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
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.
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