R15 122 Onward to Davenport

Yo, beavers, I am back! And, of course I remember where I left off...

Oh yeah! It was time for the last stretch of the ride. We left Walcott and got strung out along the road south of the town. The ride from Walcott into Davenport is quite flat, but Davenport makes up for it once you get into the city limits.

I was riding along with Steven, chatting about who knows what. I think the last time I rode into Davenport I was with the Mayor, on this very same road. And ragbrai memories fold back on to themselves like a paper fan, and so like the sands of the hour glass, those are the days of our...what the hell?

Honestly, not much happened that doesn't normally much happen. Cat calling, ranting, laughing, taunting other riders. The usual. And soon enough we were crossing some major highway, seeing all the departing teams roll underneath us, and we were crossing into Davenport-ish.

And then Steven hollered.

I hope she will chime in here. Did she have a flat? Did Masinga have a flat? I recall stopping in a very hot, unlovely, gravel side of the road while some sort of maintenance was maintained. Could this have been Steven's 3rd flat on ragby?

May be time for some new tires.

But the stop wasn't a bad thing because we all got grouped up back together just in time for a quick turn, and then...the five most magical words on ragby: Free Beer/Slip-N-Slide.

Stay tuned.

R15 121 Guest Blog Masingaded It, the Conclusion

Big Shout out to Masinga and all the beavers who contributed to the blog. I really appreciate getting to take a bit of a break from generating content, especially when I am sick and way behind at work, thanks to spring break. 

Also, just a quick note, with this blog #121, we have officially exceeded the number of blogs from last spring. And we still aren't done. Dear Beaver, what have I done? 

Saturday was a blur. I got my Backpocket T-shirt. #earnedit. I did my very first slip and slide. It was on the side of a hill that was relatively freshly paved with new black tar. Who thought that was a good idea? I even took off the jersey. That was a big step for me. Once was enough for me. A couple Beavers went back for seconds. 

I was sad that RAGBRAI was over. It was quite the different experience than the previous year. I instantly knew that I was in for RAGBY 2016! Last year, it took me at least three months to decide I was in for another helping. I loved RAGBRAI this year. I think I won the award for most improved and maybe best sophomore year. We’ll see. I’m sure Too Much beat me out for that one. He’s too good.

Overall, I was super happy with my RAGBY 2015 experience. I Masinga’d it hardcore. Looking forward to crushing again in 2016. #masingadit

I think we need to add the hashtag #masingadit to our lexicon. Thanks Masinga! You are the winner-winner-chicken-dinner of all the awards in my book. 

R15 120 Guest Blog MasingadIt: Things Get Hazy

Things get a bit hazy for Masinga around Thursday, and to be honest, for us all! 

On Friday, I have a couple of distinct memories from Mt. Vernon. The college club selling cheap Bud heavy tall boys. Having the pitter pat of rain beginning to fall as a signal that we needed to find the Deb and find shelter. 

AND the Wobble for Warmth! If only someone had taken a short video of this. It was rather funny.  Pochs was freezing cold and maybe a bit drunk. I came up with the genius idea to start dancing (and singing) the Wobble. We learned it in Funda shortly after being rewarded with some sweet white Miller Lite sunglasses. Alejandro taught it to us. We reenacted in under the awning of an antique store while we waited for the storm to blow over. In a whopping 7 by 4 foot front porch we wobbled for warmth. It did the trick! And it made Pochy laugh every time we started the move from the top.

When we finally rolled on, I remember climbing into Solon with my new friend Electric Stu. (slightly worried those were separate days) He complimented me on my climb up that hill. I felt like a bad ass. I remember buying 6 bottles of water at the mom & pop grocery store on the other side of the fence from the beer garden, for a whopping $0.88 a bottle. I think I drank 4 of them myself. I remember the Ginger Beer incident. I got splashed. I wasn’t pleased. I wiped myself off and got over it.

I remember politely asking the Post-Funeral Free Beer stop where I could use the bathroom. They showed me inside to use a proper water closet. I asked one of the guests who was dressed in their funeral best what the address, first and last name of this family was. I made note and you bet your sweet bippy I sent them a thank you card! 

When we finally rolled on, towards Iowa City, I know the plan was to stop at the Hilltop. I could handle one more, but I was not prepared for one more, one more. To be honest, I was a bit stressed that we ordered multiple pitchers at the Hilltop. It was getting darker every minute. We still had a ways to go find our overnight location. 

"We ordered" huh?

As we were riding through the quiet streets of Iowa City, there were a couple of Beavers barking up a storm and I was a little worried we were going to get cited for public intoxication. Unlike other Beavers, I had not spent much time in IC, but I’ve heard of a number of visitors getting a public intox and that was something I did not need. I spoke firmly to my Beaver weaving, barking teammates. I may have been the reason we lost them on the way “home”. I got over that one too. I had a nice chat with The Boss on the front porch. Funny, think I only cried once on this RAGBY and it wasn’t even on the road.

R15 119 Guest Blog #MasingadedIt Part 3

Masinga's adventures continue through Tuesday and Wednesday. 

Tuesday – On a day of free beer stops and our Beaver themed celebrations in Alden, it was quite the day! Sure I was kind of trying to get the eye of a certain used to ride with the Bad Boys tall drink of water. He was partying in the limited shade next to the Beavers, dancing to Abbie Normal, as we were getting pelted with flying bottles of cucumber flavored vodka. Who was I kidding? He wasn’t interested. I was just looking for a little attention. No one was texting me, so I wasn’t looking at my phone constantly like Norman. (OH HOW THE TABLES TURNED).* 

I didn’t have the mentor relationship with Too Much and Poch’s had formed. I feel like I bonded a bit with The Boss. It was nice! 

My three things – 1. Three free beer stops!! (little did I know we would just keep finding more each day). 

2. My take charge attitude to get my needs met and find a place to sleep for the night in Eldora. 

3. New experiences with old friends, bringing us closer. I can now say I’ve taken a shower with the Boss. We made the most of the limited shower heads at Pine Lake.

Wednesday – Loved my adventure with the Boss to get into the firemans’ pants in Ackley. Of course I would pick the only fire-lady. I can’t even say I got into a fireman’s pants on RAGBRAI. Sad. Our team continued to kill it. Our branding was on point. We were the life of many a party. 

My Three things – 

1. Quarter Clinch. Sure we may not have started it, but we were easily the most animated team participating. 

2. Safety meeting. I needed it. I slept like a baby. 

3. Gracious hosts Connie and Gary. It made me feel like I was at home with my parents (who are named Connie and Gary).

*When you are throwing shade, you do realize whose blog this is, right? No one but God (and the Mayor) can judge me. 

R15 118 Slacker Sunday, Welcome New Beavers!

We have a whole colony of new beavers in 2016. At least, they say they are planning on joining us. For Slacker Sunday I tried to make a list...

Old Salts

The Mayor

The Boss, aka Steven

Norman

Too Much 

Masinga 

Pochy 

The Deb

The Dale 

Grandpa
Fall Out Boy
Ranger Dave (?)

Virgin Beavers

Lindsay (recruited by Too Much)

Kyle (recruited by Too Much) 

Luke (recruited by Pochy)

The Captain (recruited by Norman)*

Kenny (?)

Monica (?)

Stu (?)

Chris H (?)

Nile H (?)
Ranger Katie (?)

Part Time Lovers

Linda, Linda, Listen

Goldie (?)

Perfect Fit (?)

Jenny from the Block(?) (Give me my jerseys back!)

JK and other Fantastic Rackers? 

Anyone else? 

*I have some concerns. I know Steven has some concerns. So, over the weekend, the Captain and I had a discussion about ragbrai. I made him pinky swear that he was going because he wanted to, and not because he felt any pressure from me. I also tried to slightly discourage him from attending by telling him how expensive it is to do the ragby. Turns out, sailing is way more expensive than ragbrai, so he wasn't dissuaded in the least. 

R15 117 Guest Blog #MasingadIt Part 2

PDBA We continue on Masinga's week of beers and gratitude! Here's Sunday and Monday. Enjoy! 

Sunday – I don’t remember much of any given day. Even looking back at the photos, re-reading the Beaver Tale – yep, I save ‘em, and reading Norman’s epic tales from the road, I can’t remember much of anything. 

My three things for Sunday  - 

1. Craft beer stops and naps (great photo of me catch a quick Beaver snooze, with a beer in my hand). 

2. Beautiful men in cycling gear – cannot get enough!! 

3. And riders with stereos so I can find a rhythm and pedal on.

Monday Three Things Grateful – 

1. While it was a moment full of emotion, The Boss getting a little emotional as we decided not to party with the Spazmatics. We all have so many feelings. So many times I feel like we’re discouraged from letting those feelings out. On my Masinga Meltdowns of RAGBY 2014 I feel like I was shamed a bit after the fact. I did not have permission to show weakness. It may be a Team Beaver flaw. We get to have sad, angry, bitchy moments. Own them. And fuck off if you think you don’t have them too. Yeah, I’m talking to you. 

2. Riding my own RAGBRAI! I didn’t do much training this year. I need to give myself more credit. I am capable of so much more than I think. 

3. My true laugh. Those of you who know me know that when you hear that laugh, that’s how you know I am being myself and having a great time!

R15 116 Guest Blog: Ma Sing Ga! Part 1

PDBA: Whew, Masinga for the clutch! I am still feeling like death on a stick--I got the Bayou Flu--so I was so happy when Masinga sent me her guest blogs. I am going to stretch them out over a few days so I can get caught up on everything else that went by the wayside as I went to the bayou.

Here's part 1, her prologue and her account of the ride out.

The RAGBY 2015 Recap – Masinga Style  

So, as many of you may remember, I had a rough go of it on my virgin RAGBY voyage back in 2014. At least some of you thought it was pretty rough. I don’t think I complained about the actual riding. I know that the mental game was tough for me. I had to get used to new personalities, find my communication style, and somehow find room for all that beer. I made it work, more or less. It may have been difficult, but I emerged from the week still friends. 

Looking back, I think I put too much pressure on myself. Pochy may have felt something similar this year. Prolly not. She’s way tougher than I am. Or at least way better at hiding it. I let it spill over as it boils. It starts to leak out and before you know it I’m in a Masinga meltdown. It ain’t pretty. 

2015 was different. I said “fuck it”. I drank. I had safety meetings. I ate when I was hungry. In words our fearless leader Norman and I discussed on the morning of my 35^th birthday, well after RAGBY 2015, I Masinga’d it. #masingadit.

Sure I invested in a new to me bike. It may still be a bit too long for me. I didn’t turn into three-finga Masinga, so it’ll do. I bought enough cycling gear to be able to wear new shorts and jerseys each day of the week. I bought a new helmet, which felt slightly less bulky, but gave me a horrible dot in the middle of my forehead. I came kitted up in Team Awesomeness, even though the fit was terrible and made all of my RAGBRAI hang out as the week went on. 

I was going to live by what I considered valuable advice from Norman and stop being on my phone. I wasn’t connected to any Tinder-dudes. Sure the Douche Bagger still had me on the hook. I was going to live in the now and pay attention to MY experience. Hell, I didn’t even really take any photos of the ride. I accepted that I rode the entire week once and it really didn’t matter if I ever rode it again. I was going to ride my own RAGBRAI. That I did. I f-ing killed it!

I set out on the Beaver Ark on the drive out hoping to have fun. Sure I was a bit stressed that I was the late Beaver. Thanks to my momma for helping me get there. Logistics are not fun for me, especially when traveling with others. It makes me stress. You tell me be there at 9, I’m going to be there at 9, not 8:30 or even 8:50. I got a little sauced. I felt like there was a little pressure to have as much fun on the drive up as I did the previous year. I am happy to report I did not drink most of a half-rack of Saga. As the day wore on, I decided that I would reflect on each day right before bed. I would identify three things that I was grateful for that happened that day.

Saturday – 

1. My mom helped me get out to the ark. 

2. Tad graciously lubed my chain (meow).

3. The amazing hosts who gave us rides to and from the expo, and had delicious food and drinks for us to enjoy. 

R15 115 Guest Blog: Pochy on Being a Day Rider

Greetings Beavers, a good friend of mine once said of cycling, "if you think you are, you are." And those words have stuck with me. But to think you are, you often need to look like you are. In her guest blog, Pochy weighs in on not exactly looking the part.

Wearing Chacos on RAGBRAI makes me look like a day rider... so I've been told.  For the most part, I'm okay with that, but on this particular day, the roads were so clogged with day riders, and even though the big storm took a lot of them out, there were still quite a few.  

#dayrider problems

This was my first full week of RAGBRAI and at this point, we were several days in and I was tired of climbing these never ending hills, so as we left the beer tent town (Klinkertown I believe) I was slogging my way up a hill and this kind hearted woman rode up beside me to try and give me some advice.  I believe she said something like, "You look like you're trying too hard, maybe you should switch gears," and I think I just glared at her, maybe mumbled a quiet f-you, and continued on. 

A couple hills later, the woman rode up beside me again on a particularly steep hill.  Our conversation went something like this: 

Lady: You know, I live around here so I really know these hills. 

Pochs: silence, continued struggle up hill

Lady: Don't push yourself too hard on this one, because after this there's another steep one, and then another really really steep one. 

Pochs: Please stop talking to me. 

Lady: I just want you to be prepared.  You know, this is my second day of RAGBRAI so I know a little something about pacing yourself. 

At this point, I might have screamed, or I may have growled, I don't really know what I did, but I'm sure I said something really mean because I never saw this lady again.  

To this day, Pochy continues to wear her regular shoes on the bike. She has a fast road bike with flat pedals. Sometimes on ragby, you will see her in a full on pro kit from Team Awesomeness. She even wears the chapteau! But will she buy cycling shoes? Nope. I used to try to talk her into it, telling her how much stronger and more efficient she will be, besides looking like a regular week-er, but then I stopped. I don't want Pochy to be any faster or more efficient! Chacos are the one thing that are keeping her mortal on the bike.

R15 114 The Penultimate Bar

Whoops. Forgot to add writing to this blog post. Sorry beavers. Of course it is fitting that there are just pictures, because I am sick as a dog. I think I contracted Zika in New Orleans. Just kidding. My eyes aren't red. I do feel like death though. 

I have one blog ready to go for tomorrow, so hopefully I will be back up to blogging speed by Friday. 

So, we arrived in Walcott after a quick and breezy ride from Durant, and the margaritas. The last time we had been in Walcott, the Mayor and the Ranger and I kicked it on the square, but this time we found the local bar.

Add caption

Who the hell knows what that was called. Anyway, we rolled in and started making friends. The barmaid was particularly sweet and filled all our bottles herself with ice even! So we got beers, and maybe nachos? and made some friends. 

Let it breath baby

Some hipster cyclist came up and started talking to us at our table. He was rocking an impressive skin belt. And I think we chatted with a few of the locals that were hanging out enjoying the madness. 

Here's my last shot of my wristbands. Not as impressive as one would hope, but I think the era of wristbands is over. 

I think we went out to pee in the bushes and then got back on the bikes. We had a lot, flat, and dusty ride into D-town, where we hoped to have a bit more fun before the ride home. 

R15 113 Well, That's Tasty

PDBA: Happy Birthday to the Deb! Our driver, tent-setter-upper, dog-wrangler, host-befriender, and party-starter! We love you! May your day be full of beers! Bikes! and Beers! and Bikes! xoxoxo

F&ck all that sh!t! 

We riding hell bent for leather, so we were skipping towns and breaking hearts after that. We had to get Grandpa home!

So, f*ck Moscow and the Iowa Craft Beer Bus.

F$ck Wilton and their racist, old candy store. Actually, I think we stopped in Wilton briefly for water, but we didn’t stay.

We were out of there, bitches.

I remembered the straight flat road into Durant from my second ragby with Easy-E, and I was happy to be rolling down that road again.

But, not everyone was happy. Somewhere between Wilton and Durant the Mayor got into a funk and decided to hang back. (Hey, I get it man). We all rolled into Durant, parked under an ancient gas pump awning and waited for the team to gather together. It was time for a drink.

When we all together, but not necessarily all happy, we froggered across the road into the local bar, the Dew Drop Inn. Ah, memories. Easy E and the Mayor and I had enjoyed a beverage here in bygone ages.

Real world drink...weird

At the bar I noticed that margaritas were on special, so I ordered one. It was like 10 o’clock in the morning. The gal disappeared into the back and returned with a fluted glass of frosty magic, complete with a cayenne pepper salty rim. Hot dam that was delicious. I sucked it down like it was a milk shake and went back for a second.

Needless to say I was feeling no pain.

Bring em home!

Working off her beers

So I didn’t really noticed when Steven stepped outside and started advertising for the bar. I think they had a microphone and she was calling in the ragbraiers, as she does so well.

Finally, we decided we had to roll, time was pressing, and we headed back to the bikes and on towards the penultimate town of the day.  

R15 112 Another Magical Creature

Skipping towns and breaking hearts.

I remember back in the Ranger Dave Ragby days, when the Backpocket stop was new! And there was only one of them! Oh those magical days when craft beer was a rare treat on ragby.

Those days are no more. Now, there are 2 Backpocket stops, plus the Iowa Beer Bus, and an ark full of craft beer. No longer is craft beer a rare treat. Now, it is everywhere. You can sling a tube without hitting a craft beer stop.

This presents many delights, but a few challenges. For one, we are stopping more, and for longer (one more one more!), and we are getting a lot more bang for our buck.

But it also means that if you were good and diligent and punched your card at every stop, you could get a tshirt. That was Backpocket’s promotion for the week. I was not good and diligent, so no tshirt for me. I begged them, pleaded, I know they saw me twice a day sucking down beer, but to no avail.

No card, no dice

No matter. We stopped and grabbed some beers and some tshirts and then made a circle in the grass for our last Backpocket stop (and I secretly chuckled about not having to carry a tshirt in my Backpocket the rest of the ride).

It was full on cloudy but someone needed a scavenger hunt picture.

And then, like a vision emerging from the fog, he arrived.

You shall know him by his marks.

Crazy. Eyed. Jeff.

Sip.

He was back. And, no surprise here, he remembered us. How could he not? And, of course, into his Chrome bag went his long, bony hand, and out came the Sigg bottle of the day’s medicine. By this point, we knew we had no choice, so we passed around the potion and slipped into the void.

The Man, the Myth, the Legend: check out Steven's expression

Touching the void.

It was the perfect bizarre bookend to our week, and to be honest, this is what we get for being so fascinated by the Whiners.

R15 111 Slacker Sunday: The Full Moon

Steven always organizes a scavenger hunt for us, a list of fun pictures of activities to get us into the spirit of the week. 

This year it had been all I could do to stay upright, let alone Karate Kid in a creek, with a pantless man (day 2 with bonuses). 

So, you can imagine my joy when I managed to knock Day 4 off the list. "A picture of the Mayor's ass. Bonus: he has no shirt on. Double Bonus: he has a Coors Light in his hand."

Well, no bonuses for me, but in honor of Slacker Sunday, I give you 3 pictures of the Mayor's prized ass. 

Oooh

La 

La

R15 110 All the Tiny Horses

We joined up with ragby in the middle of West Liberty and then had a plan to hit the last Backpocket of the week just outside of Atalissa.

But we weren't half a mile outside of town when we saw them.

Tiny horses.

Mayday Mayday!

We quickly pulled over to do some major petting and photo taking of two gorgeous, minuature horses in the front yard. The farmer (?) and his wife had planned to head somewhere today but had opened their doors in the morning and had seen 10,000 cyclists streaming by, so instead, they cancelled their plans and brought out the tiny horses.

Tiny gal, tiny horse

Buttercup and Knife Fight were their names.

Pochy smells good to horses

Just kidding. I don't remember their names, but they were gorgeous. If I could get my hair to look half as good as that tiny horses, that real life My Little Pony, I would die happy.

So much body!

I don't know why, but stopping to pet those sweet tiny horses absolutely filled my soul. I felt warm, enriched, alive again. As if the spirit of a tiny horse sang to my heart and now I radiated with divine light.

Might as well have been a unicorn

It had been a long week folks.

After we had our fill of tiny horse petting, we hopped back on our bikes, hollering for the rest of ragby to, "see the tiny horses! Tiniest horses on ragbrai!"

A teenager on a hybrid, wearing full flapping rain jacket, hearing us, turned to and said, "ooohhh tiny horses!" and abruptly pulled over to have a pet.

Tiny horse. Big heart!

My heart was full, I tell you. Full.

R15 109 Our Last Caseys of Ragby

We don't need stinking routes!

The first thing we saw as we pulled into West Liberty, still off the route, was a Casey's. And we all felt like we deserved some breakfast. 

We roamed that store like bees, collecting pollen, breakfast pizza, coffee, Gatorade, Snickers, Coors Light. Yes, for some reason I decided that I needed to actually try to participate in the scavenger hunt at this point, but I was too lazy to get up from my chair and go outside.

2 birds.

I was also too nauseated to actually at my Snickers and Coors Light. My stomach had started to rebel after a week of punishment. The other thing that started to rebel were my lungs. On Saturday I developed a hacking, whooping cough that wouldn't leave me until September. It caused my colleagues and friends great concerned and kept me up at night. I was convinced I had whooping cough or pneumonia, but I actually went to the doctor and they said it was just viral.

We chatted and ate and made jokes. Our last Casey's of our ragby 2015. Oh, sad moment. 

That's a lot of donuts.

Before we left and prepared to join the rest of ragby, we took a picture in honor of the Deb. We had let her down so many times, by being too late and too drunk to want to go out in the evening. WE had to do something, so we took a picture of her in her "did you know, hippos kill more beavers than sharks?" pose and rejoined the ride. 

Hippos, the scourge of beavers!

R15 108 The Dawning of the Last Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day little beavers! And may the luck-o-the-Irish be with you! With any luck, I'll be waking up in Pat O'Brien's with a hurricane already in hand. Peace. 

Our final day of ragby dawned misty and cool. We donned our official TB jerseys and proceeded to pack up our stuff and prepared to leave. 

Grandpa and the Dale left bright and early. They were going to race through the morning so Grandpa could get an early ride back to Des Moines, and relieve broken armed Grandma from the twins, and to help the Deb prepare for our departure. 

In the meantime, the Deb was going to shuttle Matty and his friend Dimentrio, of the minor concussion, up to Cedar Rapids where they left Matty's car the day before. The Deb will have to fill you in on how that ride went, but suffice it to say, it was a cock-up worthy of our team. 

As we prepared to departure, I gifted each beaver a token of my esteem. A single beaver claw, bought with the intention of rewarding the winners of the fitness challenge. 

My executive assistant received hers with grace! 

And we took a team picture before we hit the road.

Linda's face is my favorite! 

If you check the map, you see most of the morning for the rest of ragby would be spent getting through Iowa City, but we had done that the night before (not without hardship), so we were ready to take advantage of our rare head start. 

All we had to do, Ryan told us, was take Taft south until we hit gravel. Then turn left and follow the road into West Liberty. 

Easy. 

We rode off into the cool morning, up and down some fantastic rollers. Soon enough we hit the gravel-t and were headed west, for the longest stretch of the day into West Liberty. 

The road was deadly quiet and empty, just peaceful houses and fields, with only the occasional car behind us. But we were on a non-ragby road, with not a huge shoulder and there was traffic. 

Soon enough, the speedy beavers were slipping away off the front, but I didn't want to leave LLL alone on a non-route road, so I stayed with her. They didn't get too far ahead, within eye sight, and they never seemed to get any further away. It is like they decided to ride a half mile in front and just stay there. 

No matter. It was a lovely, peaceful morning ride, a great chance to warm up and reflect on our last day of this crazy week. 

R15 107 Tacopacalypse

I warned them that she was going to do it. I warned them and warned them, but nobody listened.

The Deb is the child of my grandmother, a home ec teacher with a panache for lively cuisine, and my grandfather, a grumpy WW2 vet and Depression survivor who hated and refused to eat left overs.

My grandmother, may she rest in peace, never ever had left overs. She always calculated her meals perfectly, so that there was always just enough, but never too much. My mother took this a step too far. She always made just a bit too little. There were many an evening when I was growing up where my brother and the Dale would have a bowl of cereal after dinner because they were still hungry.

Easy-E and I developed a food scarcity paranoia that haunts us to this day. On Christmas, Emily will hide the choicest ribs and bits so that she can have food later. It's weird.

So, when someone suggested to the Deb that she buy the fixings for tacos so we could have dinner at Ryan's, I told them she wouldn't buy enough. "Buy 5 pounds of meat," they said.

"I'll buy 3" the Deb replied.

"No, 5!"

"No, 3."

By the time Too Much and I returned from the safety meeting, all that was left was the scrapings of the bottom of the pan, some salsa and some shredded cheese. Okey-dokey, that will be dinner.

We devoured the food that was left over, drank another beer for good measure, and settled down in the living room for one final ragbrai snooze.

Before bed, a much calmer and happier and fed Steven (beware the hanger) took a stolen hat selfie.

The smile is Back!

It had been been quite the doozey of a day, filled with ups and downs, both on the bike and off. But we were together and we had one more day.

R15 106 Into the Woods

Just kidding! We would see them again!

Here's what happened.

Our now Boss and Mayorless team now followed Grandpa across Highway 6. We took a right onto a leafy, darkening bike trail and followed his bright headlights down the path.

We rode past kids and lawns and parks and quiet streets. At each intersection Grandpa yelled, "clear" and we steamrolled through and on and on and on, into the deepening dark.

Before long we were further east in Iowa City than I had ever been. I didn't even know this kind of neighborhood existed in Iowa City. It was a normal, standard subdivision, with lots of condo-row houses and curvy streets, but soon enough we were turning on to H Drive and we saw the Jeep.

The ark was parked in back, so we loaded our bikes into the garage and started shuffling gear into the house.

Our house, Ryan, a friend of Steven and the Mayor had long been entertaining the Deb, the Dale, and Linda, Linda while waiting for our drunk asses to arrive, so the line for the shower wasn't too bad.

The Deb, understandably, was like, "what the hell happened to you?" but she had bought the goods to make tacos for us and Ryan had plenty of cozy carpet space and air conditioning, along with two bathrooms.

As we were showering and getting settled for the evening, Steven and the Mayor arrived, slipping back into the fold and clearly ready for some tacos and some down time.

In the middle of all the showering, and shuffling, and drinking, the Deb and I were standing at the counter, chatting. We were trying to convince her to ride the next year, or something like that, and she finally got so fed up with us that she said something kind of nasty to me. I don't remember what it was, but it stung.

Later, she told me that she had to say it because we wouldn't stop trying to convince her to do whatever we were trying to convince her to do. Her defense is a blitzkrieg offense. I thought about her statement, and then how much easier it would have been to say, "hey guys, are you are hurting my feelings and making me feel defensive." And then, I thought, again, as I have so many times on this ragbrai how hard it is to communicate, and how much harder we make it on ourselves with the exhaustion, the family, the drinking, the sleeping conditions. It was one more lesson in, "tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth" for me.

But, all that thinking was later. What I did instead was find Too Much and have a safety meeting.

R15 105 Mutiny on the Good Ship Beaver

I don't know exactly what happened. I really don't. But as we stood on the street corner, shit hit the fan. 

Steven, apparently fed up with our lack of believing her navigational skills, or perhaps angry at the Mayor, or perhaps just angry, threw down her bike, sat down in a yard, and refused to move. 

Without our leader, the rest of us were a bit dumbstruck. What to do? 

Too Much passed the time doing curls.

The day was slipping into evening. The light was going. And we were all tired, drunk, and ready to be done. Pochy, having never witnessed quite such a beaver melt down was quietly panicking. 

But Steven wasn't having it. She was staying. She was finally making good on her threats to just move to wherever we are. To her credit, it was a very nice yard. 

Masinga and I quietly got out our phones and tried to use Google Maps to find a route to our home stay, but it was Grandpa who took charge. With his GPS and his headlamp, he told us there was a bike trail just ahead. 

Riding out the storm. 

Casting sorrowful looks back at Steven and the Mayor, still in the yard, Too Much, Pochy, Masinga and I rode after Grandpa. What else could we do? It felt terrible to leave a beaver behind, but it wouldn't help for us all to be lost and stationary in Iowa City? At least if we found the ark we could send a search party...

I think we took the middle route.

And so we rode off into the night. Never to see our friends again....

R15 104 Slacker Sunday: Daylight Savings Edition

Good morning sleepy beavers!

For today's Slacker Sunday report, I want to tell you about an important beaver innovation. Next year, the plan is to have a "road boss" and a "night boss."

Did I tell you guys about this already?. Who knows? I am too lazy to look back. And I am in Nashville, ye-haw!

Steven, clearly, is the road boss. She's the boss. Her boss status will be indicated by an arm band.

Then, when Steven gets too drunk, the band will be flipped, so we will all know that we are no longer to listen to Steven (though we should pretend we are still listening so she doesn't get mad).

The night boss will have an arm band that will get flipped and the night boss will take over control of the team.

And in this way, we can allow Steven to be her bossy, magical, wonderful, drunk-ass self, but then have an powerful authority guide us home during the fraught evening hours.

Pochy has been in the process of making said arm bands for the last 8 months, but there are logistical problems. This might be the first task that Pochy isn't up to.

Will the road boss/night boss bands work? Will we ever have an easy time finding complicated home stays? Stay tuned!

PS If you'd like to read something actually useful, check out the Ragby Training blog (you know, some people actually train for this!). Tomorrow marks the first day to get those 1,000 in!

R15 103 The Wander Before the Storm

PDBA: Yo, beavers! I am headed south. The Captain and I are driving to Nashville and New Orleans for spring break. If there are problems with the blog, contact Steven or Pochy! Le bon ton roule! 

After Ragby, I dutifully kept copies of the Beaver Tail. I thought they would jog my memory as I blogged, but I haven’t used them much. Today, sitting at my desk, I grabbed the Friday Beaver Tail to look for the address of the home stay and put it on the map. And I noticed the meme of the day. It was a picture of the Most Interesting Man in the World, and the caption reads, “I don’t always say something stupid, but when I do, I keep talking to make it worse.”

Just let that sink in a bit as I narrate our adventures.

We followed the hilly roads into the heart of Iowa City, through leafy yards and past college apartments until we got to old Highway 6, one of the only main thoroughfares that links the collegey part of town to the eastern side of town where the regular people live.

Directions to our home stay on the Beaver Tail guided us from where the route would have brought us into town. But we weren’t on the route. We were far east of the route. I just didn’t realize how much further east we had to go.

We did a quick recon at Highway 6 before being convinced we should cross and head towards the neighborhoods beyond. I lived on south Governor my junior year, and knew that these streets didn’t go much further south. They were blocked by the tracks, but I followed along.

It is my belief that when it comes to navigation, unless someone asks my opinion, I should just keep quiet. I had nothing to do with the home stay. I had barely looked at the map on the Beaver Tail. I certainly hadn’t done any mapping. And so I was pretty sure that if I tried to get involved, I would just make things more complicated.

Steven is the chief home stay navigator. She designs the Beaver Tail and makes the maps that lead us to our dam for the evening. She’s the boss.

But something was different about this Steven, and because I was drunk, I didn’t realize it until we were too late.

She was drunk, Like drunk drunk. Like 3rd annual Brewery 100 Mayor in the afternoon drunk. And we were following her as she rode her bike, with much conviction and confidence, into the peaceful neighborhood south of Highway 6.

In the meanwhile, the Mayor is yelling. I don’t think it was an angry yelling, more like hollering. And Masinga’s trying to get him to pipe down. Pretty much we were acting like a bunch of stupid college students, only on bikes.

Finally, we circled back around and found ourselves facing Highway 6 again, this time pointing north.

The boss was bossing us in circles. It was time for mutiny.

Hindsight is 20-20 map

R15 102 The Best Hilltop of the Day

Happily toasted on our millionth free beer of the day, we zoomed into Iowa City, and what should be on the corner as we arrived in town? The Hilltop Tavern. Lots of people say they live in Iowa City, the coolest university towns in the state, but you aren't really a resident unless you've been to the Hilltop, a fantastic dive on the north side of town. 

We had to stop. 

We dumped the bikes out back and...I think Steven and I raced the rest of the team into the bar? Was that what was happening? I remember us either entering or exiting in a big hurry. 

We bought a bunch of pitchers and went back to the pool room, which we had mostly to ourselves. With a few wonderful exceptions. 

More cheers more beers! 

We were delighted to be sharing the room with the Freedom Eating Death Eagles, our friends from Mt. Vernon, who had shared our beer and our somewhat dry under deck. Coolest jerseys and team name on Ragby? Yup.

Cheney Forever

Meanwhile we decided to do what you do in a bar. We played a bunch of songs on the juke box. We danced.

I really don't understand what is happening here. 

Or here.

I may be the red lantern, but I will dance your faces off.

And then, Steven got sassy. I don't remember exactly what happened, but Team Butt Ice arrived. And Steven knew one of the dudes and she got to chatting.

Not sure what is being said here.

I am not exactly clear on the details of what was being discussed, but the result was Steven stealing this Butt Icerers cap.

Why does it have such a huge brim?

This was Steven, saying yes! Yes, world! Yes, Ragby! Yes, one more one more! We were at peak yest Steven.

And we were about to feel the repercussions. 

And, then, in as much of a hurry as we arrived, we sprinted out of there, to the bikes and the zoomed down South Governor into the heart of Iowa City.

All we had to do was find the home stay. I had lived in Iowa City for four years. And I had a townie boyfriend. How hard could it be?