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The Registers Annual Great Bicycle RIde Across Iowa
By: Justin Whiting

Have you ever seen Animal House? You know the classic 1978 film capturing college life in all its magnificence. Uninhibited college kids running amuck while toga wearing frat boys exercise their undeniable right be overtly inebriated. Take that scenario add 10,000 people in Lycra, a few bikes, some of the smallest towns in America, and you have yourself a RAGBRAI. RAGBRAI, The Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa is a masterpiece as Animal House is a cinematic gem. This is a ride that everybody knows about and no one wants to miss. RAGBRAI, a ride 31 years in the making, has fueled people of all ages to hop on their bikes, come to the corn capitol of the world, and party. RAGBRAI parties are loud, boisterous, unruly groups of riders from around the world trying to find the best beer in town. I’m talking thousands of kids with 401k plans flooding the streets of small town America looking for a good time.

Being a 20-year-old guy living in a college town, I like to think that I know how to party. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would see people crazier then my local crew of drunken mad men who construct elaborate suits of armor fashioned from emptied cases of beer. It’s only seeing a grown man dressed in a pink tattered prom dress two sizes to small hanging on to the back of a tractor looking for the town’s beer garden do I understand definitive partying. This is what RAGBRAI is all about. If you don’t have a great time here then you came for the wrong reasons. I had such a blast that I have tan lines from smiling all day long. I can only hope 20 years from now I too can wear a pink prom dress and ride around a small town in an unfamiliar state and be welcomed with open arms and cock eyed looks of confusion.

Hidden in the haze of all night “social gatherings” and some awesome live bands there is a bicycle ride. This ride isn’t a walk in the park. It can be extremely challenging and strenuous. When I think of Iowa I think of flat roads and corn. There is a bit of corn but the roads are certainly not flat. Our days were filled with rolling hills, crosswinds, and headwinds. There isn’t much of anything to block these winds from coming full force at you, so there is really nothing you can do except grin and bear it. I know about battling wicked headwinds for miles and getting extremely frustrated with my speed. I thought I was pedaling at about 20mph, but I was stuck going about 12mph. Headwinds are a pet peeve of mine. I would rather climb hills all day over riding on a flat with a headwind. There were plenty of hills to climb in the 450-mile weeklong ride so I was never allowed to get cocky. I love to ride over rolling hills. 75% of the RAGBRAI was stretched over rolling hills. I can lean into my aero bars and get into a zone with my cycling. Inhaling against every push and exhaling with every pull of my pedal, I find myself flying through towns without regard to how far I need to go. It’s times like these when I feel I could out ride Lance Armstrong. Unfortunately, he was hiding at the Tour de France. The days varied in length and physical demands. I had read somewhere that the majority of riders believe the second day, which was a 62-mile day from Shenandoah to Bedford, is hardest of the week. I thought this day to be a breeze. The most physically demanding day I had was a 67.1-mile stretch between Oskaloosa and Bloomfield. I was battling winds all day and never find my rhythm. This day for me wasn’t one of physical exhaustion. It was mentally exhausting because I was having serious trouble finding a consistent pace. I just couldn’t do it and that’s what created the physical strain on my body. Riding ability is only one skill needed in cycling. It’s not just about your legs and a machine. There is so much more to cycling then that and I truly learned that on this ride.

I’m used to rides in which I basically sit there and think about the ride. I think about where I’ m going, how far I’ve gone, what my average speed is. RAGBRAI was a whole new setting for me. Not only did I disregard all previous thought processes, but also I ignored the fact that I was even riding a bike. I spent the hours on my bike talking to fellow cyclists. The miles flew by as I conversed with other cyclists. I’ve always peeked at passing bikes in hopes that I might see a beautifully crafted Colnago or maybe some fancy shmancy Italian frame I’ve never heard of and I was never disappointed. In every bike there is an identity. You can’t always feel it out when you are riding alone and see a passer-by, but this ride is another story.

When you look at Bruce Wayne you don’t see Batman (and I’m talking about the Michael Keaton Batman…I don’t mess around with that George Clooney or Val Kilmer non-sense). Now like I was saying, you don’t see Batman until the time is right. The same thing goes with a good majority of RAGBRAI riders. They skulk around in the shadows of their suppressed alter egos until the time is right…and then BAM! They emerge as “Super Cyclists” and take to the streets of Iowa with inescapable force. Powering through hills wearing tutus and Mardi gras beads. They accessorize more then a 14-year old mall rat in middle class suburbia. It’s like a 450-mile costume party. It’s hands down the funniest and greatest thing I have ever witnessed.

The best thing about the Mardis Gras aspect of RAGBRAI was the scope and ingenuity of each team’s effort. I thought a team to be was a cooperative unit most often used in a sporting activity. Apparently during RAGBRAI the definition loses a bit of its root meaning and isn’t exactly defined as much as it is portrayed as a group of friends with a common
interest (cycling and partying) that like to live out of hand painted buses and party all night long with other “teams” that share common said interest. With team names ranging from “Team Kamikaze” to “Team I don’t know what do you think…” you never get tired of reading bus slogans. Some are decorated with elaborate paint jobs and beautifully crafted winding staircases off the back door that attach to the “party deck”. Some are just painted with what looks like flat house paint you can get at Home Depot. The cool thing about the whole team scenario is that you don’t know who is on which team, if any at all, while you are riding. Everyone on the ride is there to have fun. So as I am riding and talking to whoever is around me, I start to realize that there is no defining characteristic of a cyclist. In this ride your age matters about as much as how tall you are. Whether you are 8 or 80 you are expected to behave at a level of immaturity that allows you laugh at yourself as well as fellow cyclists , thus insuring everyone the best time possible.

Do not think that coming to Iowa and riding 450 miles across the state is going to shed those unwanted pounds. I’d say for every mile you ride you eat the equivalent in homemade pie, ice cream, and miscellaneous goodies. The food in Iowa is inescapable. I would ride all day and try to keep to an eating schedule. I’d tell myself, “Ok Justin, you have 33 of the 70 miles done already. When we get to the next town we’ll grab a sandwich and a Gatorade, stretch for a bit, and hit the road.” Ok sounds good to me. It’s only until I’m halfway through my slice of peach pie do I look around at the empty ice cream cup and cookie crumbs on my lap and remember that just 10 miles ago I had a strict nutritional plan to stick to. You would think that one would learn from his mistakes. Not this lad, no sir. My eating habits had a triumphant and glorious return at least 3 times a day. Everyday for lunch I got down with Tender Tom’s Turkey stand. It didn’t matter if Tom was
in town or parked on the side of the road in Joe Cool’s driveway. I was going to get my turkey steak sandwich. My mouth is watering just thinking about it: that mountain of sauerkraut, ketchup, mustard, and of course bar-b-que sauce smothering that turkey steak meat thing. Just sit back, listen to some Johnny Cash, bask in the sunlight, and enjoy. Good ol’ Tom did me right on this ride; I don’t think I could have done it without him. There was one other thing that I looked forward to everyday; Root Beer. When I know I only have 15 more miles to go I start watching and waiting for that big brown UPS style truck to peek its head over the horizon. I see the truck, but I don’t feel the excitement until I hear, “It’s Root Beer Time, Ice Cold Root Beer!”. Then and only then do I know that I am ready to knock back a cold one. If you’ve never had a tall glass of the Root Beer guy’ s mouth-watering potion then you’ve never had root beer. I don’t know what makes it so good and frankly I don’t care. You find yourself sweating off pounds under the blazing sun as you wait in a ridiculous line for a $3 frosty root beer. There is of course the option of coughing up $5 on the root beer float, which I personally recommend. (There are gaggles of quirky little eateries and drinkeries everywhere you go.) Whether you want to chow down on some pasta at Pastafari (which blares reggae music so loud you can hear it 3 miles away) or you want to get down on some pork on a stick at Mr. Porkchop, you will always find what you are looking for. You will be looking because that’s all part of the RAGBRAI experience. You have to eat the food, you have to laze about, you have to walk around and play on playgrounds, sit and listen to live bands, talk to locals about how small their towns are, and above all else…you have to have fun doing it. To me that is what separates RAGBRAI from any other ride I’ve ever been on. Sure I’ve had fun cycling the country, but RAGBRAI is on it’s own level. When people ask me to explain RAGBRAI the only thing that comes out is, “Oh man…. it’s like the greatest, well there’s so many people…. and buses…oh ya and lots of parties…umm it’s crazy fun and you should go.”, and after we blankly stare at each other for a few minutes I start to laugh to myself because no one will ever be able to explain RAGBRAI to you. You will never know what it’s like until you are in the thick of it. Even then it won’t hit you until a week later when you wish you were still wearing a pink prom dress holding on to the back of a tractor looking for the beer garden.