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.