There will be hills, they said. It will be hot, they said. Day 1 will be difficult, they said. We knew all of this going in and NOTHING could have prepared us for the toughness of today. My husband dismissed the hills as we prepared for this adventure; being from the mountains we were curious how Iowa defined hills. If I’ve learned anything from Ragbrai, it is this.. Iowa is not flat. The hills are no joke.
Day 1’s journey began early. At 4:30am we started hearing the zzzippp zzzippp of tent doors opening. I glanced out the window and a parade of headlamps marched by – bikers making their way to course. Might as well get this started. By 6:15am, we had our camp packed up, padded bike shorts on, and helmets clipped. Yes, even the girls! Our day would include 71.2 miles with 3,432 feet of climb and 3 pass-through towns.
The day started off cool and beautiful in the low 60s but quickly began to warm up. Our first leg would be the longest of the day at 30.9 miles to the little town of Kingsley. It would also be the hilliest. Now I had heard someone describe the hills as hair rollers.. one after another, and that truly is the best way to describe Iowa. For as far as you can see, hair rollers of ups and downs. And this part had some really big ups, which made us also appreciate the big downs where we would coast and rest our legs.
The early part of the day was crowded.. tens of thousands of cyclists all seemed to be joining the course at the same time. We had to focus and quickly learned the commands of the road – “slowing!” “biker on!” biker off!” “rumbles!” “car up!” “stopping!” It didn’t take long for my youngest, who was my bike buddy, to catch on and begin to yell the commands before I even had a chance.
These commands came in handy when 2 hours in, on a big climb, the gears on my bike started to get wonky. Fortunately, we were surrounded by amazing people, including an older gentleman who pulled over with me to check it out and then followed me for several miles until he knew we were ok. He cautioned me I would need to seek help at the bike repair tent in the next town. My husband was already much further ahead with our oldest daughter (longer legs and more weight equals faster speeds), so we powered on to Kingsley.
I won’t write about all of the pass through towns because much are the same, and honestly they all blur together. When the cornfields end, turn left and follow the water tower. They appear like mirages in the desert, with little main streets, and I kid you not sometimes four hardware stores on one single block. “Johnson Hardware,” Clarkes Hardware,” “Hardware Hanks,” were the storefronts I found while trying to buy a pair of sunglasses I forgot to bring with me for the day. “Nah, you’ll have to go to the Dollar General for those,” each local told me.
We were forced to stay in the first little town for longer than we wanted. I needed my bike fixed, and we had to fuel up. Looking back, we didn’t eat enough at that stop and it would hurt us later on in the day. The “real” food lines were long so we snacked on apple pie and corn on the cob. By this time, it was already closing in on noon, so we proceeded on to the hottest part of the day, 14 miles to Washta and 5.6 to Quimby. We had more pie (razzleberry!) and my youngest ate pancakes some where along the way. We also stopped at the famous Mr. Porkchop, the only protein we had that also probably saved us for the day.
What we underestimated was that between the pass through towns there was nothing. Just miles and miles of road ahead of us, and every so often a house on the side of the road selling water and lemonade. Those houses were lifesavers, offering shade and sometimes the luxury of a garden hose.
Now let me write about the good before I tell you the bad. That first day over 1,000 riders talked to us. My daughters wore bee antennas on their helmets to signify our team name, “Swarm of B’s,” and nearly everyone passing us provided a compliment and encouraged us on. From jokes about my daughter sleeping on the back, to a woman reminding us that powerful girls turn into super women, we felt the camaraderie. And speaking of powerful girls, I cannot even express how amazing our girls were. I nicknamed my youngest “the little engine that could,” because halfway up a hill I would yell “engine!” and her little legs would kick into gear and power us up when I was burning out. I will cry about that one day once I’m hydrated enough to produce tears. We also laughed a lot, making up stories and learning to pee in cornfields (you can’t believe the privacy!)
This is where it goes downhill…(except we were still climbing!) By 4:30pm, we had 21 miles to the finish point. We were averaging less than 10mph, so knew this meant we still had more than 2 hours to go. We were hot, tired, and hungry. Enter first child breakdown of the day, which honestly I couldn’t blame her one bit. I was starting to feel sick, and perhaps most scary of all, my husband was puttering out faster than all of us. He was cramping up, and as a former runner, I knew this was not a good sign. While the kids were out of earshot I tried to get an honest read on his health status, and he assured me he was ok to finish. We also had no choice. It was late in the day and the “SAG” transport shuttles that were promised to us as an amenity for all Ragbraiers who want to call it quits was nowhere to be seen. Turns out, grown professional cyclists were dropping like flies and the shuttles were filled. I later overheard a rider say that in his 11 years of doing this event, day 1 was the hardest he had ever experienced.
But we didn’t know that then, so on we went. One mile at a time, we pedaled until we spotted the final water tower of the day. We pulled into our waterfront camp in the beautiful city of Storm Lake at 7:15pm after 13 hours of riding. The only thing the girls wanted was a shower and fortunately that was the #1 luxury our Pork Belly charter offered- a bunch of hot, private showers built into a semi truck.
Right now my girls are well and in good spirits playing on the playground in camp (how the hell they are still standing I don’t know) while my husband is passed out in the tent because he can’t move without muscle cramps. And I’m not sure what tomorrow holds. God willing with hydration and rest, there will be a day 2…
As my daughter already hyped me “We came to Iowa to ride. We need to ride.” Let’s see what the morning brings. Good night Storm Lake.
The Mommy Briefing 