A Family Affair
Today the hills return. One of the things I didn’t say yesterday about riding flat terrain is that in addition to having trouble getting the weight off the tush, you have to pedal every stinking mile. So we are looking forward to the hills. Going downhill, makes up for pedaling uphill, and after all, they are mostly only little hills. Today the talk is about Colfax hill, the “mountain” they call it just after Colfax, IA.
After about 5 miles this morning we are still in a populated area. For most of the trip there have been State Patrolmen or County Sheriff’s at all highway crossings to stop traffic and allow us to continue without stopping. Not so this morning. We have to obey traffic signals, of which there are quite a few. Fortunately we are out before much traffic. Seeing a convenience store, we decided to stop there for our morning coffee. We bought a cup and shared a package of little sugar doughnuts. I had 5 Jen had 1. This is when I discovered that she had been eating a power bar every morning before we started. No wonder she wasn’t as into looking for breakfast as I was.
My Little Biking Chickadee
What Sgt. Shultz would look like on a Bike.
One of the amazing things about this ride is the sheer number of riders. While we are sitting in the chairs outside this little store eating doughnuts and finishing our coffee, hundreds, maybe a thousand riders pass by. A little while down the road, we will ride by a stop or go straight through one of the pass through towns, and pass hundreds of riders, perhaps a thousand or so and get ahead of them again. At one point, sitting in the shade of a canopy, we were talking with some guys from Iowa who do the ride every year. We were watching bikers buzz by and Jen just casually commented, I wonder how long this line of riders really is. One of the guys said, “It is 10 AM. Some of the riders have already reached the end town. There are some who are just leaving camp. So the line stretches for the whole 60 miles of the route.” That gave us a new perspective.
The riding today was better for both of us. We both had good days and just kept pedaling along. At one point in the afternoon I started getting sleepy. You know how sometimes when you are in church, or heaven forbid driving, and your head starts to nod. With a start you realize you just went to sleep for a second. That happened to me twice while riding my bike today. Maybe it was time to find some shade for my nap.
Colfax Mountain was right out of the town Colfax. You had to start up the mountain from a dead stop. It wasn’t really a mountain, but it was a steep hill. People were pushing their bikes up it. Jen said she wasn’t even going to try and pushed up it. I dug out my iPod, put Michael Martin Murphy, “The West is going to get Wilder Tonight” in my right ear, began with the bike in granny, and started pumping. Before MMM finished I was at the top of Colfax hill. It wasn’t as hard as Twister.
In one of the through towns today someone, somewhere must have had little American flags they were selling or giving away. I started seeing them on the back of bikes, and on the ground where they had fallen off. After miles and miles of seeing the flags fairly often I thought to myself, I would like to have one of those. The next one I pass I am going to get off my bike and pick it up. It is not an easy decision to get off your bike when there is not food or drink or shade involved. As you can guess, I didn’t see any more. Later in the day I passed another flag and stopped and picked it up. It wasn’t the stars and stripes though, it was the Zia sun symbol of the New Mexico State Flag. It was the only little state flag I saw the whole trip. I attached it to the back of my bike.
Jen had a Ragbrai license plate attached to her bike that had her name, Salt Lake City, and the fact that she was a Ragbrai Rookie. (I lost mine before I got to Iowa.) It was a great conversation starter. People would ask her about Utah. Some asked if she was Mormon. Most wanted to know if she rode her bike from Salt Lake to Iowa. I told her she should say yes, and make up a story about the trip across the Rockies, and how far it is across the great plains. Our GPS said it was 998 miles from Salt Lake to Bellvue where Steve lives, and another 20 or 30 to Glenwood. That would have been a great story about riding 1000 miles in the two weeks before Ragbrai just to get to the starting town. There is a difference, don’t you think, between lying and spinning a good tale. People are asking because they want to hear a good story; might as well give them one. Well that is my opinion anyway, ministerally speaking.
I was ahead of Jen and at the place I stopped at the top of a hill, a church group was giving out free watermelon slices, while some of the members circulated among the bikers trying to give out tracts. When Jen came by she didn’t want to stop so she just rode on. I grabbed my bike, started to get on when the pedal I put my foot on rolled, my foot slipped and my momentum carried me forward onto my falling bike. I hit the ground. I fell off my bike. “Biker Down!” I heard the shouts from riders coming up. No!, Not me. I didn’t fall. As fast as I could I picked my bike up and got off the roadway to choruses of, “are you ok?” “are you hurt.” Gee, how embarrassed can you get? I wasn’t hurt. I banged my knee just a little but it didn’t even leave a scrape. My ego sagged quite a bit. The one person I could look to for comfort was oblivious. She heard the biker down shouts, later she said she wondered if it was me, but not wanting to lose momentum she rode on. Don’t you love the gift of mercy that girl has?
Seven miles before the end of today’s ride we came to Rock Creek State Park. The route actually took a little detour to take us through the park. There was a nice little lake, lots of grass, and plenty of shade. It was like a through town with booths for food set up. Jen had been having trouble with her gears shifting correctly so while she stood in line at a bike repair tent I went looking for water. All I could find was Gatorade. I bought one for me and one for her, took hers to her while she waited in line but she said she didn’t want it. It was a blue one, I hate blue ones, so I gave it to the girl behind her in line.
The final miles into Grinnell were uneventful, her bike worked much better, and by now we can cruise seven miles without even thinking about it.
Sign of the day: On the back of the shirts of a bike club. “The Trust Me Bike Club” Then there was a picture of a fat cat smoking a big cigar, and below that “the banker.” Some said “the lawyer.” One said, “the realtor.” Jen said to one of them, “I am the Nurse, could I join your bike club? ” “Sure” the man told her, “We accept everyone except politicians.”
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