R17 99 I Got Nintey-Nine Problems, And this Blog Ain't One

Done and Dusted 

I have been listening to a lot of audio books. There's a moment at the end of the book, just after the stirring conclusion. The narrator pauses for just a second and says, "We hope you've enjoyed  listening to a Random House production of [Book Title]. All rights reserved."

The tone of the narrator's voice shifts just a bit and the reader is pulled out of the trance of the story and transported back to the waking world. It's like a hypnotist's snap: we're awake!

And, so, gentle beaver, "I hope you've enjoyed reading a Team Beaver production of Ragbrai 2017: The Adventures of Team Beaver." 

I am happy to point out the happy coincidence that I am ending this blog on number 99, on March 9th. Some 40 blogs and about a month less than previous years. I am also happy that it is complete before I go on spring break vacation on Monday. Ragbrai 2018 will be my 9th ragbrai as well.

Writing the blog is an experience similar to ragbrai. It takes you so far. So many things have happened since I started writing this year's blog last fall. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about whether or not to continue ragbrai blogging next year. Some of my most dedicated readers are too busy to even read the blog (Goldie! I am looking at you. And maybe even you Steven.) Is this blog relevant anymore? Does anyone care? Aren't I too busy to be spending all this time? I supposed I have 9 months to think about it. 

Beyond blogs, I have to come to terms with losing some people from the team this coming year. Too Much and Bandit will be too busy, with their happy wedded-life adventures to join us. And Steven maybe able to make part of ragbrai; she has a leadership conference conflict. Life, work, family, all starts to creep it. It's only natural. 

It comes at an awkward time. For some unforeseen reasons, my life has gotten far less busy, far less filled with life and family, and so I find myself with more time to devote to bikes and beer and friends, just as my friends are finding less and less. What will become of this blog? This team? Me? I guess we will just have to see. 

There are some happy possibilities to look forward to, of course. The return of Deb and Dale on their tandem bicycle, plus their very fun friends Matt and Michelle as co-drivers and chefs. Pochy wants to do the #RideOut and if we all wish very hard and are very good and the universe smiles on us, the Rangers will join us. (Please Ranger Katie!). 

I made a solemn vow on the Monday of R17 that: 

I WOULD NOT GO ON RAGBRAI THIS YEAR UNLESS I TRAINED. 

And, I can't see myself not going on ragbrai, so I guess I have to train. That will mean a lot more miles on the bike. I am looking forward to that, though, I need to come to grips with the fact that most of that time will be spent solo. 

I hope that training, the Hexathon Challenge, and MS150 will lead to more fitness, and to my jerseys fitting better. I am so grateful that I am the curator of this blog, so I don't have to include many of the highly unflattering photos of yours truly. Yikes! Talk about gut check. 

And, this is as good of a place as any to say thank you to everyone who makes this silly team possible. 

• Thank you to Steven, The Boss, my companion-in-arms for all the stupid things. I am so happy that we got two rideouts in a row. I look forward to more. Mayor: we need to talk. :) 
• Thank you to Masinga for all her hard work. 
• Thank you to Pochy, one of the most put together people who also manages to vodka herself completely apart. 
• Thank you Too Much--I don't know what we will do without you! And to Bandit--same! Please hurry and doctor up so you can fix us, physically and emotionally. 
• Thanks to FOB and MB! Congrats on the new digs! 
• Thanks to our drivers, D$ and Kenny, tent engineers. And Smitty and all the grandparents that helped with kid care. Thanks to Luke for all his help. Sorry we can't manage to make it to a band, ever. And CP. Thanks.
• Thanks to everyone who came along (JK!) and who reads along afterwards too and who houses us and gives us free beer and all silly people we meet along the way. 

When you get back from ragbrai, everyone asks you, "so how was ragbrai?" 

It is a simple question, and most people want the simple answer, "it was fun!" 

But not so simply, how was ragbrai? It's been 99 blogs and seven months, and it is still hard to say. It was fun. And hard. And crazy.

We solidified some friendships: welcome to the beavers Karen! We love you Checkers! We made some new friends: Lars! Tazy! Calico Steve! The Baggers and the Skinny Baggers!

It was an adventure and a week with my dearest friends. And, like usual, it gave the the chance to learn some things about myself. It's not a vacation, or a bike tour, or any of that. It's a spiritual journey. 

Team Beaver 2017

All Rights Reserved. 

R17 98 The Aftermath: The Road Home

Back the Way We Came

I got to ride home in the Captain's big truck. I have to admit, I was so happy to see him. And, I was happy that we had found a good compromise with him and ragbrai participation. And he has a huge truck.

In the back, were Bandit, Too Much, and Pochy. CP navigated past the team buses trying to get out of town on narrow driftless roads and before we could blink, we were in Waukon again. In my memory it was still strewn with the detritus of ragbrai from the night before, the leftovers of a tinker tape parade. 

We stopped at the Casey's in town and bought snacks and beverages and waters and we all peed before the long ride westward. 

Of course, when you drive from Lansing to Waukon, you are going to pass all the towns you just rode through. That's obvious. But there's something of a time machine quality to the ride home from ragbrai. Peeling back the towns and the miles, city by city, county by county, until you are back where you started from and it is as if it never really happened. There's a dream-like quality to it. 

As we drove, we talked about all the adventures that had unfolded over the last week, and we compared notes. Best home stay? Best party? Best Beaver? 

We also made our plans for the following year: next year we should_______. Not knowing then how much things would change, how many dearly beloved people would be out of our ragbrai and perhaps out of our lives. How these moments, these very moments, were the moments. 

There's a timeless to ragbrai. I supposed that comes along with the Iowa-ness of it. Bill Bryson has a line about people who live in Iowa. I'll paraphrase, "they pull off the highway in search of donuts and never leave. Tens years later they have a house, they go to the fair. They are Iowans." 

Like the corn growing or the passing of the school year or ragbrai, it is so very much the same each year, that we get to see those lovely, tiny changes. 

Eventually, we were pulling up outside of Lloyd's house in Clear Lake. It looked so different in the late afternoon sunshine, sober, and without all those crazy characters that had invaded inhabited it just a few nights before. 

We said good-bye to Pochy, and received a rare hug from her. And, we said good-bye to Northern Beavers, too soon. 

And before long, it was just me and CP headed south towards Des Moines. I didn't know it then, but for the last time. 

R17 97 The Aftermath: Packing and Sorting and Changing Clothes in Public

There's where we went

Back at the vans, the massive logistical headache of our transport situation came home to roost. Because we didn't have the The Deb and The Dale, and also the RV and the Jeep, our transport to and from ragbrai was a bit of a headache.

We had managed to get it figured out though. Smitty arrived driving my car with Masinga's bike rack. (Steven and the Mayor's child, Z, had spent the week with Smitty, driving around in car. Z decided that my car was too dirty, so one of their activities was to take it for a wash and a vacuum. Thanks!). Kenny would drive the Vibe with Masinga riding shotgun. 

Smitty would take the Mayor and Steven and a bunch of gear in his van (which we had borrowed for the week). I think that FOB and D$ had rides who came up separately from the Iowa City area. The Captain drove down from Wisconsin. He would take me, Pochy, Bandit and Too Much back to Clear Lake. Pochy would stay in Clear Lake to host a baby shower the next day (yikes). And Bandit and Too Much would leave for the cities from Clear Lake, saving them the drive back to Des Moines. 

Untitled

It worked, but it was sad. Instead of all riding home, drinking ourselves silly in the RV, as the Deb rocked us through Iowa, we would be in cars, separate from our beavers, and already halfway back to civilian life. 

Bandit's shorts!

But before we could leave, we had so much sorting to do. Along with the cars, we had to figure out what went where and with whom. It was a nightmare. Coolers, chairs, tents that didn't have owners, present, bits of beaver pinata, cheese balls, extra Coors Lights, random bits of clothing, koozies, bikes. All strewn out in the yard of some random stranger. 

Eventually, things were loaded, we were loaded, and we waved goodbye to our friends in other vehicles and to Lansing.

R17 96 Day 7.6 Wau to Lan: A Long Way Down

Lansing, here we come

Eventually, when we thought we had everyone together (though Too Much was missing), we got on the bikes, rode by the free beer angels, and pointed our bikes downhill.

I have never ridden a downhill like this before. Just mile after mile of speed, flying downhill through the trees, down, down, down. It went on forever. It went on for all of ragbrai we had ridden. For all the ragbrais I had ever ridden. Streaking through the trees, all our cares flew away in the breeze. 

Lansing!

We had done it. 

The Whiners can ride in together!

Near the bottom, we tried to re-group. It was always fun to ride into the last town as a team, and we were nearly on time for our drinking-before-the-drivers-get-there-plan. But where was Too Much? He was gone. 

They don't look that sad.

We rode up the river road, we could see Lansing in front of us, but our Night Boss was no where to be seen. Before long, we were entering the outskirts of the little town, unceremoniously staring up the highway looking for him. 

Masadga

Finally, we rode into town, located a bar off the main street, and decided we would figure it all out there. The triumph of entering the last town faded away into a bit of a cock up, but what could you do? 

Sad Steven

We found our way into a dingy bar called the Other Place. It was long and cool, with brick walls and a big mirror behind the bar. We ordered beers and were delighted when they were very cheap: $2.00. After the inflation of ragbrai, it was nice to be able to get a good buzz for $10. 

Sad Pochy--no more freeos

Then, we got on our phones to see if we could see what was up. 

Sad Norm.

And what was up was foiling! 

D-$ had arrived in town. He was parked about 10 blocks to the south and east. And he was there with both of our other drivers: Smitty and Captain Pete. 

Too Much Sadness

Even though we had told them we weren't planning to be in until 3pm, so we could  have a few celebration beers without the drivers getting annoyed, they had arrived at noon. CP explained later that he was worried about the traffic in and out of this small town, which is fair. Also the man is pathologically on time. 

Sadbit

Now what? They'd be wanting to skedaddle. Somehow we managed to convince the Captain to join us at the bar for a beverage, which he did, and we all relaxed for a bit. And took our Sad Beaver meme photos. 

Ragbrai 2017 was nearly over. All that remained was a few blocks, a lot of sorting, goodbyes, and a long, sleepy drive home. 

R17 95 Day 7.5 Wau to Lan: Hill Yes

Just that one last little bit

Eventually, we rolled out of Harper's Ferry, and everyone was a bit serious. The last two climbs of the day were beasts and they were still to come. [Captain Pete had reassured me that because we were headed towards the river, it would be "all down hill." I tried to protest and tried to show him the map. "No!" He said. "All downhill." #RiverPhysics

Though, the ride out of Harper's Ferry was pleasant enough: we rolled past teams that were dipping here, for ease of transportation. And then the road out of town was flat with lovely views of the river and the bluffs all around. There was a nice breeze. 

Easy week and then

And then, we turned and went up a little, and then we turned and went up a lot. The hill roared up into the trees far above. It was a doozey. 

"Ok Norm," I said to myself. "Just put it in the lowest gear, tune in to the music, and count away." Up and up and up I crept. Faster, lighter riders passed me on the left, and I passed people walking on the gravel. 

Death hills

I kept getting to 100 and starting over again. Eventually, I needed a breather. I wasn't even that out of breath, I just need a bit of relent. So I pulled over in the gravel. Chilled out for a few minutes, and then went to get back on. But with my bike in the lowest gear and no momentum, there was no way I was going to be able to start riding straight up. 

So I did a trick I learned when I was climbing Rainbow Point in Bryce Canyon (oh, did I do that?!) . I pulled out into the road, but instead of going up, I went straight across to the far lane, then turned downhill, and then whipped around until I was going up again. The older-momentum magic propelling me forward again. 

Of course, this trick does scare some of your fellow ragbrai-ers when they see a large lady whipping downhill, headed straight for them, but I managed to avoid any accidents and kept chugging along. 

Then, I was at the top! There were some people selling lemonade and some people trying to help a gal who was overheating. There was chaos of Dream Teamers and happy hill climbers and emergency personnel, so after my celebratory break, I hopped back into the road and zoomed happily back down hill. One more to go. 

And soon enough, there it was. It was more exposed to the sunlight than the previous hill, but it curved around to the right, so you couldn't see all the way to the top. I don't know if that is a blessing or not. One and up, two and up, three and up. 

More and more people were walking. I was seriously happy I didn't have a computer, so I could pretend that I wasn't going 2.7 miles per hour. I slowly passed a tall, large man wearing a bird costume. He was suffering the same way that I was. Up. 

Eventually, I pulled over in the gravel for a breakie. Birdman pulled over too and we commiserated about the climb. I guess that he assumed that I was going to start walking, because eventually, he was pushing his bike up hill through the gravel. And when I rode very slowly passed him, I could see his head lower a bit. He thought we were going to relent to the pain of the hill together and walk. I did not. 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, I crawled to a flattened out spot and could see sky above me. The road curved to the left. We were there....

Nope. False summit. The road curved to the left and we had to climb on. 

But in the distance I could hear shouting. "Come on Ragbrai! This is probably the last hill!"

"Nice work! You are looking good tandem!"

"Sexy climb work!"

"Free beer!"

It was the Beavers! They were (nearly) at the top of the hill an they were bringing people home. Huzzah. I crept by them, too exhausted and shakey to give them a high five. 

Even recumbents made it!

But I had done it! I ditched my bike on the side of the ditch. Went to the amazing, magical wonderful free beer stand, put a fiver in the till, and headed back down the hill to reveal in my glory and help the beavers welcome ragbrai to the top. 

Before long, Masinga came along. She wasn't a happy beaver, but the rest of ragbrai seemed pretty pleased, and more than delighted that there was free beer at the top. 

I just stood there, watching riders climb past, drinking beer in the sunshine. What a long, strange trip it had been. 

R17 94 Slacker Sunday: March Fourth

Beavers, it turns out, there was some hidden footage of Steven's golf cart drive, courtesy of Bandit. This is in cart footage, never before seen! Enjoy.

Want to see how they train baby baggers? Check out Stew's blog about RAGBRAI.

I loved seeing how baggers get clean!

This may be the last Slacker Sunday, whoop whoop!

March Fourth Good Beavers, towards bike rides, and beers, and glory!

R17 94.1 Slacker Sunday Part 2: FOB Reveals the Mysteries of the Night in Charles City

Bonus! As promised Beavers, I  have FOB's tales of midnight mysteries from Charles City. And I am adding them here, to Slacker Sunday, not because I think that FOB is a slacker, because he's not. This blog is great! But because I am done with my blogs and they end a perfect series of niners, and I don't want to mess that up. 

Charles City: Jewel of Northeastern Iowa

I firstrolled through Charles City on Ragbrai 2010* (a tale I gleefully told to a Register cameraman during the 2017 Launch Party…).  It was a welcome respite after a long day on the road.  A refreshing river flows through the town and there are plenty of welcoming and air conditioned restaurants to rejuvenate a weary rider’s soul.  Also, so many fallout shelters!  This was on my mind as Team Beaver crossed the Floyd County line and approached Charles City in 2017.  Along with Bandit, Too Much and The Mayor, I cruised into the city limits and set up camp on the sprawling lawn of an abandoned house overlooking the route.  We celebrated the end of the day with a few Coors Lights and watched End-of-The-Day Riders skitter by.  Before long, I broke from my fellow Beavers and headed into downtown to continue my shelter search from seven years prior.  It was a success!  The courthouse, the city hall, the post office, the high school-all decked out with fallout shelter signs!  In my excitement, I ignored the hunger in my stomach and my probable need for a shower.  When I met up with the Team at the homestay sometime later, I loudly expressed my adoration for Charles City, which truly is a beautiful and thriving little section of the state. 

D$, Pochy and I all decided to hoof a few blocks downtown for food and entertainment.  The Pork Tornados were the headlining band and though I hadn’t heard of them, with a name like that, they were hard to turn down.  We hit the food stands and all three of us were immediately separated.  I scored a plate of Mediterranean beef and found a quiet spot behind the courthouse to call Thee MB.  D$ shot me a few texts and calls to let me know he was rocking out in the concert crowd and wanted company.  I’ll paraphrase his call but it went something like: “I found Dancing Queen and Hardass-we’re in front of the speakers-look for the guy on top of the other guy!” 

That’s how I found them, D$ jiving smoothly next to Dancing Queen who was supporting Hardass on his shoulders.  Both drenched in sweat, our favorite Spirit Animals were thoroughly rocking out to a punk version of "Tear Drops on My Guitar" courtesy of the Pork Tornados.  Another Spirit Animal was there, I think he may have been a younger brother??  I cut a little rug with some of my finer dance moves (which D$ was kind enough to film…and subsequently screen a few days later at a family event).  Before we could get in the groove of another song, however, 3 state troopers formed an authoritative triangle around us.  Their problem?  Supporting people on your shoulders was strictly forbidden in this concert environment.  Also, it seems this was the second time they’d warned the Spirit Animals about this.  Now, the Spirit Animals are not ones to pick fights with law enforcement (two beers officer, I swear, I’ve just had two beers-I’m on my way outta town!) and after some very tactful wordplay and apologetics, the troopers parted ways with a smile and a warning to “settle the party down, for real this time.”

It was time to settle my party down and I headed back to the homestay and the comforts of my tent.  It was getting chilly and sleeping bag sounded good.  A few members of Team Dirty Martini were up and reminiscing so I joined them for a nightcap and we a good chat about past Ragbrai routes (we would run into several over the course of the next day-great group of people!)  Dozing off to sleep that night, there was shouting in the distance but I did my best to ignore it.

Normangave a great summary of our noisy neighbor in her blog posts, and anyone within a two block radius can probably recite most of what was shouted, so I won’t elaborate much.  An obviously drunk man camping with Team Perenium Falcon across the street was both awake and hyper-vigilant.  He spent the better part of 3 hours shouting semi-correct legal advice at what I assume were passersby.  Then, when a car was creeping down the street about 4 a.m., suspiciously stopping at each driveway, he pitched a fit and repeatedly threatened to call the police.  It was the paper guy… 

The next morning there was a man sleeping in the open air next to the Perenium Falcon bus, his arms flailing off a cot and his torso barely covered by a blanket.  I’m not saying he was the shouter, but I think that would be a safe bet.

*Hey, us too! Steven, the Mayor and I were in Charles City at the same time as FOB on my first ragby. 

R17 93 Day 7.4 Wauk to Lans: Steven's New Whip

Harper's Ferry

We arrived in the little town of Harper's Ferry after our big climb and big down. And it was a glorious morning. In fact, I am not sure beavers really get to enjoy this time of the morning very often, but here we were. Right on schedule for our we-said-three-but-we-actually-plan-on-1pm arrival.

Beaver Up

Look how tall that hill is compared to Pochy!

So, we found some foods and a case of beer and found a yard for a picnic. The Mayor, in fact, ran into a friend from college at the gas station. The guy took the Mayor in the back door, away from the lines, and hooked him up with a bunch of candy bars. 

Beer and candy picnic

As we relaxed in HP, we realized there was something strange out this town. Everyone, it seemed, had a golf cart. They were zooming all over the place. And not just normal golf carts. There were fancy ones, simple ones, larger ones, super charged ones. There was even an Elvis-style Cadillac golf cart parked down the alley. 

Of course, we had to investigate.

Anyone need a lift?

Not sure this is safer than drunk driving

And, then, of course, Steven decided that she needed to go for a drive. So she and Bandit ran over to the man futzing outside of his garage and asked if they could take the cart for a spin. The guy was a bit hesitant at first, but they managed to talk him into it. 

Bandit wants shotgun

Just a casual golf cart chill

And, then, they were off. Here's the footage.

After the golf cart tour of Harper's Ferry, we all regrouped at the picnic spot. And we cheered The Biscuit, who we miss very much. 

#MCMBW

R17 92 Day 7.2 Waukon to Lansing: River Bottom Break Down

Why did we go here? 

The road into the Yellow River State Forest seemed like it was straight down. Then it curved. Then more down. Down. Down. Down.

Wilderness

Wilderness adventure

A little up. And down. We were deep in the forest, the peace of the trees and hills seemed to hush down the craziness of ragbrai. As I rode through the forest, I looked for the "town." Because this was a marked stop on Ragbrai, I thought there'd be a food vendor or maybe a place to get water, but I didn't see much, so I kept going. 

Check it out

Eventually, I bumped into the beavers. Most of them were on the side of the road already, waiting to check in before the first big hump of the day. 

As I was standing around, futzing with my pockets, Masinga rode up. And she was crying. The day had broken her down, and we hadn't even hit the nasty climbs of the day. I can't remember exactly what upset her, but she was teared up. 

Break down

So Steven took the port side, and I took the starboard, and we gave her a big old sweaty beaver hug that morphs into a humping. 

Hugs help?

The cure for all things: hump. 

Close Up

We may look like we are mugging her, but that's a hump!

We would all need a good humping soon. There were no refreshments at the bottom of Yellow Banks State Forest and just a long ass climb to the top.

Before long, we found it. Up. Curve. Up. Curve. Up and up and up. Cyclists of all abilities, styles, shapes and sizes were climbing this long hill that wound its way out of the forest.

One. Two. Three. Four. My Rainman-ing started and up I climbed. About halfway, I pulled over for a little mental health break.

I did that once or twice more. Just climbing and counting. Moving so slow, but moving. Seeing the trees and the people on the side of the road. Creeping past the walkers, getting "on your lefted by the lighter riders." Up.

And then, you could almost see the top. The trees cleared and there was a place where you couldn't see the up anymore. Nearly there!

And it was done. Big climb number 1.

After some more ups and downs, we were soon zooming down a massive hill towards the tiny town of Harper's Ferry. It felt like the descent into Guttenberg years before. Just massive, with a steep drop off the right shoulder, down, down, braking like crazy until the road flattened out and we were in a tiny town.

Our penultimate town of the last day. Two big hills to go.

It was time for a beer.

R17 91 Day 7.1 Wauko to Lansin: I Got My Mind Set On You

It's all downhill

We fetched our bikes from the silver alley and hit the road. Before long we were on the climb out of Waterville. Up and up and up but not too steep. Soon I heard a friendly “beaver!” Shout. It was Stew and Rocket Booster, out of the saddle and climbing in sync up the hill, on their loaded tandem. Bad ass.

And I was climbing too. Just slowly, up and up and up. And up. Then down a bit. Then around a curve. Then up some more and then a turn. Yeah! Turn! 

Once the road turned, we were on a slightly more busy road, with traffic passing, occasionally, and even more worrisome, troopers with their lights blazing and ambulances screaming by. We were in hill country, but this was a lovely little stretch of ridge line, mostly flat with long gorgeous views down the valleys. 

I had my little speaker going and George Harrison’s song, “I Got My Mind Set on You” was playing. Now, I’ll admit, I don’t have the best taste in music, but I love this song. It’s happy, and it kind of pumped me up when I thought about my LDR. My mind was with him and it was helping me make things happen—of course, it was going to take time, a whole lot of precious time, and money, a whole lot of spending money, to make it happen, but that is what I wanted, to make it happen. 

A guy rode by and said, “ugh, is this the most repetitive song ever?” And passed me. He said it in a nice way, so when we turned slightly down hill and I caught up with him, I rode passed singing the song loudly to him. We repeated this pattern until the song ended. 

Then I saw the sign for Yellow Banks State Park. And a left turn. 

Here we go. 

Down. Down. Down. We zoomed. I have gotten better at descending. I swear that I have, but this was something us. Just a massive scream down to what? What was at the bottom? A crash? A party? A colony of beavers. 

I tried to ease up on the brakes and just let go. Cheeks clenched and surprising a girlish scream of terror, I streamed down into the valley, tandem cyclists rocketing by me on all sides.