| Riding RAGBRAI |
| Day Four - Ames to Tama/Toledo Wednesday, July 23rd 78 miles; 2,869 feet of climbing |
| The legendary Mr. Pork Chop and his roadside stand has been part of RAGBRAI for more than 25 years. For $6 you get a huge Iowa chop wrapped in a paper towel. That's it - eat with your hands. Massive grills are fired with corn cobs which are stored in the pink bus. Every day Mr. Pork Chop always sets up at the top of a long hill, and the smoke from the grills can be seen a mile away. |
The morning we left Ames, Larry and Matt decided we should
ride very quickly to State Center, which was designated as that
day's Meeting Town. Every day's route had a meeting town,
which was a nice place to get off your bike for awhile and meet
up with whoever you felt like meeting with that day. On
Wednesday, the meeting town of State Center was a 27-mile
ride from Ames, into a moderate headwind. We made it there in
about an hour and 20 minutes, and that included slow rides
through Nevada and Colo. How did we do it? Simple. We formed
a pace line.
The essence of a pace line is a handful of bikers riding in a tight
single file formation. Riders draft off the leader and take turns
breaking the wind for the others, like geese flying south for the
winter. After 3 days on the road, I'd developed enough comfort
in group riding that I could put my front wheel a few inches from
the rear wheel of the guy ahead of me and keep it there for
extended periods. I'd also found my sprinter's legs, which made
it possible to keep up with Matt and Larry, at least when they
were drafting for me.
Matt led the charge to State Center. When I worked at US
Bank in St. Louis, Matt was an analyst in the Capital Markets
group. He later transferred to US Bank's San Diego branch and
spent a couple years there honing his roadie skills. This year
Matt moved back to St. Louis to work for a different company
and reconnected with former US Bank colleague Larry Baerveldt,
who by way of Darren Van't Hof (a current US Bank guy who
works with Larry), was introduced to RAGBRAI. Matt has
sprinter legs and is the perfect guy for establishing a blistering
pace. Larry and I would relieve him for short periods, then fall
back in line when Matt's legs were rested.
During those 27 miles, I guessed we were passing 200 riders
every mile, and nobody was passing us. We rarely strayed far
from the outer edge of the left lane, shouting "On your left!"
about every 10 seconds. The flatter terrain of the eastern half
of Iowa was working to our advantage as we closed in on State
Center, but I cannot recall a single significant sight during our
fast ride, other than the rear tire in front of me. If you want
to ride fast, a pace line is the way to go. But if you want to
take in the scenery, it won't happen in a pace line.
State Center was a nice little town where we parked our bikes,
strolled up and down main street, and then proceeded toward
Albion. As we left town, I could sense trouble in my right knee.
The pain that came during my final training ride the week before
was now slowing me considerably. Larry and Matt pulled away
while I rode at a snail's pace. I couldn't use my knee for
anything - pedaling, standing, or walking - without pain.
Ibuprofen was ineffective, as was using only my left leg to
pedal. The pedaling motion itself was too much. I'd pedal a
couple revolutions with my left leg, coast for 30 feet, and do it
again. The only riders I passed were parked on the side of the
road, and this continued for a couple hours.
As I approached Le Grand, the next-to-last town before
Tama/Toledo, the pain finally subsided a bit. I could at least
tolerate the pedaling motion in my right knee, even if my left leg
was doing all the work. I cut off the route where it detoured
into Le Grand and headed straight down a hill to cross the Union
Pacific railroad tracks that we'd been loosely following most of
the week. The crossing was rough at 15 mph, enough to loudly
jostle my camera and cell phone inside a small bike-mounted bag
I'd bought in Missouri Valley. Shortly after the railroad
crossing, a guy came up from behind and asked if I'd dropped my
cell phone. Uh-oh. No cell phone in the bag, whose drawstring
closure wasn't drawn. I turned around and navigated my way
through about 100 riders cruising down the hill at speed and
asked a Union Pacific safety officer, on hand to make sure we
crossed the tracks without incident, if he saw a cell phone. He
had, in fact, seen a cell phone, which he produced from his
vehicle parked on the side of the road. It looked exactly like my
company-issued cell phone, except it was now in two pieces and
completely useless. I quickly assessed the impact of this
unfortunate incident:
Downside #1: I had no cell phone for the rest of the week.
Downside #2: It was Verizon service, about the only cell
provider with reliable coverage across Iowa.
Downside #3: My backup personal cell phone was the one item
I'd forgotten to pack for the trip.
Upside #1: I still had voice mail.
Upside #2: The company that issued the phone had fired me the
month before. So I didn't really give a shit. I was just happy I
got a month's worth of free cell phone service.
The final 15 miles were much easier with partial use of my right
knee. As I neared Tama, the effects of major flooding in May
and June were still evident along the Iowa River. Most low lying
areas were still swamps.
In Tama, I had a general idea of where we would be staying
that night. The day before, Marlene had secured our use of a
vacant efficiency apartment in Tama's "twin city" of Toledo. I
headed for the RAGBRAI information center to check on the
address, when Larry and Matt happened by on their way out of
the info center. I probably could have found the place on my
own, but Larry and Matt had it already figured out. We located
Marlene and the RV parked two blocks from the main square in
Toledo, where the entertainment events of the evening were to
take place.
Toledo and Tama were the most working class of the overnight
towns on the RAGBRAI route, or at least they gave off that
vibe. Our efficiency apartment was part of an old house that
had been divided into rental units. When we arrived, the
upstairs unit was serving as party headquarters for a group of
young dudes ready to hit the town. As Art Lindo aptly
conjectured, RAGBRAI provided a target-rich environment for
those guys, and this was their town. If they couldn't score
tonight, they weren't trying. I sensed that Art would know
these things. He had a smooth demeanor that surely served him
very well in his youth. Even now, in his 40's, Art made friends
in every beer garden. His connection to Greg Sierra via the
Federal Reserve Bank in Washington D.C. was his link to Team
Joyride, and he made the most of it. Every day a new and
interesting jersey appeared on Art's torso, often reflecting the
flags of nations he had visited at least twice and planned to visit
again.
The rest of the team found our location just in time to witness
the upstairs apartment guys driving large pickup trucks around
street barricades by way of front lawns, and parking them in
the grass. We didn't care, though. We would be sleeping on the
floor inside the air conditioned apartment, with no need for
pitching tents.
Greg Sierra, on his way through the information center to get
directions to our location, had discovered an interesting fact
about the Tama and Toledo communities: they don't get along
well. When Greg asked a local lady in Tama how to get to
Church Street in Toledo, she scoffed, "I don't know, I don't go
there." She indicated something to the effect of "they don't
like us and we don't like them." She went on to explain, in
animated fashion, that during initial discussions of a proposed
new high school location in Tama, the Toledo residents had
complained that their kids shouldn't have to cross the busy U.S.
30 highway to get to school every day. She listened to these
complaints for some time during a public meeting before standing
up and declaring that if kids couldn't cross a highway, maybe
ride very quickly to State Center, which was designated as that
day's Meeting Town. Every day's route had a meeting town,
which was a nice place to get off your bike for awhile and meet
up with whoever you felt like meeting with that day. On
Wednesday, the meeting town of State Center was a 27-mile
ride from Ames, into a moderate headwind. We made it there in
about an hour and 20 minutes, and that included slow rides
through Nevada and Colo. How did we do it? Simple. We formed
a pace line.
The essence of a pace line is a handful of bikers riding in a tight
single file formation. Riders draft off the leader and take turns
breaking the wind for the others, like geese flying south for the
winter. After 3 days on the road, I'd developed enough comfort
in group riding that I could put my front wheel a few inches from
the rear wheel of the guy ahead of me and keep it there for
extended periods. I'd also found my sprinter's legs, which made
it possible to keep up with Matt and Larry, at least when they
were drafting for me.
Matt led the charge to State Center. When I worked at US
Bank in St. Louis, Matt was an analyst in the Capital Markets
group. He later transferred to US Bank's San Diego branch and
spent a couple years there honing his roadie skills. This year
Matt moved back to St. Louis to work for a different company
and reconnected with former US Bank colleague Larry Baerveldt,
who by way of Darren Van't Hof (a current US Bank guy who
works with Larry), was introduced to RAGBRAI. Matt has
sprinter legs and is the perfect guy for establishing a blistering
pace. Larry and I would relieve him for short periods, then fall
back in line when Matt's legs were rested.
During those 27 miles, I guessed we were passing 200 riders
every mile, and nobody was passing us. We rarely strayed far
from the outer edge of the left lane, shouting "On your left!"
about every 10 seconds. The flatter terrain of the eastern half
of Iowa was working to our advantage as we closed in on State
Center, but I cannot recall a single significant sight during our
fast ride, other than the rear tire in front of me. If you want
to ride fast, a pace line is the way to go. But if you want to
take in the scenery, it won't happen in a pace line.
State Center was a nice little town where we parked our bikes,
strolled up and down main street, and then proceeded toward
Albion. As we left town, I could sense trouble in my right knee.
The pain that came during my final training ride the week before
was now slowing me considerably. Larry and Matt pulled away
while I rode at a snail's pace. I couldn't use my knee for
anything - pedaling, standing, or walking - without pain.
Ibuprofen was ineffective, as was using only my left leg to
pedal. The pedaling motion itself was too much. I'd pedal a
couple revolutions with my left leg, coast for 30 feet, and do it
again. The only riders I passed were parked on the side of the
road, and this continued for a couple hours.
As I approached Le Grand, the next-to-last town before
Tama/Toledo, the pain finally subsided a bit. I could at least
tolerate the pedaling motion in my right knee, even if my left leg
was doing all the work. I cut off the route where it detoured
into Le Grand and headed straight down a hill to cross the Union
Pacific railroad tracks that we'd been loosely following most of
the week. The crossing was rough at 15 mph, enough to loudly
jostle my camera and cell phone inside a small bike-mounted bag
I'd bought in Missouri Valley. Shortly after the railroad
crossing, a guy came up from behind and asked if I'd dropped my
cell phone. Uh-oh. No cell phone in the bag, whose drawstring
closure wasn't drawn. I turned around and navigated my way
through about 100 riders cruising down the hill at speed and
asked a Union Pacific safety officer, on hand to make sure we
crossed the tracks without incident, if he saw a cell phone. He
had, in fact, seen a cell phone, which he produced from his
vehicle parked on the side of the road. It looked exactly like my
company-issued cell phone, except it was now in two pieces and
completely useless. I quickly assessed the impact of this
unfortunate incident:
Downside #1: I had no cell phone for the rest of the week.
Downside #2: It was Verizon service, about the only cell
provider with reliable coverage across Iowa.
Downside #3: My backup personal cell phone was the one item
I'd forgotten to pack for the trip.
Upside #1: I still had voice mail.
Upside #2: The company that issued the phone had fired me the
month before. So I didn't really give a shit. I was just happy I
got a month's worth of free cell phone service.
The final 15 miles were much easier with partial use of my right
knee. As I neared Tama, the effects of major flooding in May
and June were still evident along the Iowa River. Most low lying
areas were still swamps.
In Tama, I had a general idea of where we would be staying
that night. The day before, Marlene had secured our use of a
vacant efficiency apartment in Tama's "twin city" of Toledo. I
headed for the RAGBRAI information center to check on the
address, when Larry and Matt happened by on their way out of
the info center. I probably could have found the place on my
own, but Larry and Matt had it already figured out. We located
Marlene and the RV parked two blocks from the main square in
Toledo, where the entertainment events of the evening were to
take place.
Toledo and Tama were the most working class of the overnight
towns on the RAGBRAI route, or at least they gave off that
vibe. Our efficiency apartment was part of an old house that
had been divided into rental units. When we arrived, the
upstairs unit was serving as party headquarters for a group of
young dudes ready to hit the town. As Art Lindo aptly
conjectured, RAGBRAI provided a target-rich environment for
those guys, and this was their town. If they couldn't score
tonight, they weren't trying. I sensed that Art would know
these things. He had a smooth demeanor that surely served him
very well in his youth. Even now, in his 40's, Art made friends
in every beer garden. His connection to Greg Sierra via the
Federal Reserve Bank in Washington D.C. was his link to Team
Joyride, and he made the most of it. Every day a new and
interesting jersey appeared on Art's torso, often reflecting the
flags of nations he had visited at least twice and planned to visit
again.
The rest of the team found our location just in time to witness
the upstairs apartment guys driving large pickup trucks around
street barricades by way of front lawns, and parking them in
the grass. We didn't care, though. We would be sleeping on the
floor inside the air conditioned apartment, with no need for
pitching tents.
Greg Sierra, on his way through the information center to get
directions to our location, had discovered an interesting fact
about the Tama and Toledo communities: they don't get along
well. When Greg asked a local lady in Tama how to get to
Church Street in Toledo, she scoffed, "I don't know, I don't go
there." She indicated something to the effect of "they don't
like us and we don't like them." She went on to explain, in
animated fashion, that during initial discussions of a proposed
new high school location in Tama, the Toledo residents had
complained that their kids shouldn't have to cross the busy U.S.
30 highway to get to school every day. She listened to these
complaints for some time during a public meeting before standing
up and declaring that if kids couldn't cross a highway, maybe
| Downtown State Center |
| Yeah, it's really called State Center. |
| The bag works pretty good...when the drawstring is pulled tight. |
| If you're ever in Le Grand, go slow over the railroad tracks. |
| Team More Cowbell, parked next to a set of video monitors for a Guitar Hero contest later that night in Toledo. Our efficiency apartment was right next to all the action. |
they shouldn't be in high school.
That night we slept on the apartment's wood floor, where Kevin Boyne produced the largest inflatable mattress I have
ever seen. It was approximately 2 feet tall and could have saved the Titanic. Kevin's link to Team Joyride was through
a gal named Vivien, who was either his sister or Greg Sierra's sister, and one of them had been married to her, which
makes them former brothers-in-law. He's a longtime attorney in Belleville, Illinois and was recruited to the team
several years ago by Greg.
The upstairs apartment guys either stayed out all night or successfully ended their evenings, as we heard nothing from
them after we went to bed. The second-longest ride of the week was complete, and we all slept well.
Read More....
That night we slept on the apartment's wood floor, where Kevin Boyne produced the largest inflatable mattress I have
ever seen. It was approximately 2 feet tall and could have saved the Titanic. Kevin's link to Team Joyride was through
a gal named Vivien, who was either his sister or Greg Sierra's sister, and one of them had been married to her, which
makes them former brothers-in-law. He's a longtime attorney in Belleville, Illinois and was recruited to the team
several years ago by Greg.
The upstairs apartment guys either stayed out all night or successfully ended their evenings, as we heard nothing from
them after we went to bed. The second-longest ride of the week was complete, and we all slept well.
Read More....
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