R15 39 Getting the Hell into Dodge

Finally, over...

The hardest part of the beaver's day is arriving in town. Without a big charter to stay with, we have to navigate our own way to the homestays. And they are often in unsung districts of the city. Steven does a great job on the Beaver Tail, but there is only so much she can do from afar in terms of getting us to our tents.

After winding our way into Fort Dodge and riding through the nearly abandoned streets of the downtown (apparently all of ragbrai was ahead of us) we regrouped and took a turn down a hilly and zoomy side street, then turned on another hilly uphill side street, then another residential side street.

It was hilly, I was drunk, and exhausted, and riding oh-so-slow at this point. I slogged by weary ass to the top of the hill and then followed what seemed like the beaver trail towards our home stay, but the riders were all strung out. Eventually, we found our way to the house where we were staying--a friend of my sister's aunt? The Deb had set the tents up in the front yard in nice neat rows and parked the RV out front.

I was dead, but also filled with a growing anxiety. Fort Dodge to Eldora, the following day, was the day we would be as close to DSM as the ride would go. And therefore, anyone doing just one day, i.e. Goldie and Jenny would be coming into town and ready to party, theoretically. And, in addition, the Spazmatics were playing that night, and that is a pretty amazing party...but I was so tired.

Granted a lot of that was just plain not being in very good shape, but we had been drinking all day. And the afternoon had been particularly boozy and wild. I couldn't imagine staying up till the Spazmatics played, let alone figuring out the logistics of getting down town and back again, meeting up with people, and then having to ride the next day.

Apparently, I wasn't the only beaver having these concerns. But there was one very eager beaver who didn't not share these concerns. Steven. She had been the beaver all day, the first to dart over to a free beer stop, waving us in like troops storming beery beaches. Riding, and laughing, and ready for everything. It was magnificent! She wanted to party. She wanted to get down.

A few of us were sitting on the porch discussing the plan. To be honest, I would have gone along with anything. I am kind of a go-with-the-flow kinda of gal. If the rest of the team was ready to rock, I would have sacked up, made a coffee, and danced, but other folks were ambivalent about a down town adventure too.

Steven came out as we were discussing the situation, coming to a consensus that perhaps we should just pack it in. Well, she over heard this and this set off a fit of fury! It wasn't exactly clear what she was mad about (and I would come to learn more the following day), but she was furious with us, particularly me. I was pretty tired and getting that early evening hangover that comes from ragby, (it turns out Steven was pretty drunk at this time too which explains a lot), but she got the impression that we were colluding against her, conspiring against her plans and making her the butt of our jokes.

I am sure she will explain it all in her blogs to come...

But with much huffing and puffing and zipping and yelling at the Mayor, she retreated to her tent, which unfortunately for the peace of the team, was directly in front of the porch where we were all sitting. And, though we hadn't been laughing at her ambitions to go downtown, her angry, huffy, outburst did raise a few chuckles. I have the same problem when the off spring of Steven and the Mayor has a melt down. I just get nervous and start laughing!

Well, you can imagine how that went over...more huffing and puffing from the tent, slamming and angry whispers to the Mayor.

But, when we finally did retreat to our tents that night, oh, what a snooze I had! So peaceful! It had cooled off in the night, and the street was quiet and dim, and my tent was so comfy. I didn't mind all the text messages I was getting from Goldie ("where are you? Come out!") or the angry laser vibes coming from the Mayoral tent--I slept like a lamb.

Which is good, because Tuesday was the day of the beaver.

R15 38 What. The. Fuck?!?

Remember how 2 blogs ago we were in Clare? 

So, we were almost to Fort Dodge, like literally turning on to the highway that would take us into town. It had been a long day. Like a very long day, of bikes and drinking and bikes and drinking. Then, across the highway, with my heart sinking, I saw the sign. "Joe's Shooting Palace: Free Beer."

F.M.D.

Okay, it wasn't called Joe's Shooting Palace, but it was a place where you can shoot guns inside, and they had free beer, so, we darted to the left side of the highway, bushwacked with bikes on our shoulders through the overgrown grass in between and then froggered across oncoming traffic to the parking lot.

Tagging the joint. 

Inside, we found a huge, air conditioned room, with free beers (with donation). The room was dotted with random ragbraiers, but at the end of the hall was the most amazing thing.

A menagerie of plastic animals! Cougars! Bears! Rabbits! A dinosaur! All to practice shooting, I guess.

I will let the pictures illustrate the drunken mayhem that occurred then.

Pochs v. Dino

The sex panther

Pound it out

Beaver gesture! 

Howl!

Grr....Then slur.

Finally, God only knows what time it was, we stumbled out of there and back to the parking lot, back across traffic, and flew down the highway towards Fort Dodge.

Finally, finally, we were headed towards our home stay. And you would think that the excitement would have been over for the day, but, not just yet.

R15 37 Backpocket Bleeriness

We are right after the turn...

I am going to be honest, I have only the haziest of memories of this afternoon's events. Shit just got weird. And we just, kept, drinking. 

We turned the corner and headed north towards Fort Dodge, after beers all over the damn state. But then, of course, we ran into the Backpocket Brewery stop, where we had to stop. Because that is what we do? (Is it? Is that what we do now? Always?)

Anyway Steven has always found the corn peeing to be pretty hilarious and it is! And she had the brilliant idea, as a joke that we should pee in a bean field, where everyone could see just our heads. Ha! And she was right. It was hilarious, at least for us, and whomever took 10,000 pictures of us. I am including just one. 

What? Just peeing in a field!

Then we sat around and drank some beer. It was becoming a pretty nice afternoon, sunny and breezy and lovely, so we enjoyed some beers in a yard. The years of ragby and all the afternoons spent drinking beer in the shade are all running together, so I can't recall with accuracy what happened. 

Apparently we found LLL

Steven was there..

My memories are as hazy as these pictures. Taken with the protective water proof case on my phone, for obvious reasons. 

And Too Much was there...

Then, what? Was this the year/day that we tried to stop a the mechanical bull but it was really some sort of political thing and they didn't actually have beer? I can't recall. 

I guess Too Much did some yoga? And was already sunburned?

The fog of ragby. 

After we left, I did stop mid hill climb to take this picture for El Capitan. He had been discussing the benefits of coffee enemas all summer, strangely enough. 

Killed my momentum for this photo. #worthit

And, then, just as I thought we were going to roll into Fort Dodge....

R15 36 Getting Buck Wild

PDBA I'm back Beavers! After a week of sunshine and Tecate, I have returned to the midwest and this blog. I hope you weren't too worried. 

Oh dear...

Hot, sweaty, and sloshing with beer, we rolled out of Manson and towards the little town of Clare. Now, I may not be getting the stops right, because, as you might recall, we had already partied our asses off in FUNda and in Manson. There will still be 3 more HUGE party stops to go, so if I am getting them out of order, please forgive me...

This is the point in the afternoon when I get a bit hot, sticky, sangry, and whiny. It was sunny and humid after all that rain and I was getting just very meh about this whole ragby thing. 

But, dutifully, I followed the rest of the team into the teensy, tiny town of Clare and put my big girl drinking pants on. There was only one place to booze in Clare. The Bucks Wild Inn or White Tail Tavern, I don't fucking know, but I handed over my ID, got stamped, and bellied up to the beer bin. 

Getting buck wild! 

We found a teeny, tiny spot in the shade under the table and contemplated the following things. 

Stripes attracted to stripes!

First, of course, Too Much made friends. The Zebra Ladies were more than happy to be stickered by that tall drink of water that is Too Much. Meow, or should I say, Neigh! What do Zebras say? Too Much also did some rug cutting...naturally. 

Let me just apply this here...

Steven did what Steven normally does which is plot how to get the microphone away from the DJ. This DJ in particular was stupendously bad, and needed the microphone snatched post haste.

Making friends!

She also got into an argument/chat with a manther at our table. I am going to have her recount the details of this discussion, but I think he was from Utah and the result was him earning the nickname "Pussy Eating Mike." 

Nice, and not the last we see of the merkins!

I'll admit, despite my grumpiness and hotness I had a pretty good time in Clare, but we couldn't figure out a way to wrestle control from the DJ and the day was getting on, so eventually, we sneaked under the police tape and returned to the bikes.

Off to Fort Dodge, right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong. 

R15 35 Slacker Sunday: A New Song

Hola, beavers and beotches! It's Slacker Sunday once again, where I half-ass this blog entry and give you some beaver info you probably already know.

Don't like it? Well, you can lump it. I considered not blogging on the weekends at all...

So, somewhere between Klinkertown and Klinker Rapids, I was rolling down the road, hanging with my beavers, when I got to chatting with a rider who commented on our jerseys.

"The beavers, huh? Do you know the beaver-song?"

"Which one?"

"This one!"

"We are all the beavers,
Beavers we are all,
And when we get together,
We do the beaver call..

Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnawgnawgnaw
Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw..."

Amazing.

The guy told us it was an old Boy Scout song. I couldn't tell you the tune, but I will sing it for you if we are riding bikes.

R15 34 Manson: The Town Where We Partied Twice

PDBA: I just want to give a big shout out to all the beavers who contributed photos for the blog. I really appreciate it! And a huge, special, massive shout out to Pochs, who organized all the photos by day! I am frantically trying to get all these blogs written before I leave for Minnesota/Mexico, and her organization made things massively easier. Thanks Pochs! And all! 

Are we halfway yet? 

I will be honest, I don't remember the ride between FUNday and Mason. There were a lot of #onemoreonemores in FUNda. I vaguely remember seeing the turn off for the gravel loop. Ha!

But soon we were in Manson, the Meat Town. Pochs had a walkie talkie and was hoping to make contact with the Deb, but when we didn't hear from her, we ditched the bikes, rounded up some grub, and then found a table in a bar/restaurant/community hall? 

And we hung out there for a while. Just relaxing and chit-chatting and enjoying the air conditioning and the sitting and the beer. 

Not much happened, you know besides drinking...

Mayor in repose

This one...

Texting...

Dear Sky Beaver, please help my phone survive...

Power Posing...

Selfie Taking...

She's so good.

Less good...

Lapsitting...

Love...

You know, the usual. 

Finally, with no word from the Deb, we headed out to the bikes. Steven guarded me as a I found a place to pee between two trucks (thanks Stevie!), and we were getting ready to roll. In fact we were walking out of town when over the radio we heard: 

"Breaker, breaker 1-9, this is the Deb. I'm in Manson, ready for a hoe-down, c'mon fuckya." 

Can't Stop, Won't Stop

Actually, that's not what she said, but she was in the beer garden just down the street and she was ready to party with her beavers. Ugh. I was ready to leaver, but we couldn't let our driver down...

The Dale, it turns out, had ridden the whole day, found the Deb, put on his tennis shoes and returned to the Meat Town with us. It must be nice to have those fresh first day legs! 

It looks like they are holding hands, right? What was happening here?

And, they were ready to party, so we partied in that town all over again. 

Tandem Power Pose! 

Now this may be a bit of a controversial discussion, but as the team gets bigger, and we have a driver that is willing to come to the Meat Town, we run into the issue of this sort of thing. We are taking longer in each town, and then, sometimes, doubling our time in each town. No wonder we can't get in before dark. 

The majesty. 

Also, a point of order. The Deb, I think I mentioned, has an undiagnosed broken leg. Yet she still wanted to come on the ragby, wanted to drive, set up the tents, made friends with our hosts, etc. She also insisted on walking miles and miles to get to the dance party and then DANCING! 

So, I should come as no surprise that even though it seemed like she was FINE! Because she was doing all of this partying!!!! She was also in a lot of PAIN!!! This will come up around Pine Lake. I just wanted you guys to note the evidence here! 

Just doing some jitterbrokenfuckinglegging 

The knee braces can't hold us! 

R15 33 Bike then Dance it Out Bitches!

Happy New Year Beavers! I hope this year brings you adventures and beers galore and all your dreams come true! 

Day 2 

We left Newell with burritos in our bellies and hope in our hearts that the rain would clear off. It didn't for a while. We were riding along in a driving rain, through fields and dales. The one nice thing about rain on ragby is it gives you a bit of private time. You are hooded up, and concentrating, and it's very loud, so it is you are kind of in your own world. With all your friends.

Riding near me for this stretch was Pochs, which was fortuitous because we were entering her homeland!

Point the way to fun Pochs! 

Shortly after entring Pochontas County, we noticed a massive shit show up ahead. All of ragby was off their bikes and walking, ugh. So we were forced to dismount and walk as well. We soon discovered why: a massive set of rain road tracks, coated in a slick, plasticity surface. The EMTs were making people walk over it because someone had sustained a fall earlier. We would soon discover who that was...

Then we were entering Fonda. The rain had abated, but it was still gray and drizzly. We found a yard to ditch the bikes and headed towards the party. We had ridden like 20 miles in the rain. We needed some ice cold beer, STAT. 

I got back hoes in different area codes! 

We found the beer garden and started buying rounds of tall boys. I am pretty sure Fonda was the place where we learned how to carry enough beers for the whole team by employing jersey pockets, a kangaroo style pouch, and when possible, cleavage. 

Beaver party in full effect!

We got a rain-soaked table and prepared to party. And party we did. First, I ran into my friends, Hot Ben's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sideproject. They are so sweet and charming and fun and they love to bag and party! I love them, and I love that ragby is like a big stupid family reunion. All the people you don't need to see every day are there, but you are always happy to see them! 

Second, the DJ asked us if we would help with the project of moving the tent off the DJ trailer (because trailers are where the DJs go). He offered us coozies and novelty Miller Light sunglasses for our efforts. I didn't take much notice of the sunnies, because I can't wear them, but the rest of the team were sporting them all week and to this dam day!

Good deeds! 

Just put this over here...

Little kits kitted out! 

Third, we danced. Boy did we dance! We danced in many phases, but during the first phase a group of cyclists wearing neon colored tutus sat down at our table, though we had CLEARLY marked the space by leaving our phones there. We teased them about taking our table and when I went to buy a round of beers and turned up with the extra one (because counting is hard), I offered it to them as a peace offering. No one wanted it except for a tow headed kid on the other side of the table. I went to hand it to him and his, I didn't know this at the time, parents were like, "no! no! he's underage!"

Getting that party started.

Do I look like I am checking IDs? No, I don't think so.

Fourth, then we proceeded to make lots of friends. 

We found a group of guys under an adjoining table. They were in their late thirties, early forties, and looked like they had rid hard and then put themselves up wet. But the best one had a HUGE, gnarly beaver tattoo on his arm! We had to introduce ourselves, distribute stickers and coozies, and get a picture. 

Beaver #1 

The dudes turned out to be from a team called the "Manthers," you know male-cougars. Hello! New vocab term! 

Steven also insisted on pointing out her college preferences via dudes in jerseys. 

A beaver divided?

She can't always make good choices...

We also made a friend on the dance floor. This tiny Latino man who loved to dance. He was from Oregon? Via Miami? I can't remember, but he was super fun. And he taught us the "wobble."

Get in there! 

We ran into JK and her posse, which was fun to see, but we were missing our Goldie. Steven did a tribute when Blurred Lines came on. (Stop. Look up.)

You know where you'll find her. 

And before we knew it (actually, several hours) the sun had come out and it was a beautiful day! We had turned Fonda into FUNda, and danced the rain away. The beaver magic continued!

!

Beaver weaver leaver...