R16 64 Shop Talk

Still here! 

Leaving the Copper Lantern Party: People in Love

How I made it to the LB's family shop is a mystery to me. The remainder of the afternoon is a bit spotty. But somewhere in the depths of my depravity, I came to a decision. We still had (bullsh!t) 30 miles left to ride. I was not looking forward to it. 

So, I was ready to linger at the shop party (ok, it was a party for me. I am pretty sure everyone else was annoyed at our stupor). 

With that in mind, we settled into a bit of shop shenanigans. Here are some pictures of that.

Too Fast for Shirts!

  

We were all thinking it. :) JK!

Mansplaning going on here. 

Is that the Mayor drinking water? 

More mansplaining

Checking in with our lawyer 

Is that Billy?

And then there's this heartening moment of me and my old war buddy:

The thing is, I was not looking forward to the rest of the afternoon. We still had another 30-ish (bullsh!t) miles in this long-ass, hot-ass, hilly-ass, sore-ass, ass-ass ragby Friday.

So I decided to make a game for myself. I resolved to try to “ride myself sober.” I would just ride along and see how many miles it would take me to sober up.

Don’t worry, I am pretty good at drinky-biking, so I knew I could do it. My guess was about 17. There’s nothing like hills and pedaling and heat and the semi-empty roads of the afternoon to sober a gal up. And maybe, subconsciously, I was making a sacrifice to the ragby gods. I would get blitz-kegged, so that this day, this ragby, might be redeemed.

Perhaps.

What did happen is eventually I pried myself off the pavement and in an amazing feat of muscle memory, managed to get on my bike and pedal it eastward. Soon enough I was on my own and the challenge was on. Just how long would it take for me to come to my senses and return to my normal height?

Longer than you might think.

R16 63 When You Gotta Go

It's About Time to Get the Hell Out of Dodge

The beavers drank a lot of beer at the Copper Lantern back yard party. We had to. First, we had to wash the beaver-troubles out of our mouths and we had to get that party started. But when you drink a lot of beer, you have to go, well, you know.

Here's the problem. The kybos were way up the road. And there was a line (I bet). And they are kybos. Gross. And the bathrooms at the Copper Lantern were off limits. Or in a scary basement. I can't remember which. And, when you are on ragbrai, you just get used to going where you have to go, so corn fields, yards, and the occasional alley.

Steven and Masinga and I went out to the street and spotted a likely dumpster across the alley. Perfect. The streets were empty, all was quiet, so we tucked ourselves behind the dumpster and went pee. Steven and Masinga were just wrapping up, and I was mid-tinkle when we hear,

"What the fuck are you fucking doing? You can't pee there! My child just saw your fucking vagina, you disgusting freaks! Use the porta-potties! I am so sick of you fucking bikers!" And out of the seemingly quiet house across the street came streaking an angry, young blonde lady.

I know Steven is capable of diplomacy, and we both know that lady was right in being angry, but Steven, when yelled at, well, homey don't take no mess. If someone starts yelling at her she starts yell/mocking right back at them. You can take the girl out of the east side. I think her response was something along the times of, "oh get over it. Do you know how much money your town is making?"

Steven and Masinga get into a fight with this broad in the street, meanwhile I am desperately trying to finish and re-spandex as I hear her yell, "I'm going to call the fucking cops!"

Steven and Masinga, still a few steps ahead of me, were already walking across the street, and the lady was yelling at me. I think I responded with something like, "It's just pee. It's natural." Then I scurried back to the bar where I informed the team it was time to do a beaver-leaver.

We rallied to troops and decided to reconvene at LB's family shop anyway, and that is how we left the Copper Lantern and I tried to play it super cool, as we casually strolled back to our bikes. (Somewhere in here we met up with Crazy Eyed Jeff, still be-slung, with his wife, who did not seem impressed with the idea that her husband's name was "Crazy Eyed Jeff." Her eyes seemed perfectly normal, but what was confusing is that CEJ had a wife.)

I don't know if I have made this clear, but I was drunkety-drunk, drunk at this point. And things were not going to get any better.

As for the issue of free-peeing on Ragby, I get it. It's gross to pee in an alley. And I am not sure I would want my child watching drunk broads peeing in an alley. But it's not like it is every night. If ragby comes through this town every five years, is it that big of a deal? Of course, ragby wants us to be good ambassadors and not start any shenanigans, but we do drop a lot of money, and kybos are horrible. I'm not saying I am proud of it, I am just saying, when you gotta go...

R16 62 Slacker Sunday

College Jersey Day

Friday on ragby is usually "college jersey day." And on that day, all sorts of riders show their pride by wearing their college jerseys: Iowa, Iowa State, UNI, Drake, other colleges that aren't in Iowa. 

At Team Beaver, we had a bit of a dilemma. We would like to join in the fun, but we all went to different colleges. Good colleges like University of Iowa, and then other colleges, that are well, you know, Iowa State. Ugh. 

Years ago we had the idea to make TB college jerseys. We would come up with a logo and some cool text, and that would be the jersey we would wear every college jersey day from now until eternity. And because it was a jersey that we would and could be wearing until distance ragbrais in the future, why not make them nice? You know, invest in something decent? 

Nope. 

Instead of a TBIT (Team Beaver Institute of Technology) jersey that we could all wear with pride and joy, we got more shitty, shitty Purple Moon jerseys. At the low, low price of $40 a jersey. Don't get me wrong. They look good. Steven and her shanghiaed graphic designer did a marvelous job on the jersey. Unfortunately, for college jersey day from now until the end of time, we will be wearing TBIT jerseys with the tactile feel and breath-ability of a used condom. 

Masinga's face says it all.
FOB is wearing a cotton shirt under his to make it more comfortable.
What you can't see in this image is my arm fat being squeezed like toothpaste. 

Okay, axe officially ground. 

Moving on. The other thing that I didn't mention, was the best text message in ragbrai history. We arrived in Klinkersbury on Thursday and were set to meet the Deb at the halfway point. We paused outside of town to check our messages and found this cryptic beauty in the group messages: 

"Here I am, 

On the gravel, 

Here." 

Poetry. 

What we were supposed to interpret from that is, "go into town, stay straight and headed towards the cemetery. After the cemetery, turn right and looked for a field, with gravel roads, where all the vehicles are parked. Look for the beaver flag." 

Here I am. On the gravel. Here. 

R16 61 It Wasn't a Damn Party Until

Still in that one spot 

High Point: we went to the bar and we got the dance party started!

The bar where we had had our beaver spat was called the Copper Lattern, and out back was the dance party, so that is where we tromped. There were a few people back there but it was mostly volunteers waiting for the party to arrive. 

Hot tip: the party never arrives. You make the party! Whoop! So that is what we did. First things first (I'm a realist). We had to fix the music. The "dj" up on the stairs was doing a terrible job. He didn't seem to have a clue about what ragbraiers (aka us) like. So Steven and Pochy took control of the situation. They marched up there, and while Steven was sweet talking, Pochy plugged her phone into the DJ stand and put on her play list. 

Hey Mister DJ, you're doing it wrong. 

Much better. 

Then we had to sacrifice a virgin: Bandit, you're up. We dropped her in the middle of a pack of manthers and never looked back. 

Like a cute little bunny in the forest

Good, great! 

And then we danced, much to the delight of ourselves and the people in the beer garden, though not to the delight of the Mayor, who doesn't like to dance (if your friends don't dance...), and El Cap, who was still grumpy. 

Long beavers doing a dance

Check out the shirt on the guy behind me. Kindred. 

Having fun. Having fun. Having fun. Not having fun. 

But when you drink all the beers, and we drank a lot of them, well, then nature calls. And we went to answer. Unfortunately, we weren't the only beavers on the line.

R16 60 The Makings of a Meltdown

Just a few notes before I get started:

• I have officially ridden a bike 3 times in this calendar year. And only once broke my chain. Watch out June! I am coming for you. 
• I just want to give a big shout out to Pochy, who turned many many of my stupid iphone live photos into useable photos. I am trying to do that for myself now, and it is a huge pain in the biscuit. I promise that next year, I will not take live photos. 
• That iphone is still alive, thank you very much, but I am only second case. 
• We still need a driver. If we don't find one, we are going to have to each take a day off and drive. 

Sigourney, more like Sinngourney

Think about those maps that show the ragbrai elevation change. Usually as you get closer to the river, it goes up and down, up and down, up and down, but gradually more and more down, into that deep deep sweet mighty Miss. Keep that image in mind as I unfold for you the events of Friday afternoon. There were ups! There were downs, but it all was headed straight for a massive disaster at the end. 

Like I said, we decided to skip the reconvener when we got into Sigourney. LB had assured us that the garage was right on the route, so we could all just meet there. We had texted a few times asking for a street address, but cell communication is not good and we didn't get my intel. And that is how I found myself, with Masinga, riding through the mess of downtown Sigourney, past the mess, and to sketchy off the route Casey's parking lot. This didn't seem right. 

We checked in and got a quick text from Special K and El Cap: they were hanging at a bar on the corner of the square. We could find them there. So Masinga and I backtracked and headed over there. We found 'em, and we found a beer. And boy oh was El Cap in a mood. Apparently they had been waiting a long time for us to show up at the shop. LB and Pochy had been there, but they left. Then we got word from the Boss, the Mayor, Too Much and Bandit--they were at the garage and no one was there. 

Then LB found us at the bar. LB told us that, "well I thought you guys were going to be there by 1 and it's past that, so I left." Then we told B, M, TM and B that they should meet us at the bar. Which meant they had to salmon. Another grave departure from beaver policy. After a hair raising ride they arrived at the bar on the corner. By this point we were ALL in a mood. 

Current mood: sassy and red faced

• LB was annoyed that we hadn't been there on time.
• The Boss was annoyed that she had to salmon and no one was at the garage. 
• El Cap was annoyed because he was bored. 
• I was annoyed because El Cap was annoyed. 

The list went on and on. There was scarce a happy beaver in the bunch. But we got some drinks, and tired to talk it out like grown ups, and then we decided to make the best of things and head for the bar just down the hill from the current bar corner. It was time to dance it out. 

R16 59 Everyday (Okay Just this Day) We are Hustling

Friday midday

UUUUURRRRHHGGGGHHH

I wrote this blog, thought I published it, and then discovered that nope. Blank document. Here goes again. Apologies for the lack of photos. I just can't make that happen right now apparently.

We left the free beer stop at the top of the hill and headed towards Hayesville. This stretch of pavement is dead to my memory. Feel free to fill in the details. 

As a team, we decided to skip a town and head straight for the Backpocket lunch stop. This was just the beginning of us starting to skip out on protocol, but we were trying to make it to the LB family shop in Sigourney, so compromises had to be made. 

At Backpocket we found beer, grass, singing ladies, and hot beef sundaes. 

I really wish I could get this little 3 second movie to work because it features Biscuit tweedling the grass between his legs and giving a very saucy-Biscuit stare. 

It was a really idyllic stop and I was going to miss those hot beefs. 

Beavers reclining. 

LB stopped for a bit, but he was eager to get the party in Sigourney started, so he left us. And Pochs went with him, because she is a good wife. We said we would join them shortly. Just finish these beefs and on the road. 

And that was our intention, but then, of course: Team Good Beer, right at the turn. So, we pulled off, drank our beers in a hurry and then headed into the gray afternoon. It was 12:30, we were behind schedule, but we were trying. 

Finally, we saw Sigourney on the hill. We had made it. And then we broke another beaver protocol. We didn't do a reconvener. We didn't need one. We would just go to the LB family shop. It was right off the route...Right?

R16 58 The Ole Whip Creme Slapperino

Friyaay! 

How could we not leave Ottumwa rested and relaxed? After a glorious night in the country, we piled into trucks and headed back to the the salon to pick up the bikes, all freshly groomed and shampooed and ready for our penultimate day on the ragby.

It was cloudy and spitting rain as we followed the day boss into the streets of Ottumwa and found ragby as they were crossing the river and headed uphill and out of town. The climb out of Ottumwa was, as you might imagine, a bit of a mess. Just a long, somewhat steep hill, zig-zagging up, along residential streets with tons of day riders and the early morning crowd all bunched together. Creep, creep, creep, dodge a guy who broke a derailleur. You can imagine. 

Cresting the hill, I passed a park and spotted a cyclist on a swing set, flying high into the sky, as gleefully as a child: oh people in spandex doing things. Up and down up and down we wound our way out of Ottumwa and were finally in the countryside beyond. It didn't take too long before we came across our breakfast friends and our first free beer of the day. Somewhere along the lines, Pochy had procured a tick bite, or maybe poison ivy, and we had the brilliant idea to put a sharpie ring around the boundary, so we could keep track of the swelling. And make sure it wasn't small pox. This was also Koz's last day with us, because he was eager to get home to his new kitty, Boner Tittie Fuuchar. 

Into the gray of the mid-morning we continued, until the road flattened out and stretched out and we found ourselves in empty countryside. We turned to the left to get to the town of Hedrick, and outside of a shop on the outskirts of town, I found the beavers--slightly damp from the misty morning, but happy to report a fabulous free beer stop. 

Boy were they right! Inside the shop were coolers full of beer and jello-shots, complete with whipped topping. There were tables, music, and tiny tractors. It was strange and pretty fantastic. And it was there we discovered one of the more impressive talents by our little Beaver Bandit: 

The Whipped Creme Slapperino!

A. Maze. Ing.

She taught Masinga and the Boss how to slapperino, and we had to shake off the attentions of a strange skin belted man, and we did some singing and some cheering and lots of beer and jello shot drinking.

And then we stepped outside into a drizzly Friday morning. All grouped up, we got in line and headed east until we turned into the road which shall forever be known as “You Didn’t Want to Feel Your Genitals Ever Again, Right? Road.” It was the bumpiest, crackiest, holy hot mess of a road that I have been on in a long time. Combine that with a healthy dose of rain, on coming semi trucks, hills, and lots and lots of riders and it was a bib-changer of a ride.

Ouchie. 

Our new Fireball friend...

Eventually we mounted a large hill and found the beavers happily tucking into a free beer and some heckling. Up there, we met a new friend: Ten Dollar Tom. I don’t recall exactly why he was called that. Perhaps because we convinced him to donate $10? Or perhaps because that is all the money that he had for the rest of the day? He was one of those riders that seemed geniuinely surprised and delighted by the possibility of having a mid-morning beer stop with a bunch of knuckle heads like us.

$10 Tom! 

And then we had to roll on. We actually were on a bit of a schedule this day, though the beer stops would hurt our progress. LB told us of his family who lived in Sigourney. They had a shop and were eager to host us when we arrived in town, but we needed to get there by 1pm. Once there, we would be showered with beers and snacks and good times! So, we wrapped it up and rattled onward.

Little did we know how much beer and fun and mayhem would befall us before the end of the day.