R16 58 The Ole Whip Creme Slapperino

Friyaay! 

How could we not leave Ottumwa rested and relaxed? After a glorious night in the country, we piled into trucks and headed back to the the salon to pick up the bikes, all freshly groomed and shampooed and ready for our penultimate day on the ragby.

It was cloudy and spitting rain as we followed the day boss into the streets of Ottumwa and found ragby as they were crossing the river and headed uphill and out of town. The climb out of Ottumwa was, as you might imagine, a bit of a mess. Just a long, somewhat steep hill, zig-zagging up, along residential streets with tons of day riders and the early morning crowd all bunched together. Creep, creep, creep, dodge a guy who broke a derailleur. You can imagine. 

Cresting the hill, I passed a park and spotted a cyclist on a swing set, flying high into the sky, as gleefully as a child: oh people in spandex doing things. Up and down up and down we wound our way out of Ottumwa and were finally in the countryside beyond. It didn't take too long before we came across our breakfast friends and our first free beer of the day. Somewhere along the lines, Pochy had procured a tick bite, or maybe poison ivy, and we had the brilliant idea to put a sharpie ring around the boundary, so we could keep track of the swelling. And make sure it wasn't small pox. This was also Koz's last day with us, because he was eager to get home to his new kitty, Boner Tittie Fuuchar. 

Into the gray of the mid-morning we continued, until the road flattened out and stretched out and we found ourselves in empty countryside. We turned to the left to get to the town of Hedrick, and outside of a shop on the outskirts of town, I found the beavers--slightly damp from the misty morning, but happy to report a fabulous free beer stop. 

Boy were they right! Inside the shop were coolers full of beer and jello-shots, complete with whipped topping. There were tables, music, and tiny tractors. It was strange and pretty fantastic. And it was there we discovered one of the more impressive talents by our little Beaver Bandit: 

The Whipped Creme Slapperino!

A. Maze. Ing.

She taught Masinga and the Boss how to slapperino, and we had to shake off the attentions of a strange skin belted man, and we did some singing and some cheering and lots of beer and jello shot drinking.

And then we stepped outside into a drizzly Friday morning. All grouped up, we got in line and headed east until we turned into the road which shall forever be known as “You Didn’t Want to Feel Your Genitals Ever Again, Right? Road.” It was the bumpiest, crackiest, holy hot mess of a road that I have been on in a long time. Combine that with a healthy dose of rain, on coming semi trucks, hills, and lots and lots of riders and it was a bib-changer of a ride.

Ouchie. 

Our new Fireball friend...

Eventually we mounted a large hill and found the beavers happily tucking into a free beer and some heckling. Up there, we met a new friend: Ten Dollar Tom. I don’t recall exactly why he was called that. Perhaps because we convinced him to donate $10? Or perhaps because that is all the money that he had for the rest of the day? He was one of those riders that seemed geniuinely surprised and delighted by the possibility of having a mid-morning beer stop with a bunch of knuckle heads like us.

$10 Tom! 

And then we had to roll on. We actually were on a bit of a schedule this day, though the beer stops would hurt our progress. LB told us of his family who lived in Sigourney. They had a shop and were eager to host us when we arrived in town, but we needed to get there by 1pm. Once there, we would be showered with beers and snacks and good times! So, we wrapped it up and rattled onward.

Little did we know how much beer and fun and mayhem would befall us before the end of the day.