| Riding RAGBRAI |
The team concept of RAGBRAI might suggest that it's a race, but it's not. Signing up as a team is just a way to
guaranty yourself a spot in the big ride and gain access to all the benefits that come with receiving an official RAGBRAI
wrist band (discounted prices on pie, primarily, and free entry into beer gardens). Each year entries are limited to
10,000 riders, but applications always exceed that number. A lottery system determines who gets in when there's too
many applications. However, by RAGBRAI tradition, priority is granted to team applications. Almost every team that
applies will win the lottery and receive a set of wrist bands for its members - potentially at the expense of the
individual applications.
Team Joyride was made up of nine guys and one gal (our RV driver, Marlene) who were all loosely connected in one way or
another. The common link was banking and law - we all had connections to one or the other. I had worked with two of
the team members at a bank in St. Louis; one of them now works with another team member who's originally from Rock
Rapids, which has been a starting point for RAGBRAI on a few occasions; his mother, Marlene, was our "designated
driver" of the RV. About half the team was from the St. Louis area; three were from Washington D.C.; I was the lone
Chicago resident. Somewhere in the team's 6 degrees of separation was an ex-wife of one team member who was a
sibling of another team member. All of us were over 30 years old; four of us were RAGBRAI first timers.
guaranty yourself a spot in the big ride and gain access to all the benefits that come with receiving an official RAGBRAI
wrist band (discounted prices on pie, primarily, and free entry into beer gardens). Each year entries are limited to
10,000 riders, but applications always exceed that number. A lottery system determines who gets in when there's too
many applications. However, by RAGBRAI tradition, priority is granted to team applications. Almost every team that
applies will win the lottery and receive a set of wrist bands for its members - potentially at the expense of the
individual applications.
Team Joyride was made up of nine guys and one gal (our RV driver, Marlene) who were all loosely connected in one way or
another. The common link was banking and law - we all had connections to one or the other. I had worked with two of
the team members at a bank in St. Louis; one of them now works with another team member who's originally from Rock
Rapids, which has been a starting point for RAGBRAI on a few occasions; his mother, Marlene, was our "designated
driver" of the RV. About half the team was from the St. Louis area; three were from Washington D.C.; I was the lone
Chicago resident. Somewhere in the team's 6 degrees of separation was an ex-wife of one team member who was a
sibling of another team member. All of us were over 30 years old; four of us were RAGBRAI first timers.
Our host family, Bret and Adele Hoss, had given Team Joyride
and several other riders access to their yard for camping. After
setting up tents and eating dinner at a restaurant up the street,
we rode our bikes into downtown Missouri Valley to enjoy our
first night of entertainment at the beer garden. In the
category of Worst Idea Ever, a local business handed out free
Frisbees inside the beer garden. Ever wondered what happens
when you give drunk people Frisbees? That's right...within
minutes, about 100 Frisbees were flying through the beer
garden, whacking heads from all angles.
While the Frisbees flew, another St. Louis-based team stopped
by to visit. Team Numb Nutz had their own matching green
t-shirts and one of the most literal team names in all of
RAGBRAI. As one would expect, they were all dudes.
While a local band struggled with power problems, another
potential electrical dilemma appeared. Strong thunderstorms to
the north produced one heck of a light show as we retreated
back to our tents. Matt Kavan brought out his iPhone to check
the radar, which suggested the worst of the rain would stay to
the north. Even so, we prepared for storms and settled in for a
humid night's sleep. The rain stayed away, but trains on the
Union Pacific main line rumbled through town every 20 minutes. I
slept about 3 hours.
and several other riders access to their yard for camping. After
setting up tents and eating dinner at a restaurant up the street,
we rode our bikes into downtown Missouri Valley to enjoy our
first night of entertainment at the beer garden. In the
category of Worst Idea Ever, a local business handed out free
Frisbees inside the beer garden. Ever wondered what happens
when you give drunk people Frisbees? That's right...within
minutes, about 100 Frisbees were flying through the beer
garden, whacking heads from all angles.
While the Frisbees flew, another St. Louis-based team stopped
by to visit. Team Numb Nutz had their own matching green
t-shirts and one of the most literal team names in all of
RAGBRAI. As one would expect, they were all dudes.
While a local band struggled with power problems, another
potential electrical dilemma appeared. Strong thunderstorms to
the north produced one heck of a light show as we retreated
back to our tents. Matt Kavan brought out his iPhone to check
the radar, which suggested the worst of the rain would stay to
the north. Even so, we prepared for storms and settled in for a
humid night's sleep. The rain stayed away, but trains on the
Union Pacific main line rumbled through town every 20 minutes. I
slept about 3 hours.
| Ron Schechter, a Team Joyride veteran, ready to ride in Missouri Valley with a salute to the team's former RV driver, who passed away last year (the "JN" sticker on his helmet). |
| We camped next to chickens near Missouri Valley. |
| Larry (left) and Matt would draft for me all day. |
| Creative entrance to Shelby. |
| Had my first piece of Iowa pie in Shelby. It was glorious. |
| Day One - Missouri Valley to Harlan Sunday, July 20th 59 miles; 3797 feet of climbing |
RAGBRAI'ers, by nature, are early risers. When I crawled out
of my tent on Sunday morning at 6:00 a.m., a steady stream of
bike riders were already on the road. The Hoss property was
just opposite the first turn that took riders out into the
country, giving us full view of hundreds of oncoming bicycles.
Riders were 5-wide across both lanes, one row after another.
An hour later, I was packed up and ready to ride.
Matt and I took off together at a slow pace, in an effort to
acclimate ourselves to riding in a tight formation with such a
large number of bikers. The pack of riders used both lanes of a
rural county road as we headed into the sun. Bikes were visible
all the way to the horizon, with no significant gaps between
riders anywhere on the road. Riding in such close proximity to so
many other bikes was completely new to me. My training rides
had been solo, and this was downright scary. At times, my front
tire was inches from bikes in front of me. I had seen Tour de
France footage of one guy crashing and causing 50 other guys to
pile up behind him, and this had the same potential.
The first few miles were relatively flat until we began a slow
climb out of the low area that gives Missouri Valley its name.
Faster riders were using the far left edge of pavement to cruise
by slower riders, and soon Matt and I decided to do the same.
Once we climbed out of the valley, we found the endless hills
that make up Western Iowa. Half-mile climb; half-mile
descent, over and over again. Ten miles per hour on the way up;
30 mph on the way down. I soon discovered Matt's hill climbing
prowess, developed in the couple years he'd lived in San Diego.
He has the strong legs of a sprinter.
Our first of many slowdowns came at a roadside vendor's coffee
establishment, then another at a pancake breakfast set up at a
tiny town called Beebeetown. Huge groups were lined up waiting
for food and drink, with their bikes scattered all over grass
yards. The bottleneck of riders pulling over was enough to slow
our progress to a crawl, during the minute or two it took us to
pass through the crowd. I was hungry for some pancakes, but
those lines were way too long.
As we continued towards Underwood, the second town on the
route, roadie shout-outs were constant and repetitive. Some
examples:
Car Up: a warning of an oncoming car, truck, or any vehicle that
isn't a bicycle.
Car Back: a warning of an automobile approaching from behind.
Slowing: a warning that a group of riders ahead is slowing down.
Stopping: a warning that a group of riders ahead is slowing to a
complete stop.
Rumble: a warning that rumble strips in the pavement are
approaching.
Rider Up: a warning of an oncoming bicyclist.
As any of these situations became eminent, a rider would shout
out the warning, followed by about 100 identical shouts by
riders behind the person who issued the initial warning. I would
later discover that these warnings come earliest, most often,
and at the highest decibel levels when riders have the most
energy. Later in the week, the shout-outs would be fewer and
with less volume, but our morning ride out of Missouri Valley
of my tent on Sunday morning at 6:00 a.m., a steady stream of
bike riders were already on the road. The Hoss property was
just opposite the first turn that took riders out into the
country, giving us full view of hundreds of oncoming bicycles.
Riders were 5-wide across both lanes, one row after another.
An hour later, I was packed up and ready to ride.
Matt and I took off together at a slow pace, in an effort to
acclimate ourselves to riding in a tight formation with such a
large number of bikers. The pack of riders used both lanes of a
rural county road as we headed into the sun. Bikes were visible
all the way to the horizon, with no significant gaps between
riders anywhere on the road. Riding in such close proximity to so
many other bikes was completely new to me. My training rides
had been solo, and this was downright scary. At times, my front
tire was inches from bikes in front of me. I had seen Tour de
France footage of one guy crashing and causing 50 other guys to
pile up behind him, and this had the same potential.
The first few miles were relatively flat until we began a slow
climb out of the low area that gives Missouri Valley its name.
Faster riders were using the far left edge of pavement to cruise
by slower riders, and soon Matt and I decided to do the same.
Once we climbed out of the valley, we found the endless hills
that make up Western Iowa. Half-mile climb; half-mile
descent, over and over again. Ten miles per hour on the way up;
30 mph on the way down. I soon discovered Matt's hill climbing
prowess, developed in the couple years he'd lived in San Diego.
He has the strong legs of a sprinter.
Our first of many slowdowns came at a roadside vendor's coffee
establishment, then another at a pancake breakfast set up at a
tiny town called Beebeetown. Huge groups were lined up waiting
for food and drink, with their bikes scattered all over grass
yards. The bottleneck of riders pulling over was enough to slow
our progress to a crawl, during the minute or two it took us to
pass through the crowd. I was hungry for some pancakes, but
those lines were way too long.
As we continued towards Underwood, the second town on the
route, roadie shout-outs were constant and repetitive. Some
examples:
Car Up: a warning of an oncoming car, truck, or any vehicle that
isn't a bicycle.
Car Back: a warning of an automobile approaching from behind.
Slowing: a warning that a group of riders ahead is slowing down.
Stopping: a warning that a group of riders ahead is slowing to a
complete stop.
Rumble: a warning that rumble strips in the pavement are
approaching.
Rider Up: a warning of an oncoming bicyclist.
As any of these situations became eminent, a rider would shout
out the warning, followed by about 100 identical shouts by
riders behind the person who issued the initial warning. I would
later discover that these warnings come earliest, most often,
and at the highest decibel levels when riders have the most
energy. Later in the week, the shout-outs would be fewer and
with less volume, but our morning ride out of Missouri Valley
came with a constant screaming of every possible dangerous situation. Typical roadie chatter on the first day of a group
ride:
Rider #1, 100 yards ahead: "CAR UP!!!"
Rider #2, 97 yards ahead: "CAR UP!!!"
Riders #3-18, 30-90 yards ahead, in unison: "CAR UP!!!"
Riders #19-54, 25 yards ahead of and behind me, in unison: "CAR UP!!!"
[riders move into right lane and car slowly passes by]
[fruit smoothie roadside stand approaches]
Rider #1, 25 yards ahead: "SLOWING!!!"
Riders #2-15, within 15 feet of me: "Slooooooo-WING!!!"
At one point I felt like shouting "I GOT EYES, SO SHUT IT, ALREADY!!!" But of course, that would have violated roadie
etiquette in the same way as driving a golf cart over a tee box, so I held my tongue. But I sure was tempted.
Later in the morning, Larry Baerveldt caught up to us, and thus began my lessons in riding in a pace line. As I mentioned,
RAGBRAI is not a race, at least when you're riding by yourself. Put two or more guys together, though, and now you're
racing. Matt and Larry wanted the three of us to draft each other and run together with about 4 inches separating our
tires. That, after all, is how speed is maximized in a pace line. The lead rider sprints as long as his legs will allow, then
lets another rider take over the lead so he can ride in the back of the pack without a headwind. I hadn't yet mastered
the art of placing my front tire so close to a rider in front of me while traveling at 20 mph, and thus was not receiving
the full benefit of drafting. Larry politely reminded me to "hold that wheel" until he couldn't take it anymore and
assumed my position behind Matt. I fell in behind the two and they slowly gapped me when I couldn't maintain their pace.
At various points along the road, Larry and Matt were kind enough to wait patiently for me to catch up. The hills made
all the difference - those two were simply flying up them, then coasting at 40 mph on the downside. Eventually we all
met up just ahead of Shelby and stopped in the town for our first piece of pie. As expected, it was exceptional.
Sixteen miles later, we arrived at our first overnight stop in Harlan. We'd secured the front yard of Bob and Becky
Mahoney, a couple in their mid-thirties with 3 energetic sons and a large old house. Harlan's wide streets and large old
houses reminded me of Watseka, the county seat of Iroquois County where I grew up in Illinois. Bob is a career Navy
guy working out of the joint Air Force/Navy command near Omaha; Becky works for the local elementary school. Lunch
was provided when we arrived, as was ongoing entertainment from their boys. We showered in their house, had spaghetti
on the courthouse lawn, and pitched tents in their front yard. The Mahoney's are good people.
In today's wireless age, a recurring issue for most RAGBRAI'ers is recharging batteries for a nearly endless number of
electronic gadgets. The Mahoney's house was littered with chargers plugged into every available electrical outlet. During
the evening, one of these devices, a cell phone, began ringing on the front porch. The phone belonged to a hog farmer
named Jay, who was tagging along with Team Joyride for the first two days of riding and then heading back home to
Northwest Iowa on Tuesday. The call was from the local fire/rescue service, who had sold Jay a raffle ticket for a new
bicycle. When Jay learned his ticket was a winner, he hung up the phone and sprinted - to where, we didn't know. The
only words we could make out were "I won a bike!" Thirty minutes later, a sweat-soaked Jay returned with a new
Specialized road bike. Good night for Jay.
Around 2:30 the next morning, we awoke to police cruisers warning of high winds approaching. We quickly took down the
tents and moved indoors. The Mahoney's dining room floor was my bed for the rest of the night.
Read More....
ride:
Rider #1, 100 yards ahead: "CAR UP!!!"
Rider #2, 97 yards ahead: "CAR UP!!!"
Riders #3-18, 30-90 yards ahead, in unison: "CAR UP!!!"
Riders #19-54, 25 yards ahead of and behind me, in unison: "CAR UP!!!"
[riders move into right lane and car slowly passes by]
[fruit smoothie roadside stand approaches]
Rider #1, 25 yards ahead: "SLOWING!!!"
Riders #2-15, within 15 feet of me: "Slooooooo-WING!!!"
At one point I felt like shouting "I GOT EYES, SO SHUT IT, ALREADY!!!" But of course, that would have violated roadie
etiquette in the same way as driving a golf cart over a tee box, so I held my tongue. But I sure was tempted.
Later in the morning, Larry Baerveldt caught up to us, and thus began my lessons in riding in a pace line. As I mentioned,
RAGBRAI is not a race, at least when you're riding by yourself. Put two or more guys together, though, and now you're
racing. Matt and Larry wanted the three of us to draft each other and run together with about 4 inches separating our
tires. That, after all, is how speed is maximized in a pace line. The lead rider sprints as long as his legs will allow, then
lets another rider take over the lead so he can ride in the back of the pack without a headwind. I hadn't yet mastered
the art of placing my front tire so close to a rider in front of me while traveling at 20 mph, and thus was not receiving
the full benefit of drafting. Larry politely reminded me to "hold that wheel" until he couldn't take it anymore and
assumed my position behind Matt. I fell in behind the two and they slowly gapped me when I couldn't maintain their pace.
At various points along the road, Larry and Matt were kind enough to wait patiently for me to catch up. The hills made
all the difference - those two were simply flying up them, then coasting at 40 mph on the downside. Eventually we all
met up just ahead of Shelby and stopped in the town for our first piece of pie. As expected, it was exceptional.
Sixteen miles later, we arrived at our first overnight stop in Harlan. We'd secured the front yard of Bob and Becky
Mahoney, a couple in their mid-thirties with 3 energetic sons and a large old house. Harlan's wide streets and large old
houses reminded me of Watseka, the county seat of Iroquois County where I grew up in Illinois. Bob is a career Navy
guy working out of the joint Air Force/Navy command near Omaha; Becky works for the local elementary school. Lunch
was provided when we arrived, as was ongoing entertainment from their boys. We showered in their house, had spaghetti
on the courthouse lawn, and pitched tents in their front yard. The Mahoney's are good people.
In today's wireless age, a recurring issue for most RAGBRAI'ers is recharging batteries for a nearly endless number of
electronic gadgets. The Mahoney's house was littered with chargers plugged into every available electrical outlet. During
the evening, one of these devices, a cell phone, began ringing on the front porch. The phone belonged to a hog farmer
named Jay, who was tagging along with Team Joyride for the first two days of riding and then heading back home to
Northwest Iowa on Tuesday. The call was from the local fire/rescue service, who had sold Jay a raffle ticket for a new
bicycle. When Jay learned his ticket was a winner, he hung up the phone and sprinted - to where, we didn't know. The
only words we could make out were "I won a bike!" Thirty minutes later, a sweat-soaked Jay returned with a new
Specialized road bike. Good night for Jay.
Around 2:30 the next morning, we awoke to police cruisers warning of high winds approaching. We quickly took down the
tents and moved indoors. The Mahoney's dining room floor was my bed for the rest of the night.
Read More....
| Travel Day Meeting Town - Missouri Valley Saturday, July 19th |
On Saturday morning I flew to Omaha and hitched a ride to Missouri Valley from Pork Belly Ventures, a charter service
for the "in between'ers" who usually aren't part of a team but want a little extra support during the week. All I needed
was a ride from the airport, but the Pork Belly folks will provide tents, they'll pack up your stuff and have it ready
when you arrive in the next overnight town (complete with a tent already set up and waiting), and they even provide
showers, laundry service, food, and their own evening entertainment. As the Pork Belly bus approached Missouri Valley, I
got my first glimpse of just how huge RAGBRAI is. On the outskirts of town were hundreds of cars, trucks, and motor
homes, all slowly making their way down the main road to the high school that served as RAGBRAI headquarters. The
further we progressed into town, the number of tents increased exponentially. They were set up anywhere with grass
and a relatively flat surface. Campers, RV's, and old, colorfully painted school buses were parked on every side street.
When we arrived at the high school athletic field, I could see nothing but tents.
My bike was waiting for me in its box at a FedEx collection area outside the Missouri Valley middle school. Next to the
middle school was the RAGBRAI expo that would follow us to every overnight town. Anything related to bikes -
equipment, clothing, complete bicycles, on-site bike mechanics - was all there. I collected my belongings and called Larry
Baerveldt, who brought over the RV to pick me up. Although I'd known Larry and another team member, Matt Kavan,
from my days at US Bank in St. Louis, I was meeting most of Team Joyride in person for the first time.
for the "in between'ers" who usually aren't part of a team but want a little extra support during the week. All I needed
was a ride from the airport, but the Pork Belly folks will provide tents, they'll pack up your stuff and have it ready
when you arrive in the next overnight town (complete with a tent already set up and waiting), and they even provide
showers, laundry service, food, and their own evening entertainment. As the Pork Belly bus approached Missouri Valley, I
got my first glimpse of just how huge RAGBRAI is. On the outskirts of town were hundreds of cars, trucks, and motor
homes, all slowly making their way down the main road to the high school that served as RAGBRAI headquarters. The
further we progressed into town, the number of tents increased exponentially. They were set up anywhere with grass
and a relatively flat surface. Campers, RV's, and old, colorfully painted school buses were parked on every side street.
When we arrived at the high school athletic field, I could see nothing but tents.
My bike was waiting for me in its box at a FedEx collection area outside the Missouri Valley middle school. Next to the
middle school was the RAGBRAI expo that would follow us to every overnight town. Anything related to bikes -
equipment, clothing, complete bicycles, on-site bike mechanics - was all there. I collected my belongings and called Larry
Baerveldt, who brought over the RV to pick me up. Although I'd known Larry and another team member, Matt Kavan,
from my days at US Bank in St. Louis, I was meeting most of Team Joyride in person for the first time.
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