R17 90 Day 7.0 Waukon to Lansing: Logistics and Breakfast Beer

Just a strange hilly journey

Last day: bikes, hills, logistics. Triumph? And we had a plan. See, it turns out, drivers get annoyed when they arrive in the last town and they have to wait for their riders. And when the riders arrive, the drivers have been waiting, so they are ready to go, but the riders, having just ridden all week, want to have a celebratory drink.

We learn. We adapt. We made a plan. We would tell our drivers that we were going to be in at 3pm. But we would tell ourselves that we would be in at 1pm. That would give us a nice cushion to get to the last town and sit in a bar and have a drink before all the loading and driving and saying good-bye.

Last morning team shot!

So we were up early, dressed for battle, and prepared to hit the road. Of course, we had to get one last team picture in that glorious morning light. And we all had to talk really loudly even though people were sleeping in tents all around us. And someone lost their shoes. But before long we were walking down the gravel path, hopping on to the scary highway, and then pointing our wheels to Waukon.

It was a glorious morning, brilliant light over green pastures, cows just waking up, mist in the low parts and dew on the grass. Just brilliant. Waukon was just waking up and from the debris on the roads, it seemed like they had had quite the party the night before. But that party wasn’t for us. We rolled on through town.

Even the baby likes the beavers

We stopped, at our last RV free beer breakfast stop. It was a tearful good-bye to our friends with the free Busch Light and the breakfast sandwiches. We got tattoos and said good bye to the kids who were growing up so fast. Even the baby is making money these days! It was still cool and the riders were streaming by us as we stood around drinking our morning beer and coffee. Oh ragbrai.

Then we were riding up and down the hills through glorious driftless country towards Waterville. The descent into Waterville was amazing. It just went on for forever, zoom, zoom, down and down, round and round. Glorious.

The town was on the top and then the bottom of a hill. We got grouped up in kind of an awkward gravel driveway on the outskirts of town and then walked up the hill past the school. We worried that that might be “it” but soon we were on our bikes and riding down to the real Waterville, a tiny, old-timey little village at the bottom of a valley filled with steamboat gothic architecture and super friendly people.

Good beer. No lines.

We parked our bikes down a kooky alley way that had been freshly painted silver and we made our way to find food and beer. Inside the big, new bar on the corner, Masinga and I got pizza tickets and then went inside to the nearly empty bar where we ordered pints of fresh, draft, IPA. Then, we got a table on the second story porch where we could watch the party unfold and spot beavers as they rambled through the streets.

Last strawpedo

Maybe in his heart Too Much knew he wouldn’t be ragbrai-ing for a while. He seemed to be in high spirits and did some power drinking. We laughed and ate our snacks on the porch and admired the view and bemoaned the hills to come. It was not even 9am.

Tasty

Some nice bar attendants saw me waiting in line for the bathroom and they told me I could go to the basement and use the one down there. They had just opened it. There was no line. It was nice. “How many stairs?” I asked, suspiciously. But it wasn’t bad and the bathroom was clean and cool and nice.

We also ran into Stew and Rocket Booster. They were on a pizza mission. We high fived them on the way out.

We found our bikes. We knew that the next leg would be a beast—not far, but hilly, into Yellow Banks State Park. But the park was listed as a “town,” so it would be okay, right?

R17 89 Day 6.6 Cre to Wau: Big Trouble in Small Towns

Just a bit tricky

We couldn’t hide the fact that we were missing some beavers. Kenny had ridden ahead, but Pochy was no where to be found. There wasn’t much we could do. They had their beaver tails. Hopefully, they’d find their way home, or have their wits about them to call for help.

We made our way to the outskirts of Waukon where we realized to get to our home stay we would have to take the highway on the outskirts of town. Not far, less than a mile, but more than enough for a group of weary cyclists at the end of a long hilly day. 

The home stay was lovely. A gorgeous house on a curved gravel driveway with a huge view to the west. In the driveway we saw the van, and our tents all laid out to dry, and D$. Some of the ladies of TB were really looking forward to our night’s stay because Team Awesomeness was staying in the same house as us. Oooh la la. 

In the house, we found that we had room in the basement. As we were shuffling gear into the house, we realized that Kenny and Pochy weren’t there yet. Ut oh. We had a beer on the back deck and checked our phones. Then we had some of the amazing Mexican feast our host had prepared for us and worked our way through the showers, our eyes facing west as we waited for the rest of our team. 

Before long, Kenny arrived. And he was in a state. He had missed the turn, ridden all the way into Waukon before realizing what had happened, and then had to call Dillon and get a ride? Is that right? or ride all the way back. Suffice it to say, he added a lot of miles to his already taxing day. And he was furious. He came into the garage, guns blazing and started yelling at Steven for the directions on the on the Beaver Tail. It wasn’t pretty. 

I caught the tail end of it and then I was mad. That wasn’t fair at all. First of all, Steven wasn’t even in charge of the directions into town. Masinga had taken them over this year, and they weren’t wrong at all. Tricky, yes, wrong no. 

Second, we were not a charter. None of us were getting paid for the work we did to plan the homestays, design the beaver tail, order the jerseys, organize al the rides. We all paid into the team as much as people who didn’t do that work. You can’t yell at a volunteer. 

Does anyone know what is going on here?

I went up to Kenny and told him that he owned Steven an apology. He was too mad and tired to hear it in the moment, but soon after he cooled down and did apologize. We all get a little frayed and lose track of things during this hard ride. And, in all honesty, I was proud of him. Kenny was still pretty new to cycling, and his beaver-buddy, The Dale, had abandoned him this year, yet he hung in there. Making friends, riding his own ragbrai, and doing it all (well most of it) with a smile on his face. 

I think he’s planning to come back. 

Sunset over Waukon

As we settled in for the night, I went out in the front yard and watched the sunset. I also called my parents to do some damage control (sibling tip: always be the first one to contact mom.) The sunset was beautiful. And Deb was missing all of us she said. It was so nice to talk to her, to have a quiet moment to myself, and to watch the sun set over the state that I had ridden almost all the way across. 

Pochy also had a mishap with the directions and more. She also had missed the turn and ridden all the way into Waukon, and all the way back out. Also, on her way into town, as she struggled up the hills a creepy bagger kept riding with her, speeding up when she did and slowing down too. He kept saying gross things about “beaver.” She was so freaked out she didn’t want to stop and pee or check the directions. Poor Pochy. 

Reviewing the map

Also, in the basement, I made a boneheaded statement. Gorgeous Ryan B. Was getting the tour of the house from the hosts. They were showing him the bedroom and I said something that I meant to be funny, “Oh of course Team Awesomness always on the look out for the best spots in the house.” He took it the wrong way, like I really meant it and he and his team ended up sleeping outside. They didn;t even share the shower with us. They used their van shower. 

I still feel bad about this. But we all settled down in the living room and went to sleep. Just one more short, hilly day and we’d be home. 

R17 88 Day 6.5 Cres to Wau: The Lonely Mountain

Here we are. 

Outside of Postville, Too Much had another flat. We were near a farm, with a long white barn, so we went around the back to find some shade while we “Ah pushed it” for a tire change. As we looked for a relaxing spot, FOB wandered off in the direction of the farm house.

What happened exactly? I think that there was a real problem with the tire (what gave us that clue?). And Too Much decided that he would have to ride into Postville to see if he could find a bike shop. Was this Bandit’s tire? I can’t remember. The fog of February has clouded my memory.

It's Bandit's Flat

I believe what was decided was that Too Much and Bandit would try to ride back into town and find a bike shop before they closed up for the day. The rest of us would ride on, but where was FOB? As we rode past the farm, we saw him, standing on the front porch of the farm house, with a beverage in his hand, waving.

Don't worry guys

FOB will have to tell the story, but I believe that the farmer had been annoyed that we were on his property, but FOB went over and charmed him, eventually, they split a bottle of homemade rhubarb schnapps or something. (The novelized version of ragbrai is going to be so much easier to write).

Norman naps under an implement

So, we were off towards Waukon. Before long we were zooming down some massive hills and then crawling up some even more massive hills, and just as a huge hill rose up in front of us, there was a turn and ragbrai took a lovely side road that wound through the driftless hills. There were some climbs, but the road was curved and shady and really pretty—just some of the most gorgeous landscape that Iowa has to offer up.

Where did she get that beer?

Before long we were turning on to another highway, and crossing a creek, and the road started to go up, and up, and up, and it wouldn’t stop for a very long time.

Pochy and Steven nap

This hill, did it have a name? If it doesn’t have a name, it really, really should.

Dry humping happens

I went into full Rainman counting mode. Lowest gear. Don’t look up. Count. One, two, three, four, and on and on. For some reason this counting helps me stay calm, and not get too wrapped up into my head, and breathe better. It is also kind of amusing because I can kind of keep track of my progress. Up and up and up and up the hill rose and rose and rose and rose.

I passed a derelict shack with an old guy drinking beer on a his porch and some trees and a barn, and I just kept counting. Up and up and up.

And, finally, and amazingly, I was at the top. Or close enough. And on the right hand side of the road, there was Steven and the Mayor, sitting next to a fence, in what was clearly the remainders of the last Backpocket stop, which was all packed up and nearly on the road. I pulled over. They smiled. (Did they have a beer to share? I can’t remember.). We laughed and laughed at that ridiculous hill.

We watched as a lady in a mini van pulling a trailer came up the hill, and as a state trooper pulled her over. Then, not long after, we saw a cute young gal running down the road. “What are you training for?” Another cyclist on the side of the road yelled.

“I’m not,” she yelled back. And then, “mom?!”

Apparently, we gathered, her mother had gotten pulled over for drunk driving. And this poor gal, who had never driven a trailer before, had to get the vehicle off the road. She was panicked and stressed. I felt so bad for her. I could feel her concern for her mother, her desperate attempt to solve this dilemma. What to do?

Eventually, she and the troopers pulled off. Masinga joined us at the top of the hill, and laughed and laughed at the ridiculousNess of the whole day.

And then we were back on our bikes and headed to Waukon. Just a few more miles and a few more hills and we would be there. This whole week would almost be over. Just one more sleep. One more day. Three more hills.

R17 87 Slacker Sunday Thursday Voice Memo

If you want to hear about Steven's adventures with Tazzy My Pooch, the F-Me-Offs, and all the fun she had without me you can listen to this voice memo. It's a doozy because Steven and I do it kind of separately.

Bonus: Steven manages to hurt herself right at the beginning.

Also, apparently, Friday was the day of Bandit photography. I was going through the image folder for Friday and found a bunch of photos of Bandit, Bandit and Too Much, Bandit posing, Bandit jumping: so here are those:

Sometimes people in love buy beer

Beast Bandit

Thinking about jumping

Still considering it.

Now! Jump!

Cheer! 

We love this ditch.

We really love this road.

Babe mode

Butt mode.

We even look cute in our helmets

Still love this ditch.

R17 86 Day 6.4 Crest to Wauk: Free Ham Sandwiches! Oye!

We arrived in Postville on a bumpy, industrial track, but we regrouped at an old timey Casey’s and soon found our way to the center of town. Much like the last beer stop, Postville was pretty chill. There weren’t a ton of people around and nearly no lines.

We dropped the bikes in a yard and went to look for food. We attempted to go into a bar, but early beaver incursions said it was not a place that we’d want to hang. We did have vodkas though and soon we all had food and were ready to enjoy it in a nice shady yard while we watched people ride a whirling sofa on a tractor.

Postville is an interesting place. There was a massive meat packing plant in this tiny midwestern town. Some guys from New York bought it and turned it into a massive kosher meat packing plant. That brought many conservative Jewish people to the small town.

Then the plant needed more workers, so they started bringing in (cheap) immigrant labor. Soon the town was populated by people from Latin American, then from Eastern Europe, then from Asia, and then from Africa. Imagine the same kind of tiny dieing Iowa town, but full of colorful African clothing and young boys dressed in all black suits, great Mexican food and a fabulous deli. Of course, the town has had its challenges. For one, there was some shady business going on with the owners of the plant, and some people in the town struggled with all the world coming to Postville.

Jews in Iowa

But everyone seemed happy on this day, maybe. I stopped a couple boys in suits and hats and asked if I could get a picture. I told them my “boyfriend” was from Minnesota and he didn’t believe there were Jews in Iowa. As I was getting this picture an older man walked by, handing out free ham sandwiches. Were these truly just free ham sandwiches, or was this a low key way of getting back at the Chosen People.

Eventually, we had to leave Postville, and we knew there were some serious climbs coming up. On to our bikes we got. And we were almost out of town when...flat.

When Will I Learn? Bike MS Colorado 2018

You'd think after all the scrapes and shenanigans and mishaps that I have let Steven talk me into over the years, I would have learned my lesson. You would think that I would have learned to say no, but when she calls me up and she has that tone in her voice--that mixture of plotting, glee, persuasiveness and mayhem--well I just get swept up in it.

So, here's the latest and greatest bad idea that I've let Steven talk me into:

The Bike MS: Colorado 2018. June 23-24, 2018. 

Two back-to-back days of cycling around the front range, from Front Range Community College to Fort Collins, with options that range from 45 miles to 100 miles ("tackle the climb over Horsetooth Reservoir while adding a few extra miles!"). 

Why am I doing this? (I am asking myself). 

• Steven asked me. And she's pretty fun. 
• Steven has a co-worker with MS so it means something to her. 
• I like Colorado. 
• It is both scary and manageable--perhaps the perfect combination to get me to train.*

What I'll Need from You, Gentle Readers

• Money! There's a fundraising goal of at least $400. And as you know from the 100 Miles to Nowhere I am willing to do some weird stuff to earn your fundraising dollars. 
• Support! I hope to add some non-ragbrai-related blogging following my misadventures preparing for this event. I hope you'll read along, give me shout outs of support and mockery for falling short of my goals. And listen to my inevitable whining of course. 

Concerns: 

• Uh, training? Signing up for this event gives you access to Training Peaks programs for free, which look kind of cool, but kind of scary. I don't have a power meter. Heck, I don't even have a functioning computer...
• Winter--it's so cold here, and some of the training programs I have looked at require 16 weeks, which means starting to ride my bike at the end of February. Yikes! 
• My yucky life--will I be able to conquer my emotional mishegas and get my butt on the bike to train? 

Not Concerned About: 

• Hanging with Steven, both digitally and in real life as we get ready for this event. We are getting blog-band back together baby! 

So, stay tuned! It's been a long time since I signed up for a big event like this. 

*Training for this event, methinks, will support training for the other "event" I have planned this summer and help me fulfill my scared vow. And, it will help me with my Hexa-Goals! 

R17 85 Day 6.3 Cresto to Wauko: That Sweet Vanilla Stripe

Backpocket Stop

After my Good Beer experience, I hit the road with the Backpocket stop in my cites. It was a glorious day, and we were on some sort of ridge, because the road had flattened out and you could see down hill on both sides of the road for miles and miles and miles. Northeast Iowa magic.

I rode up next to a pair of people wearing Viking horns on their helmets. As I rode next to them I said, “a gorgeous day and a people riding bikes in Viking horns, I love ragbrai!” They looked at me like I was the crazy one. 

Oh well. 

The beavers eventually caught and passed me until I joined with them at Backpocket. It was a lovely, shady spot between Ossian and Castaville or whatever. The crowd was pretty thinned out, so there was plenty of room for some relaxing. 

Pochy makes a friend

As we drank beer in the shade and the cool breeze, we ended up chatting with one of the hotties from Team Vanilla Stripe. We had seen these guys throughout the week. They were all pretty good looking and we had tried to say hello. 

Someone asked how they got their name. The hunk told us that they were looking for a name that had an innuendo and referred to the taint. And, there is a Rolling Stone song called “Vanilla Stripe,” so there you go. Later Masinga would spot him on a DSM dating app. 

I think this is BP stop

At this point, I believe, Kenny decided to head out and push it towards Waukon. 

We followed soon after. Castalia, it turns out, wasn’t much of a town and they didn’t have much going on, so we pushed it on towards Postville, the penultimate town of the day and home to a very large kosher meat packing plant. 

R17 84 Day 6.2 Creston to Waukon: The Ossian Between Us

Ossians and Seas

The ride out of Decorah? I don’t remember it. Except, the hills did start to pick up, and it was a hot afternoon, hotter than it had been in a while.

Beavers in a row

When we arrived in Ossian (pronounced Oaus-e-an), we cruised through the wide open main street and eventually put our bikes down near a shop door alcove and found some food for lunch. In the alcove we piled into the narrow shady spot and had our food. I think Masinga passed around her special beverage. Then an old guy came up.

Cute beavers

“Can I take your picture?” He asked. “You guys look like a bunch of lazy dogs.” I think he meant it in the nicest possible way, and I guess we did look lazy, all bleary eyed and sweaty, piled into a door alcove. We got a lot of photos of our beaver relaxer.

I look more and more like my Uncle Jim every day

Before long, we were leaving town. The Backpocket stop was in between this town and the next and we were looking forward to that. We hadn’t had much by way of Backpocket and no one was in the T-shirt contest this year. As we were rolling as a group, we passed a team relaxing on the side of the road. They were doing what we sometimes did: bought a half rack of beer and sat on the curb.

Beavers in a hole

“Is that free beer?” The Mayor asked, and without waiting for an answer, he took a hard right towards the team in question. And, the rest of the beavers followed.

But I didn’t. And here is where we come to a philosophical difference between me and what we’ll call Mayor Nouveau. Free beer is a wonderful thing. It really is. When people are willing to share a beer and a laugh on the side of the road with a bunch of silly bikers, that is the best feeling ever. I hope to be one of those people one day. But there is a difference between free beer, offered up, usually with a sign, freely and openly, and beer that people happen to be drinking that you may be able to talk into giving you one. It is sort of like bumming a cigarette from someone. Yes, you didn’t have to pay for it with money, but it wasn’t free. Beer that costs nothing isn’t my definition of free. It must be given freely and, usually, unexpectedly. And, I don’t want to be that team that is always bumming beers off people just because they happen to be having a drink. So, I rode on.

Me and my lonely, thirsty, philosophy.

But I wasn’t riding or thirsty for long because right outside of Ossian was Team Good Beer! They were giving away actually free beer. Thanks Good Beer! It was a “winter warmer” and it was a bit flat, but it was delicious. I grabbed a cup and then stood by the road waiting for the beavers to ride up. I was excited to share my find with them, but I drained my beer and they never came. Finally, I gave up and grabbed the bike.

Actually free beer

I’d find them at Backpocket.

R17 83 Day 6.1 Cresc to Wauko: Just Outside of Barstow

Decorah here we come! 

After our magical graduation ceremony, I got paired up with Steven for the ride into Decorah. And because Steven has completely abandoned me in the blogging department, I will tell her story, as I remember it.

[Side Note: I am so over the blog! First, I thought it was boring. Now, it's getting good, but it's also mid-February and I am so over it. My goal is to be done before I go to Mexico for spring break. You might be looking at some longo-blogos.]

Steven had gotten into the cookies the night before. And while for the rest of us, they sent us into snoozy snooze land, for Steven, well it was a wild ride. She described not being able to sleep because every time she'd close her eyes, words would come together, bounce off each other like one of those old screen savers and evaporate. Then she got paranoid. And went downstairs and started looking for honey. She ran into Pochy and had some awkward conversation. Then, she went back upstairs and tried to convince the Mayor to go on a walk with her. He wouldn't. She was freaking out. And that's how she spent her evening, full on Fear and Loathing in Cresco-style, while the rest of us snoozed away. 

As we were discussing this, we got wind of another issue in chicken land. Apparently, Too Much hadn't told Bandit that he had decided to cookie, and she was upset with him. She explained it to us later and it made sense. And I think they made up. They seem good that way. 

Before long we were cruising down the massive hills into Decorah. Up and down. Up and down. We were in gorgeous, driftless country. I was looking forward to Decorah because of a) Toppling Goliath, a fabulous brewery lives there and we would get the good beer and b) it was Nordic Fest, my chance to enjoy some of the amazing Nordic delights I had come to love. And D-$ was meeting us there with the leftover sandwich material.

Before we got a table.

After we got a table

Smart coozie usage

We parked the bikes at the very busy TG brewery and went inside. And before long we all had beers and had found a table on the very crowded patio. We ran into Crazy Eye Jeff and had some more delicious substances.

CEJ

We got the good stuff: grape

Nordic treats good!

Then we rode into town, where we stopped for my favorite: Rummegrit. It's a sweet, buttery, creamy flour pudding. It's like oatmeal without the chunks. It's like hot, molten frosting. It's hard to describe. But it is very rich and very yummy. I got some of that. I tried to give some to the beavers with varying success. 

Ragby fuel

Then, we found D-$, parked in a shady yard and we had a beaver picnic. But this was really only the first town. There was a ton of riding and climbing to come. Eventually, we got back on the bikes and wandered around the outskirts of Decorah, until we found ragbrai and headed towards the town of Ossian. 

R17 82 Day 6.0 Cresco to Waukon: Graduation Day

You know there's a road that goes straight to Waukon

In the morning, we packed up our very dewy gear and tried to hit the road. We had a long stretch to Decorah (20 miles) and we had our last day of secrets!

Here's us looking at the camera.

Beavers with the puss in boots. ( I think he climbed into the van).

It was college jersey day, and we had a surprise for Masinga! We were going to throw her an on-route graduation ceremony. The plan was to do it early, so she could enjoy her graduation all day. First stop: Breakfast RV + Free Beer Stop. 

We stopped and got in line. Somehow we convinced Masinga to get a pancake. Bandit and the Mayor were supposed to delay her while we got set up. 

Steven had a graduation robe, a hat, cords and an amazing Team Beaver sash. I had a commencement address and the responsibilities of confering the diploma on our little beaver. 

But while we were waiting for Masinga to arrive, Too Much spilled bloody mary all down his jersey. Oh dear. But he had a solution: 

Before the bloody mary bombing

Otter Slide in the wet grass. 

Then Masinga came around the corner. With a massive pancake.

When you have a graduation at 8:45 but you need a pancake and a beer at 8:42.

Steven put on the ceremonial attire. 

We'll just hold this pancake for you.

And applied the ceremonial beaver awards.

So many honors and achievements

And because I am a professor (I guess?) and writer, I was annointed with the task of writing the commencement address:

And handing off the diploma. 

I've been to a lot of graduations.

Masinga checked out her custom made diploma (honestly, Steven is so extra). 

Proud graduate of TBIT

Masinga tossed her cap:

And we celebrated with a Power Pose!

Nice work, Master! 

It should be noted that Bandit also cooked up a lovely beaver-cocktail, a la Crazy Eyed Jeff style, with bourbon, pomegranate juice and more. 

And before long we were on the road to Decorah!