I remember the first time I did RAGBRAI. The thrill of riding with all those other cyclists. I had just put in a serious training regimen of about 225 miles for the year.
I was so excited. I was like “This is what it’s all about. This is the reason I put in upwards of 15 hours of training this year. Look at all these bikes! It’s like the Tour De France or something!”
It was 2001. Lance Armstrong was on his way to winning his 3rd tour, and I vaguely knew who he was. I certainly would not have recognized him if I saw him.
The bike: It was a 1986 Bianchi Campione D’Italia. Pearl white. It was my dream bike (when I bought it for about $500 in 1987). It had Sun Tour derailleurs, Dia-compe brakes, twelve speeds - Well with some serious cross chaining.
I was cool back then, so there’s was no way I was getting a bike with those dorky LOOK pedals. Yeah, maybe when I take my bike skiing, losers. “I want my 2 dollars!” No thanks – it’s toe clips and tennis shoes for me.
Actually, it was a nice bike. It had just been neglected for years (by 2001). It didn’t really fit me right either. But I didn’t know that yet.
I survived RAGBRAI. Barely. Strong head winds every day (except Saturday). Inadequate training. A bike that was on its last (and actually first) wheels. By the third day (Tuesday) I was shoving handfuls of Gold Bond Medicated powder down my shorts to try to make the pain go away. This worked out especially well on Wednesday when it poured down rain. It became Gold Bond medicated crotch paste. Each day was endless discomfort. There was no way to get away from it. Standing hurt my feet and hands. sitting, well, you know. laying down – mosquito attack.
One day, the 3rd ninety mile plus day in a row. My bottom bracket spun out (for the second time of the week) leaving my crankset a bit, uh, wobbly. I had 2 or 3 gears for the next 8 miles until I found a bike repair stand (I refused to SAG). I was in pain. I was alone. I had 45 miles to go. It hurt to sit. It hurt to stand. Eight year old girls with pink, power puff themed bikes and streamers coming from their handlebars were passing me on the climbs. <--this 100="" 10="" 11="" been="" br="" but="" by="" could="" don="" eight="" except="" get="" have="" i="" is="" know="" old.="" or="" point.="" t="" that="" the="" they="" true="" way.="" were="" years="" you="">
I was very slowly going up this hill. I was out of options. I didn’t know what to do. I was racking my brain trying to figure out how I’d get through the next 3 or 4 hours of hell. Then I thought - maybe it would help if I started crying. You know, just start bawling my eyes out.
Then the image of people (8 year old girls etc.) passing by, seeing this big guy (at 215 lbs) riding up the hill crying, got me laughing. It was funny enough to get me through the rest of RAGBRAI XXIX.
As much as it sucked, I did have a lot of fun. The drinking, smoking cyclists were my new thing. A party on wheels. Yaaah!
Sure I was out of shape. I was also disappointed with my performance. I decided that I was going to do it the right way the following year. I would get a new bike, train properly and set a goal for myself. I arbitrarily set a goal of 17 MPH overall average for the ride.
But that’s not why I brought it up.
I bought a new fancy bike (LeMond Zurich) just after RAGBRAI and just before the 2001 Corporate Cycling Challenge. I went on this ride feeling pretty superior. I mean I was a RAGBRAI veteran for God’s sake! 42 Miles? Ha! Where do I sign up?
When the ’01 CCC started, I was in heaven. Just like RAGBRAI, but without all the camping! Look at all those Bikes! It was just like the Vuelta or something! Just kidding. I had not yet heard of the Vuelta. I had a wonderful time, big smile on my face, weaving through the crowd, getting into a group that was hammering pretty fast (probably in the neighborhood of 20 MPH). There was one guy leading the “paceline”. He would not let anyone else pull. If you tried to, he would get back in front and pull. Ok, whatever dude. Also, he was wearing jean shorts. Daisy Duke style.
Which brings me to yesterday – and something
Bryan said on his blog. Since that first CCC, I’ve always started at the very front of the group. I’ve been away from most of the danger since 2002. Yesterday, however, I thought, what difference does it make? I’ll just start back here and work my way up. Maybe just ride in this big pack of people for a while. That was fun for about 20 seconds. After being in the middle of that turmoil, "Must. Get. To. Front."
Somehow, I managed to not get into any accidents or to run over any of the dozens of Aquafina bottles splayed about the roadside. That’s right, they don’t fit too snug in standard cages. I did get up to the front guys before Highway 36, where I was able to relax and enjoy my usual routine of wheel-sucking to Ft. Calhoun. In fact, that was my nickname in college.
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I think
Brady flatted going over some RR tracks, but I haven’t seen or heard from him yet, so I don’t know.
I’d like to say that our group was the first in to Ft. Calhoun, but I have to admit that many, many people made it in before us. Of course they were all on mountain bikes and going about 11 miles an hour, so I’m guessing they got a head start. Seriously. Just drive down there and sign-in if you don’t want to ride it. But then, what am I bitching about? Had these people started at the same time as everyone else, it would have been that many more people swaying back and forth. Not a care in the world. la-la-la, nice day for a bike ride, eh?--this>