RAGBRAI '13: Stage 2 Cherokee to Lake View

Cherokee to Lake View: 62 miles

Again, I don't really remember what happened.  Steven and the Mayor are always so impressed with my RAGBRAI memory, but seriously, I don't remember much until the end of the day.  

I do remember that it was hot.  Like, crazy hot.  

We did stop for a cup of coffee in Cherokee that put us behind the rest of the crew, but there was a nice coffee shop in Cherokee and you don't just zoom by good coffee.  

8.2 miles to Aurelia?  Nope.

10.0 miles to Hanover Villege?  Blank. 

11.1 miles to Schaller--all I remember about Schaller, which is pronounced "shay-lore" is that I pretended that it was called "shaw-ler."  And I kept pronouncing it like "holler," which I thought was endlessly hilarious.  

11.5 to Nemaha--can't say what happened here.  Though, I believe, at one point, we stopped because there were some farm animals.  

Take one.

Take two.

Steven developed these hilarious daily newsletters full of information, comics, and a week-long scavenger hunt.  The Beaver Times?  Amazing.  One of the scavenger-items was "get a picture taken with a farm animal.  Do not smile."  Done. 

Hi Bob!

Also, photography note.  The Tiger's brother always sends us pictures of his face in cut-outs.  He never smiles.  It turns out, there are millions of those on RAGBRAI, so I took as many pictures as possible and sent them all to Bob as postcards.  That's why there are so many in this blog.  

Where?

I do remember Sac City--popcorn town.  I remember washing up in Sac City pretty broken down from the heat.  I was feeling a little woozy, and I remember a guy came by and said that a bunch of people had been hospitalized in Cherokee because of the heat and at least one had died.  Yikes.  

We went into the American Legion hall looking to cool off.  Unfortunately, 1702 of our closest friends were in there as well, steaming up the joint.  We found a back porch with some fans and some chairs that was quite as fusty as the rest of the building and drank some Coors.  Soon, we were joined by this crazy triathlete  from Wisconsin.  His name would become Wisconsin.  

We pressed on a little ways down the road and found a beer ghetto with some food and some ever diminishing shade.  No one wanted to press on.  It was just. so. hot.  

When we did leave, we turned the corner to head out Sac City only to find this ungodly hill.  Near the top, we saw the boys, the Tiger and the Mayor getting water.  Steven asked if we should stop, to which I replied, "eh, fuck 'em." 

That was hilarious to another cyclist who burst out laughing.  We figured the boys would catch us and it was only 9.6 miles to Lake View.  

Those were the longest, hottest, head-windiest miles in the world.  It was only out of sheer luck from the RAGBRAI gods that we found a weird little pace line, lead by two strong dudes leading two lines of two ladies who did not seem to know what they were doing.  

We tagged on and it was heaven: the-not-so-fast pace line on a hot, windy day is amazing.  We rode with them several miles until it broke up on an uphill.  

We overtook the guys in the front and Steven yelled her thanks as we passed.  One of the dudes yelled back, "we are reforming, if you want to join back on."  So we did.  Bless those strong dudes who pulled us all the way to Lake View.  I am not sure I would have made it without them.  

(The Tiger told me later that he was in pretty dire straits that afternoon as well, and that he wouldn't have been able to make it if the Mayor hadn't ridden with him.  I don't know if the Mayor knows how grateful the Tiger was for slowing down and riding with him that day.)

Soon we were ambling into town looking for our campsite.  Steven and the Mayor and I hobbled over to the lake with some beers and walked into the water, cycling clothes still on.  The water, because this was the hottest year ever, was bath temperature.  It was disgusting.  A local would tell us all the fish were dieing because it was so hot.  

Showers, beer, and pizza later, the Tiger and I, along with Emily and Ham decided to wander down to the party, which was, I thought, conveniently located near our campsite. Little would I know who inconvenient that would be.  

We look so happy!  Check out the sun burn lines.

We bumped into the nice hipster friends we had met in Cherokee and chatted with them a bit. Then, we headed back to camp for bed time.  

But sleep would not come.  

The list of anti-sleeping agents was incredibly long: 

1. Our campsite was adjacent to the bathroom.  All night long wooden doors slammed shut.

2. Our campsite was directly under the street light.  

3. It was 98 degrees out. 

4. The band was playing just blocks away, into the night.  

It was torture, knowing you need to sleep so much and not being able to do it.  This was the third night in a row that I was under rested and soon that lack of rest would start to break my spirit.

RAGBRAI '13 Stage 1: Sioux Center to Cherokee

Sioux Center to Cherokee: 54.4

Oh Sunday of RAGBRAI.  The day that lets you know just how much pain and suffering you are going to have to pay for a week's worth of fun.  It turns out: a hot lot.  

The Ham-a-Lam-A-Tandem Breaks Camp

We broke camp in Sioux Center after a rocky night's sleep.

Hammie and Emily actually arrived after driving across both Wisconsin and Iowa after an Australian Rules Football tournament in Madison, so they were sleepy.

We had several new folks and a new camp system, so it was a little rockier than normal, but soon we were all on the road headed for the breakfast town: Orange City.

As we rolled into Orange City, we heard the sound of music blaring from a trailer.  Then, over the microphone, came, "Good morning RAGBRAI!  Who is ready to rock Orange City?"  Everyone hooted as what would become known as the RAGBRAI DJ rolled past: a fella on a bike, with a huge Hawkeye speaker trailer.  He had rigged it up so that he could cut the music and speak into a microphone: genius!

We saw him several more times, and usually, he was playing pretty dope music, so even Steven and the Mayor had to forgive him his Hawkeye-love.

Northwest Iowa is Dutch country, and the Dutch are a conservative bunch.  So there would be no fun or shenanigans until we were further east.  I was particularly excited about Orange City, "like Pella only more conservative," because I knew it was a cute town and I had read they were serving "fudge babies"--a waffle on a stick dipped in chocolate and sprinkles.

We quickly found those.  And devoured them.

Then, I got in the coffee line and the Tiger went on his first prowl.  As I sipped hot coffee in the increasingly steaming sunshine, the Tiger returned with a magical treat: the pofterjy--tiny round pancakes in a buttery, orange Brandy sauce.  They were so good, we sent him back for more.

But, as there was no beer in Orange City, and it looked to be a hot one, we headed on a quick 4 miles to Alton.

Of Alton, I remember nothing.  I am pretty sure I had heat stroke.

Alton?

Same goes for Granville.  Nada.  Definitely heat stroke.

Grafton?

The next town was Marcus, the meeting town.  I am pretty sure that this was the day that Kelly met us.  He found a shady yard off the main street, and popped open the trailer and we drank icy cold beer, sat in chairs, and used the bathroom at the nearby bowling alley.  It was glorious.

The only problem was that we had to ride 17 miles still to Cherokee.  There is nothing worse than the longest stretch of the day being at the end.

Did I mention it was hotter than Hades out there?  Blazing, disgusting hot.  I think this was the day that the Tiger filled his panniers with beer for us to drink midway between Marcus and Cherokee and we stopped in the "shade" of a farm house and pondered the strange cruelty that made us choose this vacation with some poor virgin.

Marcus?

In Cherokee, we stayed in the basemen of some nice folks who lived at the top of the hill.  No one really wanted to go downtown, except for me and the Tiger, so we headed down to the main drag where we found some sandwiches, and some ice cream, and some beer.  We bumped into my workout buddy, Bruce, and his wife, who had ridden out to Cherokee.  Bruce is the nicest guy, but I don't think his wife was charmed.

At one point in the conversation, she turns to Bruce and says, "let's get something to eat."

He responds, "are you hungry?"

She says, "No."

And, they left.  We spent the night on the floor, which was cool, but I think the valve is broken on my Therm-a-rest, so I was pretty uncomfortable and I was paranoid that the Tiger's snores would wake the rest of the team like they were waking me.

RAGBRAI '12: Prologue

It has reached that time of year: when it is so cold out that all you want to think of is when you were so hot, you thought you might die.  Let me take you, gentle readers, in the way-back machine, to RAGBRAI 2012. What will follow is a series of 8-ish blogs detailed the exploits of Team Beaver's RAGBRAI adventures.

We laughed, we cried, we slip-and-slided.

It was a building year.  Know that.  We added a posse of new beavers.  We had virgins.  We arranged home stays.  We had a driver (who is a god!).  Cock ups were inevitable.  Glory was possible.

On Friday night, we loaded the trailer with the help of head Beaver Wrangler, Kelly.

Beaver None, Beaver 1

(Note the cache of beer behind Steven. This was the last time I saw Kelly in sleeves.)

Our driver to and from RAGBRAI was none other than Eric, cousin to Steven and high school-novio of yours truly, and co-worker of the Tiger.  Please note: he volunteered to drive us!

Weirdly, this photo featured even too much cleavage for me, so I edited. 

When he arrived, the Tiger and I were enjoying our first brews of the day.  We wrangled the troops and headed west.

Eric's head, being very polite and helpful.

We weren't very far west, not even to Earlham, when we decided we needed to be able to have some frosty brews.  So we stopped at a gas station to get empty cups.

We weren't far from the gas station when Steven remembered that she had left her RAGBRAI passes with her mom, in DSM.  We put the trolley in reverse, turned it around, and had an awkward rendezvous with the Magg-ster outside of the Hooter's in WSDM.  (She just wouldn't stop driving around the parking.)

And merrily, we went about our way, Steven and I providing charming and witty color commentary from the back seat, fueled with tasty beverages.  Eric listened very nicely.  The Tiger scorned our use of cups.  We did need to stop many, many times for comfort breaks.

Breakie!

In Council Bluffs, we stopped for a burger at 5 Guys, thanks to the recommendation of Eric.  It was delicious.  I started to get messages from Kelly asking how far out we were: the backtrack and comfort stops put us behind the rest of the team.

(Meanwhile, the Mayor, always one for adventure was riding his bike towards Sioux Center, having flown into Sioux Falls and stayed with some couch-surf people.  I really want to share an account of his story.  Perhaps he will guest blog for me if I ask nicely?)

Then, we proceeded to Sioux Center.  We got sleepy after all our beverages and burgers.  Soon, the roads started getting clogged with buses, trucks full of bikes, and charter buses.

Sleepy.

Soon, we were pulling off into a new subdivision, looking for the home of our hosts.  Sioux Center set us up with this couple.  The RAGBRAI coordinator told us that we had to have only "minimal partying," which seems like how we roll.

The Mayor's bike was in the yard and Kelly and Les were already there with the truck and trailer.  We piled out of the car, grabbed a handful of stuff, and headed into the house to meet our hosts for the night.

The guy who opened the door looked nice enough.  "Please take off your shoes," he said smiling after he introduced himself.  Steven and I put our stuff down and started taking off our shoes.  As I stood up, I noticed that the Mayor, Kelly, and Les were standing around awkwardly.  They weren't really settling in.

"You can sign in here, and here's a copy of the rules," our host said.  Rules?

"Okay," I thought, "Maybe this is for a guest book or something."  As I signed my name under the Mayor's I started reading the "rules," which had been printed out.  There were copies for everyone.  (Not that the MS Word formatting changes are still on the document).

The Rules!

No Smoking Allowed...okay.

No Drinking of Alcohol or Use of Illegal Drugs on the property...hmmm.

No burning of Candles or Incense allowed...what the hell?

Each Guest must provide valid ID and Register Name and Address...?

All Doors are locked at midnight. In the meantime, keep doors shut...okay.

If you move or relocate something, ask the hosts where it needs to go...what would we move?

Prefer no shoes be worn in the house...duh.

Advise us of your planned "check-out" or leaving time...okay.

Use the bathroom fan when showering...okay.

Do not use the land line phones in the house...okay.

No pets allowed...what am I going to do with the parakeet I brought?

Ask permission to eat or drink anything in the house that you did not purchase...do you have cheese balls?

Should go without saying --Do not take anything that is not yours -- We do same...what the hell?

If something breaks, let us know so we can work something out...you break it, you buy it, bitches!

Emergency & Non-Emergency Phone Numbers

Ambulance, Fire, Emergency: 911

City Policy Non Emergency: 712-722-0761

County Sheriff Non Emergency: 712-737-2280

Secret Service: 402-965-9670....what the hell?

FBI: 402-493-8688...in case we stumble onto a sleeper cell operating out of Sioux Center?

With much haste, Steven and I and the rest of the crew adjourned to the drive way for a little beaver-chat.  Kelly and Les were ready to abandon us to our fate.  They had a friend who lived in town who said they could camp in the yard.  (We had elected not to stay with said friend, because we wanted to get some A.C.).

Steven, because she is tough, decided to explain the situation.

She told the host that we might like to enjoy a few brews in the evening.  The host said we could drink, just not at his house.  We could go downtown if we wanted to (as long as we were back by midnight!).  Then, Steven, because she is tough, said thank you very much but we should really stay at this other house and we pulled the old "beaver leaver."

Kelly and Les's friend was actually the ex-wife of a client.  And she was awesome.  A RAGBRAIer herself, she may have been the only liberal in the city, maybe the county, perhaps the tri-county region.

She had a huge brick house, so we found a cozy corner of the yard to make camp, and laughed about our close escape from RAGBRAI purgatory.

We very politely drank some beer, wandered down to the expo to get some free stuff, showered, and then went to bed.

The Tiger and Kelly enjoying their first expo.

We had a fitful night sleep.  Easy-E and the Hampsta' rolled in late and had to make camp.  There was flashes of lightening and a touch of rain that sent us scrambling for the fly, only to be stifled by the heat inside.  And, after 10 our friend Steve-Oh showed up to hang out, only to find everyone sleeping.  How embarrassing.

It was a quite a foreboding beginning to our RAGBRAI adventure.

Fitness: The Scaredy Cat Way

I have figured it out!  The key to my own personal fitness motivation: fear!

Yes, fear.

Whenever I have had to do something I am really scared of (my first RAGBRAI, my first Fight for Air Stair Climb, being humiliated in a local newspaper), I get my butt in shape.  The fear inspires dedication to train.  I know it is working when I find myself fantasizing about breaking my leg, accidentally, before the event, so I can get out of it.

Later, when I have already done the formerly-scary thing (my second RAGBRAI, my second Fight for Air Stair Climb), I get complacent.  All I can remember is how much less scary the event was than I thought it was going to be, so then I rationalize not training as hard as I could.

What my brain doesn't remember is that it was only easier than I thought it would be because I was so scared of it being harder than I could handle.

You still with me?

Following this logic, I find myself cultivating fears for the upcoming year.  If I keep thinking about all those oh-my-biscuit-I-am-going-to-die-or-humiliate myself then I know I will work harder.

Here are some scary things coming up in my 2013.

Exhibit A: Jessica's wedding.  April 20.  I am a woman of honor.  I will be wearing satin.  I will be photographed professionally.  Jessica's family will be looking at these photos for.ev.er.

Jessica should have asked models to be her  bridesmaids.

Exhibit B: Lexi's wedding.  September-ish.  Same concerns as before.  Minus the satin.

Exhibit C: RAGBRAI.

RAGBRAI?  Yes, RAGBRAI.  RAGBRAI 41 is shaping up to be a "building year" for Team Beaver, with only me, the Mayor, and Ranger Dave (a RAGBRAI virgin) slated for the whole week.  Other folks may be making guest appearances (Goldie!  I know you are reading this), but for most of the week, I am going to be alone with these guys.

Ranger Dave is spending the season (he has a season because he races for reals) training for the Haute Route: which is like the Tour De France, but for ameuters, and without all the flat parts.  And, rangering in the National Parks gives him plenty of time, at altitude, to climb hills on his bike.  Also, he may, just for fun, go to Hawaii for a month to ride up and down volcanoes.

Oh, what is this?  A little bump in the road?

Mayday, Mayday!  We have RANGER DANGER!

Then, there's the Mayor.  The Mayor may claim to be "fat" and "out of shape" and that he "never rides his bike," but he is the ultimate sand bagger.  Any claims of out of shapeness from the Mayor need to be divided by about 10, because I have ridden with him when he is eligedly "fat" or "out of shape" and he still kicks my ass.

Now, he doesn't kick it as hard as he does when he is in shape, but there is still a pretty thorough kicking.

How he does it, I have no idea.  I think he must just have this incredible latent talent for cycling that requires absolutely no practice.  Maybe there is a transitive power to the I-can't-let-my-wife be faster than me that applies to RAGBRAI wives.  Or maybe, as he claims, he is just better able to suffer.

He only smiles when he is about to inflict suffering.

Whatever the reason, these are my main companions come July 22.

"Well, Rice, why don't you just let them ride off into the sunrise without you?"

Duh, because I want to impress my RAGBRAI posse with my beastliness.  Which means, I need to gather some beastliness.  And quick.

"But Rice, what about your 2012 campaign for fear-less-ness?  Isn't this in direct contradiction to that concept?"

Sort of.  I think I need a new term.  Attempting to live fearlessly doesn't work for me.  I will always have lingering fears and doubts.  But, rather than purposefully breaking my leg, or quitting, I must continue on despite that fear!

George R. R. Martin put it best in his bestselling book, Game of Thrones,

And, so, for now, at least, I am working hard.  And, when I think about not working hard, I remember all that potential pain, and suffering, and humiliation that is lurking in the new year.

Spring may not be that far off, but for me, "winter is coming."

Blog Bites

So, I have been busy. So I don't blog. Then I have so much to say, I don't have time to blog. Then, I get such a blog backlog that I really don't have time to blog. Then I decide to just give up blogging and take up knitting. But I am worse at knitting than I am at blogging. It is a cycle of despair.

Anyhoo, to deal with this issue, I am introducing blog bites. Just little snacks to keep all 4 of my readers up to date and keep my head above the back log.

The challenge for me will be to keep then short.

So here goes.

Ever since I started at bx90/harder to kill, I have used the small box for box jumps. The leap to the medium box, har har, just seemed too much.

Then we got there bumper plates for the bar bells. A few folks started adding plates to their boxes to make them higher.

I did too. I have successfully moved to a small box plus 4inch plate. And, I have my sights on the medium box.

Baby steps, or jumps.

I Just Want to Hang Out...

No big deal!  

Last month, I challenged Steven to the Cabla-Goobla-Goobler Challenge.  We had to do some sort of fitness + watching the Cable Guy + drinking beer + blogging.  The idea of was to break out of the food comma and get some beerness in before December.

Immediately, I ran into a problem.  Okay, 2 problems.

1. My computer was broken.  I replaced the battery, fiddled with the magnets, and then finally gave up and rode it over to Bike World.  My bike bf Steve-Oh set to work on what he thought was a "stupid girl" fix.  An hour later, with a new speed trap, we were back out the door.

2. I could not find a good time to be wasted!  If you have read this blog, you might know that last year, this event resulted in a miscommunication induced sh!t show.  Ideally, I would find an evening where I could complete this 1.5 hour event and then pass out, but I just couldn't find the time.

(Problem 3 was hiding the case of Heine when we had a Franksgiving party.)

I don't think I was the only one with that problem.  I got a message from Steven on Sunday, November 25, at 7:49: "Have you done challenge?"

"No," I replied. "I was going to text you.  I need an extension!"

She replied, "Okay, good.  I think your blog post said until the 30th."

So, I hemmed and hawed, worrying about schedules and coming up with the BEST CHALLENGE CONCEPT EVER and not actually coming up with any good ideas, when I finally said to myself, "Rice, remember those words of wisdom: you get what you get, and don't give a sh!t."  Or something like that.

Before.

Sunday afternoon, December 2, I saddled up for a little ride on the information super highway.  It wasn't going to be legendary, but it was going to be done.

Holiday keeps me company, though she hates the trainer.

So, so I rode.  And, I drank Heines.  And, I laughed out loud, because, if you don't already know this, The Cable Guy is a hilarious movie.

I didn't ride farther than last year, and I didn't drink as much beer, but I did it.

Four Heines, dranked.

Twenty miles: rid.

Reflection: the world of work seems to have stymied me.  There is just too much edu-ma-cating to do to really rock fitness, eat perfectly, blog prose so vivid it would make you weep, and shenanigan.  But, we can't give up!  These blogs represent all that is good and silly and irreverent in our worlds.  So, dear reader, you get what you get and don't give a sh!t!

After.

Heretofore unknown version of the Cat 5 tattoo--that's right, on the front of my calf.

The upshot: I got my bike step up on the trainer.  No excuses now!

Roll credits!

I do have some stuff in the blog hopper, like a Survivor Cross ReCap and the annual Mid-Winter RAGBRAI Total Recall Blog Series.  So, stay tuned gentle reader.  

And, Steven, listen, I just met you and this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me maybe. 

Needles November Challenge: Concession

Well, in November, our beloved driver and "beaver wrangler," Kelly challenged me to a 26-day challenge.  The results were so-so.  I had a slow start, and didn't do as much as I would have liked to have done, but I did more than I would have done.

The Needles challenge certainly helped pull me out of my early-November funk.  So, that's pretty good.

Item 1: Lost an average of 2-pounds per week: FAIL. I am, more or less, where I started at the beginning of November.

Item 2: Reduce one inch waist size: UBER FAIL. I didn't even measure my waist because I have no tape measure, but if the scientifically accurate jeans method is anything to go by, I still failed on this one.

Item 3: Increase bicep curl by 8 pounds: BOOM!  I started curling 45 pounds max, and I manage to eek out 60 pounds.  I didn't work on biceps in particular, but I have been back to the H2K gym, which helps.

Item 4: 50 sit ups or crunches in 90 seconds: BOOM!  I did crunches and I managed to get 50 done with 27 seconds to spare.

Item 5: 30 push ups in 60 seconds: BOOM! I did girl push ups, but I got 30 out with like 17 seconds to spare.

Item 6: Ride the trainer 4 times per week at an average of 12 miles an hour: ???  I didn't ride the trainer that much, but I did get back to H2K on a regular basis, I also went to a handful of spin classes, and I survived Survivor Cross!

Item 7: No cupcakes: No comment.

Item 8: Only six servings of bread per week: I sort of forgot about this part of the challenge, so again, no comment.

And there you have it folks.  It was not a victory, by a long shot, but I do think that the Needle Challenge helped me bust out of my post-10-Miler, tried-to-give-up-the-Beaver-gym-in-October ennui.  I am back in action, and I started making a plan for 2013.

And, like Steven, over at See Teacher Run, has written about in recent blogs, I am getting a little tired of just meh-ing my way through challenges.