I’m sitting at a Perkins in Ames, IA eating an omelet and mammoth muffin, wiping tears from my eyes as we laugh hysterically. It is the first real meal we’ve eaten in 4 days after calculating the adults each burned a minimum of 5,000 calories a day. I’ll repeat that.. 5,000 calories a day, and that actually doesn’t account for pulling a tandem with a small human on the back. “We’re really glad you didn’t die on your birthday,” we joked with my father. “Don’t think that didn’t cross my mind,” he said.
It’s Tuesday morning, our last day of Ragbrai, and instead of riding the planned 86.1 miles from Carroll to Ames in a heat advisory, we boarded a luxury motor coach at 7am and sagged it to our family’s final destination. All of us; my parents and good family friend included.
Over a good ‘ole Americana breakfast, we were punch drunk laughing at how crazy and stupid Ragbrai is. And wondering how the hell thousands upon thousands of riders find a way to party their way through Iowa, chugging beers in each pass-through town and still completing the day’s miles before 1pm. I’m thinking back to Day Zero when the Iowa State Trooper told the safety brief crowd to stick to the plan, “if it’s a one beer stop, keep it a one beer stop.” Very quickly our plan became this, “stay alive.”
After arriving in camp last night, we learned my dad had a rough day, similar to my husband’s Day 1. And perhaps more defeating was our inability to find dinner. Everything close by was sold out and we had zero cell service to GrubHub, which was the original plan. Remember my post about the strain on these towns’ infrastructure? Fortunately my mom had enough in her supplies to make 2 peanut butter sandwiches, and the 6 of us sat it a circle and divvied up our snacks. I’m pretty sure I saw my husband dipping almonds in peanut butter.
This is Ragbrai. Extreme highs, like celebrating crossing the day’s finish line, followed by extreme lows of realizing you still need to set up camp and you’re not going to eat dinner. Or my mom’s experience of getting a good shower and then walking back to her tent to learn the ice in her cooler melted all over her sleeping bag. Or my dad’s birthday t-shirt we made him with puff paint that was so stuck together he couldn’t even open it! “Ragbrai: Killing People for 50 Years,” we coined as their new marketing campaign while we ate breakfast and found the humor in our crazy adventure.
Bowing out of today’s ride was not a hard decision. In fact, it was barely a decision at all. Our health and safety was priority #1 and after a grueling 2 days, it was a no-brainer. We experienced Ragbrai through and through and used the day to refuel, recharge, and reflect on the experience.
My parents would (attempt to) continue on with the ride and we were happy to have our car in Ames so we could run to the local Walmart and restock their supplies. We finally got to hang out in the Pork Belly camp a bit, and for the first time in a week cracked open a beer. Everyone in our group also got to shower in the hotel room we booked for the evening, and we shared one last meal at an actual restaurant before saying goodbye.
As I left my parents, I worried about their next few days and lectured them about being careful and strongly considering only doing partial days, as the forecast was calling for temps above 100. The irony is that my parents were slightly relieved we were leaving because it was one less thing they had to worry about. Sorry mom; I think this whole thing was my idea! Update: my parents biked one more day before calling it. They are currently stranded in Des Moines trying to figure out how to get home. (Cue laughter, because it’s all you can do).
This year’s Ragbrai was the 50th anniversary, and they promoted it as “One L of a Ride.” (L for the Roman Numeral 50). While I still think our marketing slogan could catch on, I’d have to agree it was a L of a ride. We came what we set out to do— we befriended strangers, we ate pie and corn (but needed more!), swam in a random pool, found hospitality, and challenged both our brains and our bodies. But perhaps most importantly we learned we are quite capable of doing hard things, our girls included, who we literally and figuratively were attached to for 25 hours and 150 miles in fields of corn. On our very last day, while searching for our bags in a sea of duffels we stumbled across a bag tag with the name Lisa Jones. It was facing straight up amongst all others that were hidden, and we welcomed it as a sign that our dear cousin who we lost too soon was with us all along. An avid runner and NYC marathon finisher, she instilled in us that “can’t is not an option,” and is often our inspiration (excuse?) for saying yes to most adventures.
If you asked me yesterday if we would do this again, I would have said no, but today my husband and I are already talking about what we would do different “next time.” We’re also hoping our tandem bikes fall off our vehicle on the drive home never to be seen again. But until then, I’m going back to the beach.
Biker, off!
The Mommy Briefing 