyway, we very slowly crawled out of our beaver dam and started getting ready for the day. One of the exciting updates for the day was the addition of my step brother Kenny. He would be joining us for the day's ride. I adore Kenny. He is sweet and gentle and patient and just incredibly easy to get along with, but I didn't know he rode bikes....

Virginazation

Soon enough we were headed out of Cedar Rapids and we were headed to Iowa City. For those of you who are not familiar with the "golden corridor" or whatever the boosters call the region, Cedar Rapids is about 40 miles from Iowa City. If you will look at the day, we had to ride 66 miles. Hmmm. Yes, the Ragbrai-miles-obfuscation was hard at work. 

Thankfully our exit from town was pretty simple and soon we were meeting up with the rest of our 10,000 friends. Soon we were all packed like sardines into a tiny two lane highway, riding up and down hills going NORTH. Iowa City is actually south. Sigh. 

Then we turned onto a highway. A highway that was not closed off, so all of ragbrai was crammed into the right lane and there was a lot of traffic coming from the left. I hate to be a hater (ha! not really) but ragbrai comes through a road once in a decade. You can't make plans to drive another route once in a decade. Needless to say, the whole situation was a bit stressful for riders and drivers alike. 

#mcmbw

The beavers alleviated that stress by stopping at the roving gypsy RV of children and free beer. Whoo! While were hanging out and enjoying our beverages under cooler, but cloudy skies, someone noticed Kenny walking through the lawn. Then, not noticing, he stepped right on to Grandpa's carbon fibre wheel. Oh. Dear. That was a bit stressful, but all spokes were intact. We drank and rode on. 

Here's the whoo

Here's the drink

The skies were growing increasingly cloudy and we still had a ways before we made it to Whittier. 

R15 84 Good Night, Bailey; Good Night Too Much

And we're done! Whew. 

Still Daylight

So, we stumbled into our homestay in Hiawatha and mowed down a plate full of brats. And we were busted. Slowly we started shuffling in and out of the shower and getting our spots for the evening. 

Sorority sisters! 

Thankfully our home stay had lots of nooks and crannies for beaver snoozing. 

Oh, those tan lines! 

(The last time we were here the Ham-Em-lam-i-Tandem scored the back deck where it was quiet and cool. She still brags about that.) 

We all loved up on the beagle named Bailey. She was old and a little grumpy, but we were all missing our pooches so we gave her lots of love and kisses. She even slept with me for a while which was very soothing. 

Whispering sweet nothings 

Relaxing amid the showering 

We did not get to sleep until late. Like late late for us. My last text to the Captain that night was at 9:46pm. "Oh dear. 5 free beers might have killed the beavers today. Oye." 

So, at some point, we decided that we would sleep in. Rather than our normal 6am departure, we would snooze until a luxurious 7am departure. 

Except, not all of that information was communicated to all of the beavers...Whoops.

Before picture. The after is grim. 

R15 83 Slacker Sunday A Dose of Random

Heh, heh! Bet you thought I wasn't going to make it! Boo! Gotcha!

To be honest, I don't really know what to write about for this edition of Slacker Sunday.

I saw Goldie on Thursday and she told me I "put too much pressure on myself" to get this blog written. That made me think about the blog. I mean, no one is holding a hot dog gun to my head, right?

Anyway, also, Pochy and I went for a ride on Saturday. It was fabulous! And we even got a free beer from a bigger! Boom ski. I also got a high five from a pipe smoking cowboy in the middle of the dreaded Urbandale hill. That was nice. But I have to say, all this winter air made my cycling clothes shrink. Yikes.

Still don't know what to write.

How about a poem?

The road goes on and
I must follow where it leads.
There be beer yonder.

Seriously though. Yesterday I wrote about riding into Hiawatha during my 6th ragbrai. And, it was so much different than riding into Hiawatha during my 3rd ragbrai. And perhaps that is what ragbrai does for us, provides us with an annual moment to reflect, to see how far we've come, and to remember all that has come before.

R15 82 One More, One More: Rolling into Hiawatha

Last night I was out at the DSM Opera Wine and Food Showcase. Who-buddy. So much tasty food and booze. I am feeling it today, but I hope to cure that with a bike ride. It is going to be in the 60s here today, which surpasses my bike riding limit.

Of course, feeling a bit ordinary reminds of riding into Cedar Rapids. Whoo-buddy. We were toasted, but we managed to get the Beavers out of the last free beer stop and head into town. And if I am not wrong, I believe that we were all grouped together and drunk and happy. Pretty sure...

Anyway, unlike the last time we stayed with this home stay, we were pretty close! And, we didn't get lost and ride on any busy highways or get into any crying fights. (I blame the Tiger.) Anyway, we got to a big intersection, which we had to cross, then make a hard right. Some of us did, but some of us missed it.

Those of us that made it rode to the turn and waited. And waited. The police were directing traffic, so it was a bit of a wait. We danced. Then Too Much turned to me, "Chief Beaver in Charge, should I ride down to that sketchy gas station and get us a half rack" Uh, yep!

He did. Then we had beers while we waited. Finally, the rest of the team caught up and we straggled into our home stay. Oye. It had been a long and beer filled day. By the time we got in, The Deb was pretty annoyed with us, but she had grilled some brats, which we devoured in our cycling clothes on the back deck.

It was nearly dark. But we were happy and tired and ready for a sweet beaver snooze.

(There were no pictures of this potion of the evening. Also, at some point last night, Pochy looked at me and said, "you don't have a blog ready to go for tomorrow do you? Nope. I didn't. I am drinking coffee and typing this on the iPad, so I don't know how to get the map in anyway. She also said, "why isn't anyone else guest blogging? Great question! Why isn't anyone else guest blogging? We haven't heard a gnaw from the following beavers: Too Much, Grandpa, Deb, Dale, Kenny, Masinga, JK, Goldie, the Mayor. C'mon beavers, or I will sic my assistant on you. It takes a colony, dam it.)

R15 81 Guest Blog: Pochy--"The Day I Cried"

PDBA: Anyone who knows Pochy knows that she is one bad beaver. She doesn't cry. She doesn't show emotion. When you hug her, she coils away in disgust. It's like trying to hug a feral cat. So, for her to cry was an amazing achievement in feels. 

I've said it before, and I will say it again, RAGBY strips away all of your defenses. You just can ride that much, drink that much, dance that much, fight that much, drink that much, and not be stripped down to your roiling molten core of humanity. Here's how it happened to Pochs.

As I started reading the blog, I thought to myself, "I have no memory of this day," and then it hit me.  This was the day I cried! 

I remember it now - we were riding late into the evening and we had stopped at the final Backpocket stop of the day.  I think I remember being there when the stop actually closed.  It was the first time we had a "last call" moment at a Backpocket.  Anyway, we were all sitting in a circle on the grass - at this point we didn't even need to worry about finding shade because the sun was already getting lower in the sky and it wasn't so deathly hot anymore.  

So there we were, sitting in a circle, and I was sitting in kind of a leaned back manner, where my arm was out behind me, and suddenly there's a horrible crunch feeling on my finger.  I had been stepped on by a giant in cycling cleats. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a giant, maybe it was just a regular girl, but itreally hurt.  She had stepped right on my fingernail, and it felt kind of like how it feels to slam your finger in a car door.  

(Side note: Norman has often suggested that I should wear cycling shoes and not chacos because it would really hurt if my exposed toes got stepped on accidentally.  How ironic that my feet were just fine, but my poor finger had been crushed.)

So, I was actually fine.  No broken bones, no broken skin, I don't even think I got a bruise.  But the thing is, it hurt really bad, and suddenly everyone was staring at me and making those pitying cooing noises like you would make to a hurt baby... so I cried.  To be fair, we were several drinks into the day, and to this day, I believe it was all the sudden attention that made me cry, but the crying made the girl feel horrible and she kept apologizing, which made me cry harder. 

Eventually I stopped crying, we finished our beers, and hopped back on the bikes for what we thought would be one quick ride into Hiawatha... boy were we wrong. 

R15 80 Them's the Rule

PDBA Sometimes I like to look back at last year's blog and see what we were doing on the same day. So to mark blog #80 (FMD), I took a look-see. It was part 3 of Masinga's 5 part blog discussion of her odyssey into her first ragbrai.

In it, Masinga discusses her first of three allotted ragbrai-cries (Steven's rule). And our hilarious and tragic encounter at a random dirty lemonade stand in a no-horse town. Oh, memories. As you may have noted, Masinga has come a long way from her first ragbrai. In 2014, her freshmen year, she was not a happy beaver. In 2015, her sophomore, she was loving life! She was drinking, partying, laughing her singular Masinga-cackle, and ignoring her telephono. She was a whole different woman, and a long, long way from crying into her dirty lemonade. Congrats Masinga! Whatever kind of magic you worked last year, keep working it, little beaver!

Still Thursday 

As memory serves, and it serves not well, we were getting pretty long into this day. I am not sure if it was before or after the little town of Palo where we found the second Backpocket stop barely still open. Clearly, we needed another beer, whether we needed it or not.

It was pretty late in the day. If the time stamp on the file is correct, we are talking like 7 in the evening when we rolled in, but this is what we do, so we did it. 

We pulled over, bought beer, and found some soft grass, though shade was not really a necessity at this point.

Whooooooo

Then we drank beer, and shot the shit, and tried to ignore the ever increasingly frantic texts from the Deb about our arrival. Maybe I yelled at someone. Who can remember at this point? 

Then, okay, finally, it was really time to get into town. Really this time! Drunkenly, we mounted up and headed onward. We turned a corner. Then turned another corner, which was pretty impressive considering our state and ran SMACK dab into a fucking free beer stop. Good Beaver. That's #5. 

Side note: about 3 weeks ago, I got a text message from the Mayor. Here's the exchange.

Jan. 25 6:54pm Mayor: Is the Team Beaver free beer rule for life or RAGBRAI and should Janudry interfere with said rule? 

6:57pm Norman: Well, it's free beer on RAGBRAI, technically. But other free beer is strongly encouraged. And you don't have to drink the beer. You just have to stop. 

7:00pm Mayor: Wow I feel like I totally misunderstood the rule. 

7:01pm Norman: hahaha

7:02pm Mayor: I always assumed it was a life rule and you had to drink it. 

7:03pm Norman: Well those are strongly encouraged!!! That's our philosophy, but we try to keep the rules to a minimun. 

7:04pm Mayor: I thought that was the only rule.

7:05pm Norman: It is. And it's very limited but strictly enforced.

7:06pm Mayor: I thought it was encouraged to not fiddle fuck in the morning. 

My world has really been rocked. 

7:07pm Norman: Yes. That too. 

7:11pm Mayor: Also don't Google "Team Beaver rules." 

7:12pm Norman: Pro tip. Why would that be on Google?!

7:14pm Mayor: Its very important (to me anyway) so I just assumed Dr Google would know. 

And there you have it folks. Just one more politician playing fast and loose with the rules. There is only one rule on TB, and it is thus. You have to stop for free beer. It doesn't matter if you just stopped, and you don't have to drink it, but you have to stop. Them's are the rule. And so, 

with more duty than enthusiasm, we pulled over and fished some Bud Lights out of the tub. 

It was a pretty sketchy free beer. Some hipsters hanging out as the sun went down under a tent. 

We peed in the bushes. 

Too Much Demos the "under the fence" strategy

And climbs out of the weeds

Steven made some hipster friends. Ugh. So. Much. Beer. 

Not sure what the basis of this friendship was...

Finally, finally, finally, we mounted up and headed into Cedar Rapids. It was so close, and yet, so very far.

R15 79 Riding the Rag, Beavers Return the Pearl Street Social Club

The ride into Shellsburg was a slog for me. I was literally dying. I was hot. I was sweaty. I was tired. I was slow. Pushing my big biscuit up those hills was a Sisyphean endeavor. But, little did I know there would be a reward for all my toils. 

In 2012, the year of the blistering sun, we spent some time in Shellsburg, and I was happy to be returning. Shellsburg in my memory was a scrappy little town, featuring a bar called, The Pearl Street Social Club. And it was amazing. Just chock-a-block full of locals that knew how to party. They had tshirts printed that read, "Riding the Rag, Pearl Street Social Club, 2012." Could there be anything better?

(This my friends is the infamous stop where I traded 1 crappy Whiners water bottle for one of my very nice Camelback Valentine's Day water bottles and got in big trouble. This is why romance on ragbrai is tricky, my friends. Sometimes, things need to be sacrificed.)

I washed up in Shellsburg a hot mess and found the town to be in the same state. There was literally no where to put a bike. No where. The streets, side streets, sidewalks, all were full of cyclists drinking beer and bikes leaning precariously on stuff. And then the troop of Harley-Davidson riders came through. 

But, we all convened at the PSSC where the party was kicking in the back patio. Everyone was there! New friends, old friends, and, thank goodness, so many potential future ex-husbands. Yes, folks, I was in the land of hot, short-shorted, hunks. Hallejuah. The promise land. Now, get me a drink! 

The Mayor bought a bunch of beers and then kept them safe. Safety 3rd!

You can tell the beavers were having fun because we took a lot of pictures. And videos. 

First we started with some vikings, just to get the crowd warmed up. 

Then Too Much started teaching other people who to do the viking. 

Then, even the Mayor got into the dancing! 

Biker-dance engage! 

We had a scavenger hunt item to get a naked picture of the Mayor ass and he was just taunting us.

But maybe the Mayor vikinged too hard because he got injured. 

Keep those knees loose!

Sacrifice your body!

And then, we started making demands of the DJ so we could get the dance party poppin! 

Hunks in bibs. Hunks in budgie smugglers

There was a hipster guy in stripes who was totally feeling the beavers. He danced up a storm with us. New friends! 

Future ex-husband #2

And when I saw Captain America, my heart melted! 

True American Hero!

I don't care how much alimony it is going to cost me, Future Ex-Husband

And, of course, we did some major, major Power Posing. Here is Steven demo-ing the PP in three easy steps. 

Pose! 

Disengage. 

Cradle that neck!

Stand with authority!

Now, strut!

Finally, we convinced the DJ to play something decent and he obliged. Whew.

And then, just as magically as we started, the beavers departed. First we had to get our bikes out of mangled heaps in the street, and Steven and the Mayor had to talk to some Bud Icers, but soon we were all on the road and heading towards....uh, boy, there had been a lot of drinking at this point. 

We were headed out of town, when all of us a sudden, what should we hear from behind us, but the calls and taunts of those delicious hunks and lady-hunks, Team Awesomeness. Oh. la. la. We rode with them for a bit. I think a few people might have hopped into their line....honestly, who can remember? Do you want me to document all of these events, or do you want me to par-tay? 

Thankfully we didn't have far to go. Just 5.7 to Klinko and then 7.5 beyond that to Klinkowatha. NBD, right? 

R15 78 Thanks for the Hamm's and the Memories!

Free beer stops so far: 4

I won't bore you with details of my continued grumpiness in the afternoon. It was hot and hilly and curvy and whatever. I would soon be cured. 

We were headed into Shellsburg, Iowa from Vinton. And, because we had done a similar route during the Year of the Ring of Fire, things looked vaguely familiar.

And, then, I spotted a vaguely familiar line of hedges. Followed by a vaguely familiar driveway, and a vaguely familiar group of cyclists streaming in and out. And a vaguely familiar shout: "free beer!"

Yes, the kind souls who gave out free beer back in the day were at it again! They were  handing out free cans of Hamm's and Gatorades to anyone who stopped by, and they were discouraging folks from giving them bucks. They also had a nice series of kybos for people to use and a very shady lawn.

Hamm's Light! Yes, please!

We had many of the beavers with us (who, I don't exactly remember) but I do remember we were missing Steven and Too Much. What had happened to them? Had they gotten ahead of us? What had happened?

Finally, we gave up on them, had a free beer, and remembered the last time we were in this very lawn, with the Nada. Ah, memories.

Eventually it was time to leave, so we rounded up the beavers, and prepared to move on. And then, who should arrive like a galloping cavalry? Steven and Too Much! Steven had gotten yet another flat (that's flat #3 for Steven. I bet she needs new tires). And she had been creepily watched as she tried to change it and pee in the corn. (She'll fill you in, I'm sure.)

But Steven and Too Much weren't going to miss the free beer, just because we were ready to roll. Oh, no. In fact, they were ready to BEAVER it up.

You know, I think we all learned something. We all grew. It was a teachable moment. 

And, then, onward, to Shellsburg, where more more memories were born and about to be made. 

R15 77 Why Did the Beaver Cross the Road?

To buy and consume an entire chicken. That's why. 

Familiar territory

The last time I rode into Vinton, Iowa, was the year of the blazing hot death. And the Tiger was with us. I remember, distinctly, having found a cup of monster cookie ice cream and a patch of shade and I was just about ready to relax for one fucking second and try to cool my brain off, when the Tiger came over and insisted that he had found the best spot and we just had to come with him.

Now, beavers, if you know ragbrai, you know that by the time you have found your spot, and you are settling in for a snack, and you just want to relax, the idea of getting back up again and walking to some rando spot is less than appealing. But the Tiger was insistent. So we followed him. 

And, as much as I hate to admit it, he was right. He had found a cheese shop that was offering cheese, obviously, but also $2 craft beers. And there were tables. And air conditioning. Sometimes the grass really is greener on the other side of the street. 

So, with this in my memory, we entered Vinton. And, of course, we found a free Team Good Beer stop before we even got into town, so we dutifully lined up and got our beer and sat in the shade for a few minutes and relaxed. 

Too Much takes a load off

I remembered we ended up chatting with some guy who was doing ragbrai on his own. His wife was running his support vehicle. He was having the time of his life!

So much pink and gray!

We simply enjoyed the shade and eventually made contact with the Deb, who was near downtown.

Check out that cleavage! Boom.

Eventually, we rallied the troops and headed into town. The Deb was parked on a side street, but close to the action. 

Here was the action

But it was blazingly hot, and we only had the Jeep. We all found some snacks and then retreated to the steps of a house. There we ate a lot of snacks and drank beer and listened while the Dale mocked us for being so slow and in efficient. I think he was already done for the day. 

While we were sitting there, enjoying our snacks, and trying not to piss of the person whose house it was, FOB walked over with 2 grocery sacks. Inside on of the sacks was, and I kid you not, an entire chicken. Yes. Rather than paying $6 for a crappy Buck-a-wich, FOB just waltzed into the Fareway which was one block away and bought an entire rotisserie chicken for $5. Then, like a fucking viking, he proceed to eat it. Amazing.

Tasty AND economical.

If that is not a ragbrai-hack, I don't know what is. I could see Pochy taking notes. 

While we were sitting there a couple rode up on fast-and-light bagger bikes. I hadn't seen them before, but they yelled, "the beavers!" and chatted with some of the team like they had met before. This, my friends, was my first experience with the beaver-walkie-talkies, Stu and Monica. They were from Rockford, and they seemed to rock, and luckily, this would not the be the last we would see of them.

Coffee Bender helps

Me, well, I was still a bit out of sorts at this point. The afternoon was looking to be hillier than the morning, and I was tired and grumpy and just not in the ragby-spirit.

Yet, there was fun in the future, lots and lots and lots of fun, a day that would provide redemption for the last time Steven and I rode into Hiawatha. If only I could survive it! 

Forgot to include this picture  yesterday. This is the first TGB stop of the day!