R17 28 RideOut Day 4: Trail of Tears

So close....so far

We climbed the hill out of Alton, turned right, and found the bike trail. 

Great! A bike trail. Perfect for drunk, exhausted cyclists. We turned on to the trail and wham: gravel. 

"Okay, no problem. Just a bit of gravel. We have touring bikes (except the Mayor). This is fine." 

Except. It wasn't fine. It was loosey goosey gravel. The kind that sloshes under tires and feels like riding in sand, especially under the weight of bags. 

Well, shit. 

I was ready to just suffer through. It was only four miles. But the rest of the crew, RM included, decided we should bail out and get on the highway, which ran parallel to the bike trail. We found a road crossing and turned north and then popped out on the busy, Friday afternoon traffic of the Orange City highway. 

We rode into town and it was a bit of a mess. Heat. Sun. Traffic. And trying to navigate to our home stay while not staying together and not being able to hear one another. I was in the back and I tried to point out the liquor store off the highway, but Steven and the Mayor were too far ahead and so we missed the chance to grab "just arrived beers." 

It sucked. And by the time we waved good-bye to the RM, who were staying in the hotel, and found our way to the homestay, we were all grumpy and over it. 

There were mini horses. 

Thankfully, our home stay hosts were very nice. They showed us to our basement lair, complete with our own, carpeted bathroom, a futon bed, and a little kitchen for our snacks and beers (once we found them). 

Before all the campers arrive...

We shuffled through the showers and then relaxed on the back patio until it was time to find some dinner. Then we wandered down the highway back into town. We stopped for food at the Chinese restaurant and ordered more MSG-laden delights than we could have ever possibly eaten, but Beat-the-Heat-Mark was there, along with other Bike World folks. We waved hello. 

Then we wandered down the road to the new liquor store. It was a bit of a hike, but the walk through the busy streets of Orange City wasn't that bad. We passed the Windmill and the Blue Mountain Passport Club. There was some talk of going into a bar and getting good and drunk, but I was still grumpy with the Mayor and Steven isn't that much of a boozer, so we just decided to go to the liquor store and bring something back. 

The liquor store, it turns out, was the same as the one in Glenwood--run by a dude from Minneapolis, who is determined to open liquor stores in all the little western Iowa towns that have refused them for so long because of Jesus. I think he is doing a good business. Even god-botherers want a bev some times. 

It was so hard to choose a beer. I was so mentally exhausted. I didn't know what I wanted. But we picked out a few things, including some Tecate Chilata and then went to check out. Because it was the same liquor store he was still delivering to campsites and houses for ragbrai. "Would you deliver us?" we joked and to our delight the owner said yes. 

Ragbrai Hazard Guy was outside the liquor store. I would end up seeing him almost every day. 

Before we knew it we were in a Ford Taurus, beer in the back, being driven in comfort and luxury back to our homestay. Wonders never cease. 

We had a few beverages on the back porch and then retreated to the cool and quiet of the basement. Steven and the Mayor insisted that I take the bed, which I thought was stupid, because there were two of them and just one one of me, but after much, much, much protest, I finally relented and climbed in. It has been a long RideOut and I was looking forward to a day of doing absolutely nothing while we waited for the beavers to arrive.