RAGBRAI - part II

(see part I for previous RAGBRAI post)

As many readers know, one of the primary reasons to spend a week traversing the state of Iowa on a bicycle is the food. Every 10-15 miles, the gastronomical siren song is sounded, and many a cyclist is enticed to dismount and gorge themselves from the mobile smorgasbords that line the RAGBRAI route. Some waste no time before willfully engaging in the feast while others, compelled by the need for justification, put together T accounts in their minds and do the mental caloric math before their binge. I required no such rationalization.

One of the most amazing aspects of this experience was how inelastic the demand was for many of the food products. Customers were stacked 50 deep as vendors dished out ice cream at $5/serving, or served up porkchops for $7. I tend toward the frugal end of the spending spectrum, but even I didn't balk at the price for a "Mr. Porkchop" on Wednesday. What's more, I would have gladly paid another $7 on Thursday if we hadn't passed the stand at 9 a.m. This porkchop was de-boned, three inches thick, and needed no special presentation. The tender, slightly seasoned chop spoke for itself served merely in a napkin, and had no rival among the breakfast burritos, other grilled meats, or even ice cream and pastries that I sampled along the way.

Mr. Porkchop is one of the many reasons that I'm planning on riding again next year.

Unfortunately, it's rare that a RAGBRAI event (or any event with 10,000+ participants) is completed without some sort of serious injury or even death.

About 4-5 miles from Wednesday's overnight town (Charles City), my first RAGBRAI experience was almost cut short. As with similar experiences, some of the details are a little fuzzy, but I've rolled it over in my mind a few times and am pretty sure the material ones are still there. Here goes:

I was riding on the right side of the the lane, and a couple riders were ahead of me in my direct line of sight. When they both edged to the left, my reaction was somewhat delayed until I noticed a dismounted cyclists stopped on the edge of the road. I took as hard of a left turn as possible, but was unable to avoid contact. My right pedal clipped his bicycle, launching me into a violent swerve, careening across the lane like a steering wheel-less mining cart from the Indiana Jones movies.

My position on the bicycle had been disrupted as well. In my mind's eye, only one foot remained on the pedals while the other scraped on the ground. My left thigh was hooked around the top-tube as I barely had a hold of the handlebars, trying desperately to pull my butt back onto the saddle like the rider of a spooked horse. As the bike slowed down I was able to regain my normal riding position yet my heart continued beating a million pumps a minute.

When I was finally able to pull off on the side of the road and inspect the damage, I was amazed to see there was no injury to the bike, and only minimal to myself. The inside foot bone located a few inches below my ankle felt like it had been struck with a hammer and throbbed considerably. The skin had also been pierced, but thankfully there was only minor bleeding.

Before I got back on the bike, I glanced back to see if there were any signs of the other party. He stood in the same spot, seemingly unfazed, still talking on his cell phone and on the left side of the white line separating the shoulder from the road. (In case you're having trouble visualizing this, it's generally a good idea to get OFF the road when coming to a complete stop and stay to the RIGHT of the line) I was quite angry that his carelessness had contributed to the incident, especially since I probably would have suffered significant injury had I fallen, not to mention the damage from the bicycle stampede. I resisted the urge to confront him in my fury, and instead got back on the bike and limped the rest of the way into town.

Getting back to the positive side of things, another one of the great reasons to ride RAGBRAI is that it creates an opportunity to meet a ton of friendly and interesting people. Several times during the day I found myself riding along other bikers from across the country, telling each other how we got involved in RAGBRAI and sharing various details of our respective lives' paths. This is how I met Paul from Nebraska, a former engineer turned classical guitarist, and Steve, a respiratory therapist from Tennessee who also rode a Surly Long Haul Trucker. Steve was taking a census of LHT riders' ages and he reported that the mean age was above 50. (He initially guessed my age at 22) He also noted that every Surly LHT he had seen was equipped with a Brooks saddle. I also met Mark, an ex-Iowan living in Seattle who moved his camp-site to give us room for our tent and I even met up with a friend from high school who had been riding all week. It made me wish I was riding more than just two days.

Other than the food, the people, and the minor incident described above, the vast majority of the time was spent in the saddle, cranking away, and watching the view. Since I grew up in Iowa, it was refreshing to cruise over rolling hills on county roads, flanked by the corn and soybean fields of my youth. I didn't experience many brutal hills, and the mileage differed significantly from Wednesday to Thursday. We eased our way into the route with a 52 mile day to start, but by the time I finished the 82 miles the next day, my legs were definitely achy. However, it was the type of soreness that accompanies satisfaction and made me excited to sign up for the full week next year.