Cycling with 10,000 friends on the back roads of Iowa (A view from Utah)

Mon April 04 2005
Posted Apr 4, 2005
6,784

RAGBRAI: From Team Road Kill to Team Tutu, riders of all abilities pedal hard in pursuit of beer, pie and pork chops By Lauren Chapin Knight Ridder News Service LOST NATION, Iowa - Rolling through the gentle terrain of central Iowa, I eyeball Cobalt Hill. An aberration on the prairie, it looms big and steep, and I wonder whether I have met my Goliath. All around me, fellow cyclists begin a chorus of groans, grunts, whoops and hollers as they begin their ascent up the two-lane blacktop. The whoops and hollers end, replaced by the sounds of granny gears being engaged, of lungs sucking in gulps of heavy, late July air. The higher we climb, the more the highway shoulder becomes crowded with riders who've abandoned the mission and are walking. This is a hill. This is what I've been training for since April 15. Thousands of riders on the Des Moines Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa - RAGBRAI - are facing one of those mind-over-matter, suck-it-up, shift-gears, put-the-head-down-and-just-go kinds of challenges. This is where I learn that I have a warrior's heart. For 32 years, bicyclists have traveled from all parts of the globe to participate in RAGBRAI, an annual celebration of cross-country cycling, sore backsides, head winds, rumble strips and, yes, food and drink. Different routes: Although the route varies from year to year, tradition dictates that participants begin their quest at the Missouri River and travel east until they reach the Mississippi. This year RAGBRAI riders will travel across northern parts of the state, beginning July 24 in Le Mars and ending July 30 in Guttenberg. Although almost four months remain before the first pedals will turn, serious riders are already beginning to train for what can be the most physically demanding event they've undertaken. Registration ends April 1. For first-timers, as I was last year, the RAGBRAI learning curve can be as steep as that climb up Cobalt Hill. RAGBRAI started as a lark - a potential offbeat newspaper story about rural Iowa. Two writers for The Des Moines Register, John Karras and Donald Kaul, had decided to take a joy ride across Iowa and, in print, asked folks to come along. To their surprise, almost 300 people showed up. That was in 1973. Since then RAGBRAI has become the largest and oldest multiday bicycle ride in the United States. It draws riders from all 50 states and nearly a dozen countries. It regularly draws 10,000 participants. Riders take seven days to traverse the state, passing through small towns (called ''pass-through towns'' in RAGBRAI lingo) during the day and camping in overnight towns, predetermined by a committee. Some riders wing it, relying on the RAGBRAI crew to transport their gear from place to place in a semitrailer. Other riders join teams, paying dues and additional fees to have their gear shuttled from place to place. The perks of joining a team include food, beer and friends to hang with, plus getting to shower in a pseudo-private stall (although still alfresco). For first-timers, a club can be especially helpful. I joined Team Huff 'n' Puffers, a gregarious group from Harlan, Iowa, made up of lawyers, teachers, doctors, sports copy editors and the like. They helped me pitch my tent and find the right grub and danced with me at overnight-town beer gardens. Many of the teams adopted outrageous names, such as Team Tutu (whose riders actually wear tutus along the route each year); Team I Don't Know, What Do You Think; Team Achin' Knee (from Ankeny, Iowa); and Team Escape from New York, a group of firefighters from New York. One of them, Mike Moran, met his wife at RAGBRAI one year. Perhaps the most identifiable team was Team Whiners, a group from Michigan whose members could be identified easily by their bright yellow and pink jerseys; a semitrailer loaded with food, beer and gear; and their campsite parties. Try as I might, I couldn't talk any of them out of their jerseys. But my favorite team was Team Road Kill. Its mission: To festoon any road kill the members found along the route with Mardi Gras beads, shiny stickers or some sparkly trinket to mark the animal's passing. Big wheels: Towns, organizations, churches and farm families along each year's route start planning months ahead of time for their RAGBRAI roles. After all, cyclists have hungers to feed and thirsts to quench. Thousands of them wheeling through your town can mean a lot of money. Overnight towns organize theme parties. For example, last year, Hiawatha, on the northern outskirts of Cedar Rapids, dolled up its streets and front yards in a Hawaiian luau theme. Pass-through towns do it up, too. In Mapleton, on the western side of the state, the Nuns on the Run, a chorus of church women dressed in black habits, serenaded riders while they rested in a shady park. As a hat was passed, appreciative audience members pulled damp dollars out of jersey pockets. RAGBRAI participants are more than serious riders. They're also foodies - or at least they become foodies for a week. Walk around town with a handsome piece of pie in your hands, and you can bet at least two people will ask you which stand is selling pie. The last town before each overnight site is designated a Party Town. This is where the teams who have dedicated the week to partying park their support buses. They crank up stereos secured to bus rooftops; barkeeps open early and stay late for the bikers whose mission is maximum pleasure. By 2 or 3 p.m. each day, the ride's overachievers - those who left camp at or before each day's official start time of 6 a.m. - start to filter in to camp. By evening, thousands of riders, tents and vans are spread across acres and acres of park grounds, schoolyards and farmland. By the time I reach Cobalt Hill in central Iowa - on day six of my odyssey - I've already had a flat tire. In the rain. Going down a steep hill. I've abandoned my Mickey Mouse raincoat for a black, plastic trash bag. I haven't eaten enough, so my blood sugar is crashing. I haven't seen any of my teammates in hours. And it's barely noon. I approach Cobalt Hill in the midst of a full-blown pity party, just as the midsummer sun burns a hole through the remnants of the rain clouds, smothering me in my emergency rain gear. But one of the joys of RAGBRAI is the friendliness and helpfulness of the participants. As we strain to climb the hill, a 60-something retired dentist begins talking to me about his lesbian daughter who lives in Washington, D.C. I can only mutter monosyllabic answers to his questions and try to explain how really, truly, absolutely depleted I am. He finally leaves me alone in my misery as I force my spent muscles to pedal to the hamlet of Lost Nation. I make it up Cobalt Hill, but I'm played, and Lost Nation is still several miles away. Helping hand: As I round the next-to-last corner before the town center, moving slower than a snail on Jell-O, I feel a warm, jumbo-sized hand upon my lower back. The touch is gentle yet firm, and I swivel my head to greet this helpful soul. He gives me a firm push, propelling me further than my legs alone could take me. He is my savior, this Air Force officer who is one of dozens of military men and women from all branches of service riding across Iowa. This is a RAGBRAI moment, a story to tell my teammates at camp, a story to tell my children, something to write about someday. On the last morning, our team breaks camp early, tying colored ribbons on our bags and tents to signify our destination. It's a short day - just 56 miles - and we've been instructed to be in the last town, Clinton, by 2 p.m. This day's route is a mix of hills and cornfields, passing through the tiniest towns and unincorporated villages. One big climb leads us to a peak that segues into a long, steep descent over a newly renovated steel bridge. The big and brave among us fly down this hill; one teammate clocks himself at 45 mph. The more timid and wise among us gently brake and savor the view of the river flowing beneath our wheels. Finally we gather at the Mississippi River to dip front wheels into slow-moving waters. Cyclists bid road friends farewell, with promises to meet up next year. And the days, hours, minutes and seconds count down to RAGBRAI XXXIII. On a roll in Iowa Registration: RAGBRAI begins July 24 and ends July 30. Registration deadline is April 1; riders are selected by lottery. Applicants will be notified by e-mail by May 1. Costs: Weeklong passes are $110. Day passes are available for $25 a day, three-day maximum. On the Web: http://www.RAGBRAI.org