R16 71 Beaver Leaver

Before long the Ark was rolling into Des Moines and parking in the Roosevelt High School parking lot. And we began the long process of sorting out all the gear, dividing up all the extra beer and snacks, waiting for rides to arrive, and cleaning out the Ark. 

Thankfully, Bandit and Too Much arrived, so we could see her all patched up. 

Bandit needs to work on sun safety, and er, other safety.

She was in a lot of pain, but she still managed to have a smile on her face. What a beaver MVP.

She's charming on drugs!

I actually grateful for the chores of emptying out the RV. It distracts me from the sad feels of saying good bye to all my best friends and family.

The Deb directs the unpack from the pup station.

We had a lot of leftover beer and some extra snacks. It turns out, we also had extra $ this year. So we all got lots of goodies to get us through the summer: cases of light beer, tiny candy bars, extra sunscreen and bug spray. 

Gear mountain

Goodbye Inaugural Pinyata

 El Cap and I made a huge pile of our bags and called for an Uber.

Assessing the damage

We had already said goodbye to Koz and FOB. We hugged TB North and watched as they pulled away and off to the north country. Then we hugged the Deb and the Dale and they headed south back to Arkansas. Kenny was off to his family. Masinga's mom came for her. Steven and the Mayor were off to the East side to do the kid and family thing, and Pochs and LB had one night until they picked up their dubbas, who I am sure missed them like crazy. 

Our Uber pulled up, and miraculously, it was a fancy Audi. there's nothing like climbing into a luxury vehicle with a week and a half's worth of bike-stink embedded in every surface. 

We dropped off the gear at the #cits and then quickly changed and called for another Uber and headed over to Goldie and Perfect Fit's house for a Beaver Dam pool and hot tub party. El Cap played with Sam in the pool and Goldie and I hung out in the hot tub. Masinga and Pochs and LB joined us for pizza and beer and post-ragby relaxation. It was a lovely way to end a crazy, crazy week. 

And with that, ragby 2017 was over. 

Thank you, all you beaver and readers, for being my friend, my teammate, my reader, my cheerleader, and my support network. Thank you all for all you do to make ragby and Team Beaver an amazing week and an amazing week. I am so so lucky to have a colony made up of all of you. 

R16 70 Ride Home Reflections

(Apologies Beavers--the formatting on this one is all kinds of fucked up.)

Don't need this anymore. 

“Oh, hell no. You made me be in the Anderson family Christmas photo, you better get your ass in this Team Beaver photo.”

Most of the Beaver Fam

That’s the sound of me laying down the law when El Cap tried to sneak out of our Team Beaver final picture. For the record, the Anderson family are all pure break Norwegians—tall, gorgeous, blonde. I looked like Danny Devito by comparison.

I have soo many feeelllinggs.

Anyway, after we took our final picture, missing some beloved beavers, we changed clothes, bought snacks at the gas station and hit the road. It was a decidedly down beat ride home—most of the beavers were quite tuckered out at this point and even our drinking was on the subdued side.

Virgin No Longer, Pochy paces herself.

It had been quite the doozy of a ragby.

Let me list the ways:

The #RideOut featured the hottest weather of the summer during the hottest year on record.

The route was hard—long days, tons of hills, and desolate southern Iowa towns.

·        

Many of our homestays were a bit rough—let’s not forget the (former) crack house.

·       

Crying! Lots of crying.

Hee hee that was fun.

·        Fights! Both with words and with Indian leg wrestling.

When you wrestle too hard and tear your favorite t-top

·        Crashes! Lots of crashes. (Fuck those Monarchs!)

·        Mechanicals up the wazoo.

Co-pilot Ken

·        Rain storms! Heat!

·        Useless Air Force tire changes.

·        Those mean girl Rowdy Beavers.

·        The indignity of Tom’s midnight liaisons.

·        Crazy Eyed Jeff’s injury.

Besides all of that, there were tensions with our various lovers, there were communication challenges, there were tests and essays to write (way to go Masinga!), there were virgins to nurture, and I ran out of time and energy to complete this blog, and much, much more.

But despite all of that, it was still ragbrai!

Let me list random favorites!

·        Dancing Queen!

·        Story hour on the dock in Ottumwa (that pond was stocked with 1,000 walleye)!

·        The second meat loaf!

·        Early arrival of El Cap!

·        The pin-fucking-yata!

·        Munchos!

{

Guess who passed her test and her ragby?

·        Beebop and Rocksteady (now Biscuit) and little Boner Titty Fucker!

Already missing chamois creme application time

·        Singing happy birthday to our host in Leon!

·        Team Checker (watch out!)

·        Backpocket Stops with Hot Beef Sundaes.

·        Pet foxes.

·        Whip Cream Slap-a-roo and Bandit on pain killers.

·        Bike trails and whiskey and riding the whole route.

·        Taking over the DJ booth when they aren’t doing it right.

·        Pacelines with all the beavers looking pretty.

·        Crazy Eyed Jeff

·        Pool party and Topless Tuesday and LB riding in his undies.

When I look back, I see all that bad, bad stuff, but then I remember the Mayor, who never ceases to remind us that, “It’s RAGBRAI!” And a bad ragbrai is still better than almost everything else you can do with the last week of July.

Sad Mayor

Many of you know, I spent this spring in London, and traveling after that. One of the things I was reminded of when I was traveling with students was just how much more emotionally heightened everything becomes when you are traveling. Every feeling becomes ten times more intense. (It’s even more intense when you combine traveling with lots of exercise, a lack of sleep, and daily allotment of 64 Colorado Kool-Aids.) That is true for frustration, sadness and pain, but it is also true for joy. Ragby isn’t a bike ride. It’s not a vacation. It’s not spring break for adults. It’s a spiritual journey that strips us bare and shows us something about ourselves—its like ayawaska, but with (usually) less puking.

I'm here, on the gravel here.

After 7 ragbys, I am not sure that I have found my groove or I truly understand myself. I certainly haven’t learned my lesson about “training.” And subsequently, that means, I haven’t rediscovered my love of the bike. I guess I better give it one more go this July. 

 

I hate that stupid puppy! Let's leave her in Des Moines! 

R16 69 East Bound and Down

Alone in a big southern Iowa world

After leaving Columbus Junction, I thought the beavers were right behind me. I rode across a bridge and then took the hard turn to Fredonia. Not much was happening there, and the plan was to keep rolling, so I headed north, expecting the rest of the team to catch me.

The road north was not great. Super rough and bumpy and I was tired and over it, but no beavers caught me. I took the big turn towards Letts, and the road evened out a bit and I took some time to appreciate the sunny blue skies.

Before long, and amazingly, I arrived in Letts and I hadn't seen a beaver. I pulled over under a tree and took my phone off airplane mode. And that's when I got the message. The Bandit (as she is known now) had a crash and she and Too Much were en route to the hospital. I later learned that she had collected a "butterfly bomb" from one of stands in Columbus Junction. When she went to toss it in a ditch, she took an odd swerve, bumped Masinga and then hit the deck. They thought she might have broken her wrist (turns out no, just a terrible sprain and maybe some bone bruising--Bandit will fill you in). And now her nickname is Butterfly Bandit, Bandit for short and because she rolls with a bandanna. Bikes were on the sag wagon, the Deb had been informed.

"Well, shit," I thought. I figured we would all need to haul our asses into Muscatine so we could get to the hospital and then roll out of town ASAP. So before I heard anything else, I hopped on my bike and hit the road. Then about halfway between Letts and the Winery, I got word that, no we didn't have to hustle. That Too Much and Bandit were in the waiting room and we could still enjoy our day.

I certainly wasn't going to salmon, so I just went ahead to the Winery and figured I'd reconnect with the beavers there.

The winery was in a gorgeous spot. Tons of grass all sweeping down into a view of a glorious valley below. There was a beer stand, food stalls, and a band, plus copious amounts of grass for naps. I found a big piece of sunny grass in the middle of an empty yard and took a beer nap, waking occasionally to watch a dude fiddle with the water bottle filling contraption.

After about a half an hour, the rest of the beavers rolled in and filled me in on the adventures of the morning. While I was hanging out with the beavers, I was getting antsy. I had already been there for a bit and was feeling done for the day. Plus, I kept getting snapchats from El Cap featuring him and my mother enjoying a lovely morning at a brewery. A casual acquaintance came over to chat with me and I could barely muster the interest in the conversation. Bleh.

But then, finally, we were on the home stretch. The last 11 miles into Muscatine. Up and down we rode big river valley hills into town and followed the road as it stretched up north and into the little town of Muscatine: a scrappy river town.

We did a major regrouping on the outskirts of town, to make sure we had what was left of our band of beavers, before we attempted to find the RV.

Soon enough we were turning on to a side road and we stopped the Ark, along with Smitty and his bike-van waiting for us. The bike part of this adventure was over.

R16 68 That Good Good Prickly Taste of Beer

Saturday in the park

I think it is safe to say that by the time Saturday rolled around, the beavers were rocked. We'd experience the highs and lows of a wild Friday, of a massively hot and hilly week. We'd had physical crashes, emotional crashes, and we'd learned that the Bandit could slap whipped cream into her mouth. 

Last morning beavers!

We just had one little teeny tiny day to get through. All we had to do was get our Backpocket t-shirts and survive all the way to Muscatine where the RV full of beer and cotton clothing awaited us. Usually Saturday gives me the last-day-of-summer-camp blues, but this year I was ready to be done. Not happy, but ready. 

Thankfully we had a gorgeous morning of riding and the hills were starting to feel familiar. I don't really much until we got to the Backpocket stop, but we must have stopped at the breakfast sandwich stop because here's a cute picture of LB and Pochs. 

Cute!

I do remember getting to Backpocket was a bit of a chore, because there was a hard right at the top of a hill. And I think there was an accident. And there were cars and trucks and tons of riders on both sides of the road. Hot mess. But we ditched the bikes and made our way to the beer and the t-shirt claimery. 

Masinga, our beaver mom, did me a solid and punched all my punches when she punched hers and was responsible for my beer-punch card, so that I could get the t-shirt this year. After my crushing denial last year, I would have been heart broken to have fucked it up again. Thanks Masinga. 

Add caption

Add caption

As we were leaving, we bumped into some cyclists, and I guess we had formed a bit of a reputation, because a guy ran up to Steven and asked for our patented stickering, which she was happy to provide. 

Step 1 Assess the Canvas

Step 2 Apply Sticker

Step 3 Remind the victim that they asked for it

Then, somehow (does anyone remember?) we started talking to this crazy old bagger. He was bearded and wearing a kilt and he also requested a sticker (for his bike not his ass), and he offered to trade us a beer for it. Uh, of course, bagger. 

 

But why?

Then the beer he pulled out of this bagger bag was a Michelob Ultra Cactus Lime...in a glass bottle.  If there was a weirder selection of beer to pull from that bag, I don't know what it might be. And once again, I am reminded that while I may be a touring cyclist, I will never understand the mind of a bagger. 

Got that Mic Ultra Cactus Face

Normie taking one for the team

Full of craft and not-so-craft beer, we got on our bikes and made the short journey into Columbus Junction--a cute town, with a swinging bridge in a shady valley, and a taller road bridge that crosses main street. We ditched the bikes and did a bit of a beaver scatter. Too Much and Bandit had to stand in line for another wheel issue (Too Much and those wheels!). Steven and I went to look for tacos and bloody marys and eventually we reconvened in a bar on main street. 

Little did I know that was the last I would see of my team for most of the rest of the day. 

R16 67 Not all Crashes are Bike Crashes

Washington!

Our homestay in Washington was lovely. There was a big, grassy backyard, and two showers, one in a basement (preferred by me). Our hosts were lovely, though I believe they had just adopted a cat? Or a puppy? So we had to be vigilant about the door.

So, there I was, happy to be done for the day, and nearly done for the week, and, well, drunk. I was hanging out in the front yard, when El Cap walked up with a couple bags of rotisserie roasted chicken. "Hell yeah," I was thinking.

The Deb and the Dale were out partying and getting massages and enjoying all the fun of Washington, and somehow, El Cap got it into his mind that he had to cook dinner for us. Had to. Now it is important to keep some things in mind:

1. I had been drinking. 
2. He had been drinking (nothing else to do while waiting for us). 
3. I don't remember most of this. 

There I was just happy as a golden retriver to see him, just ready to slobber and smooch my hunky boyfriend, when all of a sudden, it was fight o'clock. He was pissed. (In the past year, I have come to learn that fight o'clock is kind of a thing, when ole boy has been day drinking and feels put upon or not understood, but I did not understand it in this moment). 

All of a sudden he was yelling at me, all the while he is pulling chicken for tacos. He was mad that we took so long. He was mad that he was bored. He was mad that he didn't know what was going on. He was mad that he wasn't having any fun. He was mad that he wasn't appreciated. On and on. We were ridiculous, childish, fucks, and he should just go home now. 

I can't articulate to you the amount of surprise I felt at this. It was literally like I had showed up dressed for a cowboy theme party and instead found out it was a sci-fi space horror movie. For one, I always assumed that El Cap was pretty good at self entertaining. That he could make is how fun. For two, I was way too drunk to be dealing with all of this. For three, it had been an emotional week for me, with a lot of yelling at me, and people being disappointed in me, and me being disappointed in myself. 

I am not proud to say it but I started to cry. Yes, more crying on ragby. (That's two for 2017, ride out included). I was crying, and trying to get out of this fight as quickly as possible. I tried apologizing, I tried leaving, I tried arguing back. There was no getting out of it. So I cried as I pathetically tried to set up my tent. I cried as I showered. I snuffled and winged all the way through my evening routines. It was all just too much. Too, too much. 

Eventually, El Cap calmed down. And I calmed down. And I ate something and things started to look a bit brighter. But it turns out, me and El Cap wouldn't be the only unhappy couple on the Maury Povich Show that would be Washington, Iowa. 

Pochy and LB had also had a rough day in the riding and romance department, and as their mutual friend, I was called in to help them talk it out (for which I am honored). We sat in the grass, near the devastation that was my tent and gear, and tried to work on using our words (why is it so hard to communicate?). LB and Pochs love each other so freaking much, but, as with all of us, sometimes they just speak different dialects of that love. 

After a lot of heartfelt marital counseling, they went off to continue the conversation and I went off to try and prepare myself for our last day on the road, and you know, actually dry out a bit. 

All around me, I could see other beavers hanging out with the dog, setting up tents, having laughs. I hope all of my drama didn't damper the fun too much. I slept fitfully that night, and early in the morning, I watched as riders started pedaling off into the dawn. One more day and it would all be over. 

What more could happen? 

R16 66 The Magic Bus Ride

Somewhere, out there

My hopes for riding to sober take 2 were hindered by the fact that less than a mile from the Lizard Party I spotted a tiny school bus in the weeds, with that now so common sign: free beer.

You would think that my memory would be pretty hazy at this point, and you are right. I remember being there with another beaver, or at least someone that I knew...or maybe I just made a new friend? I think something happened with a pair of shoes. It's hard to say at this point.

(Yes, yes, I know I was drunk but it is also 11 months after the fact, so give me a break).

After the magic bus I continued to ride on, and things are hazy from here too. I think I may have come across that Wagon Wheel stop--perhaps that is where I ran into LB and some of other beavers? It was somewhere in there.

LB was really excited and was talking a mile a minute. He told me of how he had met a guy, who had been married to his cousin, who was a really cool guy, but he had gotten into drugs, and that had been hard, and he had gotten sort of kicked out of the family, but here he was on ragby, and they were having a great talk, but then the guy's tire blew out and he veered into LB and LB did an endo. Then they both went to the Wagon Wheel stop and did some Indian leg wrestling and were friends again. No one was hurt enough to feel it through the beverage haze.

I think after that I did some more riding until I came across Team Good Beer, and perhaps I managed to get another beer at this point, but maybe not. Seemed like a good time was being had, so that was cool.

And, I think that this point, I ran into the Minnesota Beavers. I got hooked up with them and followed them the last few miles into the town of Washington. I was glad to have a bit of help locating the home stay and we only got a teeny tiny bit lost figuring out which way we had to turn.

Soon enough we were pulling up to the big house of my IT guy's son (and my former student) and his wife.

At last, all the excitement of the day was over, right?

R16 65 I'm a Lizard

The iPhone live photos are crushing my spirit. I have a series of photos, all 2-3 seconds, of Beavers dancing. I just spun around and took a bunch of pictures. And it turns out, the music is included when you watch them in the Google folder. But I can't get them to upload to Blogger. Dam it! At least not in video-ish form. It's a tragedy, because they are amazing. 

• If you are a beaver, and you have access to the Team Beaver Google folder, I would strongly encourage you to go to the July 29 Ottumwa to Washington folder and watch videos IMG 2027-2039. 
• If you are a beaver and you don't have access to that folder, just get in touch with me. I'll share it. 
• If you are not a beaver and you want to see it, well, we are looking for a driver for 2017. 
• If you know how to make those live videos into something wonderful and Google friendly, please do so and I will love you forever. 

But I am getting ahead of myself.

So, there I was JRA and paying close attention to the signs of sobriety, should they start to appear. It was a lovely afternoon. Warm, sunny, and with very little bike traffic on the road. The hills had seemed to mellow out a bit.

At one point, I saw Pochy riding along, side by side with a bagger. They were engaged in deep conversation, so I just waved and watch them zoom away.

I ran into a few people that I knew and chatted with them for a bit, trying to hide my beer soaked afternoon. I was having a pretty nice time, all things considered.

And, then, like a mirage in the desert, I saw it. The stuff of legends: Lizard Party.

On the left side of the road was a huge pole barn and there were signs for free beer. Mayday mayday. I pulled over and found a number of beavers, but not all. Beavers were dancing, they were drinking beer.

Hello old friend

Steven stole a hat from one of Cheney's Shit Kicking Death Eaters (remember them from Iowa City last year? Right?). Masinga was giving condom pep talks and the whole team was just having a good old beaver time. 

I guess that sobering up would have to wait. 

Because I was at the back of the pack, I had some catching up to do. So I donated enough for two beers and got to work. It was great. Lizard parties are huge! With bands and beer and tents and the works. Thank you Team Lizard! Eastern Iowa is better because of you.

Lady Pocket

But like all good things, it had to come to an end, and soon the Troopers had descended on the party and were shutting things up, alas. Time to roll.

Iowa really does have the coolest troopers. 

I staggered back to my bike, at least I think it was the right one, and headed out. Not waiting for the rest of the team. They would catch me. 

Okay, riding to sober, take two.