| Riding RAGBRAI |
| Day Two - Harlan to Jefferson Monday, July 21st 83 miles; 5,239 feet of climbing |
| Elk Horn claims to be the largest rural Danish community in the U.S. |
As with the previous night in Missouri Valley, the early morning
storms stayed north of Harlan and left only some minor wind
damage in and around town. Our day began much the same as the
previous morning, with a heavy concentration of riders leaving
town around 7:00 a.m. At 83 miles, Monday's ride would be the
longest of the week. The route could be made even longer by
riding an extra 17 mile loop that would bring total mileage to 100
for the day. Roadies call this a "Century Ride." However, this
extra loop came just 4 miles into the ride. Sure, your legs would
feel fresh then, but what about 75 miles later? Larry and Matt
and most of the rest of the team were determined that Monday
would be a Century day. I wasn't so sure. My right knee had
been bothering me off and on since my final 50-mile training ride
on my mountain bike the previous Friday. When the "Karras Loop"
cutoff came, Larry and Matt awaited my decision. "Not gonna
happen," I said. Guess I'm too old to sacrifice my body for
glory, and in the end I was glad.
From there I rode by myself to Kimballton, where I stopped for
biscuits and gravy just like the kind Aunt Arlene serves at the
Stockland Cafe. Three miles later was Elk Horn, a Danish
settlement famous for its windmill imported from Denmark and
reconstructed in the center of town. Authentic Vikings in full-on
battle gear were posing for pictures with the RAGBRAI'ers and
high-fiving anyone with a free hand. While I waited for Matt
and Larry to catch up from their extra miles, the Vikings
decided to demonstrate how a typical charge would begin on the
battlefield, which consisted of aggressively smacking their large
sword/spear things against thick wooden shields. The Vikings
suddenly turned from harmless to bowel-lightening scary. Then
the shield-banging ended, high-fives from the Vikings resumed,
and all was RAGBRAI-ish again.
After meeting up with me in Elk Horn, Larry and Matt set
another aggressive pace and slowly disappeared out of sight. In
Coon Rapids, they had a delicious rib eye sandwich waiting for
me. Climbing out of the Raccoon River (middle branch) valley, the
two sprinted up a long climb and were quickly out of sight once
again. The previous night's wind gusts were obvious, with trees
down along the roadsides. Cutting crews had just barely removed
fallen branches in advance of the bike riders. A local gal viewing
the biker entourage from her home mentioned that winds gusted
to 80 mph. A couple miles later, an empty grain bin had blown off
its foundation and was lying in a ditch on the left side of the
road. Its drying fans settled in the opposite ditch. Many acres
of corn were blown over, leaving what will surely be a challenging
harvest. Once again, we'd dodged serious storms.
Scranton was the last town before Jefferson, 71 miles into my
ride. The final 10-mile stretch was typical of most of the riding
up to that point: straight into a headwind. My theory that
westerly tailwinds would push us all the way to the Mississippi
was proving to be about as reliable as a corn futures price
projection. I lumbered into Jefferson, thankful I'd passed on the
Karras Loop. The rest of the team could have their glory - and
their sore knees.
Had I ridden those extra 17 miles, it's likely I would have been
caught in the same heavy thunderstorm near Scranton that
drenched several team members, including our elder statesman
Ted Frank. Ted is a 67-year-old grandfather of three and a
semi-retired attorney at the law firm of Arnold & Porter in
Washington D.C. His riding pace was as steady as his
determination to ride every mile of his first RAGBRAI. When he
arrived at the county road just south of Scranton that is a
direct east-west link to Jefferson, law enforcement were
directing riders to this road, instead of the meandering
storms stayed north of Harlan and left only some minor wind
damage in and around town. Our day began much the same as the
previous morning, with a heavy concentration of riders leaving
town around 7:00 a.m. At 83 miles, Monday's ride would be the
longest of the week. The route could be made even longer by
riding an extra 17 mile loop that would bring total mileage to 100
for the day. Roadies call this a "Century Ride." However, this
extra loop came just 4 miles into the ride. Sure, your legs would
feel fresh then, but what about 75 miles later? Larry and Matt
and most of the rest of the team were determined that Monday
would be a Century day. I wasn't so sure. My right knee had
been bothering me off and on since my final 50-mile training ride
on my mountain bike the previous Friday. When the "Karras Loop"
cutoff came, Larry and Matt awaited my decision. "Not gonna
happen," I said. Guess I'm too old to sacrifice my body for
glory, and in the end I was glad.
From there I rode by myself to Kimballton, where I stopped for
biscuits and gravy just like the kind Aunt Arlene serves at the
Stockland Cafe. Three miles later was Elk Horn, a Danish
settlement famous for its windmill imported from Denmark and
reconstructed in the center of town. Authentic Vikings in full-on
battle gear were posing for pictures with the RAGBRAI'ers and
high-fiving anyone with a free hand. While I waited for Matt
and Larry to catch up from their extra miles, the Vikings
decided to demonstrate how a typical charge would begin on the
battlefield, which consisted of aggressively smacking their large
sword/spear things against thick wooden shields. The Vikings
suddenly turned from harmless to bowel-lightening scary. Then
the shield-banging ended, high-fives from the Vikings resumed,
and all was RAGBRAI-ish again.
After meeting up with me in Elk Horn, Larry and Matt set
another aggressive pace and slowly disappeared out of sight. In
Coon Rapids, they had a delicious rib eye sandwich waiting for
me. Climbing out of the Raccoon River (middle branch) valley, the
two sprinted up a long climb and were quickly out of sight once
again. The previous night's wind gusts were obvious, with trees
down along the roadsides. Cutting crews had just barely removed
fallen branches in advance of the bike riders. A local gal viewing
the biker entourage from her home mentioned that winds gusted
to 80 mph. A couple miles later, an empty grain bin had blown off
its foundation and was lying in a ditch on the left side of the
road. Its drying fans settled in the opposite ditch. Many acres
of corn were blown over, leaving what will surely be a challenging
harvest. Once again, we'd dodged serious storms.
Scranton was the last town before Jefferson, 71 miles into my
ride. The final 10-mile stretch was typical of most of the riding
up to that point: straight into a headwind. My theory that
westerly tailwinds would push us all the way to the Mississippi
was proving to be about as reliable as a corn futures price
projection. I lumbered into Jefferson, thankful I'd passed on the
Karras Loop. The rest of the team could have their glory - and
their sore knees.
Had I ridden those extra 17 miles, it's likely I would have been
caught in the same heavy thunderstorm near Scranton that
drenched several team members, including our elder statesman
Ted Frank. Ted is a 67-year-old grandfather of three and a
semi-retired attorney at the law firm of Arnold & Porter in
Washington D.C. His riding pace was as steady as his
determination to ride every mile of his first RAGBRAI. When he
arrived at the county road just south of Scranton that is a
direct east-west link to Jefferson, law enforcement were
directing riders to this road, instead of the meandering
| This 60-foot windmill was brought over from Denmark and reconstructed here in 1975. The Vikings were a nice touch. |
| RAGBRAI is both a cultural and a fashion experience. |
| Main Street in Exira |
RAGBRAI route through Scranton. When Ted and other Joyriders arrived in Jefferson, they brought reports of riders
struck by lightening. Turns out those riders had only felt an indirect jolt from a nearby strike, but it was scary
nonetheless.
Bob Mahoney, our host in Harlan, had done us a huge favor by arranging for a spot to park our RV and pitch tents in
Jefferson. The Jefferson housing committee was unable to find us a host family that night, so we were prepared to park
out in the fairgrounds on the east side of town. The address was the home of the owner of Wet Goods Bar & Grill in
downtown Jefferson, who had some connection to the Mahoney's neighbors in Harlan. Our driver, Marlene, had done an
excellent job of scaring off another team's bus that had tried to stake out our spot on the street next to the house,
and she had the RV all set up for us with cold Gatorade and beer. We didn't have access to the inside of the house, but
a community center with showers was 2 blocks away.
That night, we had more spaghetti at a local church and checked out the town square. One of the best cover bands I've
heard in a long time was playing that night - the Johnny Holm Band. As was fairly typical of most evenings at RAGBRAI,
the locals made up about half of the crowd, while many of the bike riders retired early to get a good night's sleep.
Longest day I've ever done on a bicycle, in the books.
Read More....
struck by lightening. Turns out those riders had only felt an indirect jolt from a nearby strike, but it was scary
nonetheless.
Bob Mahoney, our host in Harlan, had done us a huge favor by arranging for a spot to park our RV and pitch tents in
Jefferson. The Jefferson housing committee was unable to find us a host family that night, so we were prepared to park
out in the fairgrounds on the east side of town. The address was the home of the owner of Wet Goods Bar & Grill in
downtown Jefferson, who had some connection to the Mahoney's neighbors in Harlan. Our driver, Marlene, had done an
excellent job of scaring off another team's bus that had tried to stake out our spot on the street next to the house,
and she had the RV all set up for us with cold Gatorade and beer. We didn't have access to the inside of the house, but
a community center with showers was 2 blocks away.
That night, we had more spaghetti at a local church and checked out the town square. One of the best cover bands I've
heard in a long time was playing that night - the Johnny Holm Band. As was fairly typical of most evenings at RAGBRAI,
the locals made up about half of the crowd, while many of the bike riders retired early to get a good night's sleep.
Longest day I've ever done on a bicycle, in the books.
Read More....
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