Eryn wanted to do a magic show for Amelie. After discovering Eagle Magic Store was now just down the road from Tesseract, we've been there twice to visit and pick up a few items Eryn can play with. I think Eagle runs a little on the expensive side, compared to purchasing items off the internet, but Larry's very good about giving a demo and teaching Eryn some patter while we're there, as well as suggesting appropriate items depending on what she wants to do.
So without further ado, Eryn presents the following for her cousins.
The Handkerchief:
And, The Coloring Book:
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
NowThen Threshing Show 2009
Last weekend, Eryn and I went up to Kyle's place for a bit of homemade breakfast with Kyle, Cynthia, Matthew, Zoe and Jonny before heading up for our annual visit to the NowThen Threshing Show. There's not much to say about a tractor show after several years, particularly as the most memorable year was the year it rained and was so cold there wasn't much to do besides drink hot chocolate, and as everything seems to be getting less interesting. They don't really mix it up much, so unless you're really into tractors, the mix-it-up factor is lacking. And the farmer table sales seem to be decreasing in scope and some of the vendors are disappearing, so there's less junk to peruse.
Regardless, Eryn had a great time. She spent the majority of it at the blacksmiths' shop, which she fondly remembered from the year before. In no time, she was back at our wooden table with an iron cross, personally hammered by the blacksmith. There was a whole Jesus theme going on at NowThen this year, which is a bit peculiar for anything I attend.
For example. Here's a truck near the miniature train ride. The other side of the cab is just as nice.
And here's Eryn studiously reading the camouflage Bible (New Testament) some guy handed her when I wouldn't take one. You can tell the iron cross is in her pocket. On the way home I asked what she was reading and she informed me it was "according to Matthew" and talked about Joseph, Mary and Jesus. So she was certainly understanding what she was reading. That's Matthew and Zoe skulking in the background.
It was a beautiful day. Deceptively so. Despite the least amount of time I've ever spent in the sun at a NowThen Threshing Show outside the rainy year, I still came home to almost pass out from a sunburn. Here are the tractors getting ready for the Parade of Power. I think this was the year to showcase Cockshutts.
The Parade of Power as it passes the Milk House. Two dozen tractors had farm girls in various states of limited clothing, and this is what you get. Kyle pointed out a young girl driving her own tractor to Jonny and noted that she might be a good catch if she had her own machine (and vast tracts of land).
I like this picture of the Parade of Power. It's very folksy.
Eryn shows off her button while riding the miniature train. We get two of these every year, and every year we put them in a geocaching cache somewhere. They're very useful for that purpose. Much better than Pooteewheet's liberal radio buttons.
Two different people both buying huge metal wheels at the same time! What are the odds?! They're almost a bicycle.
Kyle, trying to pick up a farm girl or two by posing with the Ford Workmaster 641 as if he'd already won the lottery. It's mine, I tell you, mine!
Eryn posing next to the tractor as well. She's hoping we win it so we can put it in the back yard and just sit on it now and then. Given how much time she can spend at Home Depot just sitting on non-running lawnmowers, I have no doubts she'd be sitting on an immobile tractor in the yard if given the chance.
Finally, from the contraption area where they have steam engines running old washing machines and various toys, the world's saddest horse ride, as demonstrated by a stuffed rabbit we last saw drowning during the NowThen Rainfest.
Regardless, Eryn had a great time. She spent the majority of it at the blacksmiths' shop, which she fondly remembered from the year before. In no time, she was back at our wooden table with an iron cross, personally hammered by the blacksmith. There was a whole Jesus theme going on at NowThen this year, which is a bit peculiar for anything I attend.
For example. Here's a truck near the miniature train ride. The other side of the cab is just as nice.
And here's Eryn studiously reading the camouflage Bible (New Testament) some guy handed her when I wouldn't take one. You can tell the iron cross is in her pocket. On the way home I asked what she was reading and she informed me it was "according to Matthew" and talked about Joseph, Mary and Jesus. So she was certainly understanding what she was reading. That's Matthew and Zoe skulking in the background.
It was a beautiful day. Deceptively so. Despite the least amount of time I've ever spent in the sun at a NowThen Threshing Show outside the rainy year, I still came home to almost pass out from a sunburn. Here are the tractors getting ready for the Parade of Power. I think this was the year to showcase Cockshutts.
The Parade of Power as it passes the Milk House. Two dozen tractors had farm girls in various states of limited clothing, and this is what you get. Kyle pointed out a young girl driving her own tractor to Jonny and noted that she might be a good catch if she had her own machine (and vast tracts of land).
I like this picture of the Parade of Power. It's very folksy.
Eryn shows off her button while riding the miniature train. We get two of these every year, and every year we put them in a geocaching cache somewhere. They're very useful for that purpose. Much better than Pooteewheet's liberal radio buttons.
Two different people both buying huge metal wheels at the same time! What are the odds?! They're almost a bicycle.
Kyle, trying to pick up a farm girl or two by posing with the Ford Workmaster 641 as if he'd already won the lottery. It's mine, I tell you, mine!
Eryn posing next to the tractor as well. She's hoping we win it so we can put it in the back yard and just sit on it now and then. Given how much time she can spend at Home Depot just sitting on non-running lawnmowers, I have no doubts she'd be sitting on an immobile tractor in the yard if given the chance.
Finally, from the contraption area where they have steam engines running old washing machines and various toys, the world's saddest horse ride, as demonstrated by a stuffed rabbit we last saw drowning during the NowThen Rainfest.
My Dining Room is a Shantytown
After more than six years, we finally decided to protect the carpet in the computer room from the chair rollers with a piece of fashionable plastic. I promptly fell on my back tonight when the chair slipped on the plastic and shot out from under me. That certainly wasn't something I'd had to worry about before. I think new carpet for a small room is likely cheaper than my insurance deductible.
Eryn was more interested in the cardboard the plastic came in than the plastic itself. She was disappointed when it wasn't good for making a fort with a full roof, but I demonstrated the grace and beauty that is a lean-to. She happily took a nap in what looks like a homeless nest in the dining room.
Eryn was more interested in the cardboard the plastic came in than the plastic itself. She was disappointed when it wasn't good for making a fort with a full roof, but I demonstrated the grace and beauty that is a lean-to. She happily took a nap in what looks like a homeless nest in the dining room.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Word of the Moment: Galactorrhea
The recent article I read on how your appendix is no longer considered useless, but a marvel of evolutionary engineering in multiple evolutionary branches, designed to retain beneficial bacteria in the case of accidental bacteriocide, led me to the article linked above about the Top 10 Useless Limbs and Vestigial Organs. Organ/limb #2 is The Male Nipple, of which livescience.com states, "The subject of male nipples is a sensitive, and maybe confusing, topic to many."
Indeed.
And did you know galactorrhea is the spontaneous flow of milk from the breast, unassociated with child birth and can be caused by excessive nipple stimulation? They don't define excessive at wikipedia, so be careful, but do avoid twiddling your nipples with licorice and rubbing antipsychotics on them. That's begging for trouble. Which brings us back to topic 1...if the male nipple is useless, then this couldn't happen to men...right? Right?
Au contraire! Associated Content says that everyone is a potential victim. And can. Can. Result in "great embarrassment to the sufferer." I'm slapping my breasts with licorice just thinking about the humiliation and how well it'll go over with my friends at Ground Zero.
This is where you wish that my mother interrupting me for details about the salt to water ratio in a normal saline solution were enough to derail me from this line of investigation. Too bad for you.
Here's "Milkmen: Fathers Who Breastfeed", courtesy of unassistedchildbirth.com. And for those doubting Thomas' in the crowd, the Bible condones it.
Indeed.
And did you know galactorrhea is the spontaneous flow of milk from the breast, unassociated with child birth and can be caused by excessive nipple stimulation? They don't define excessive at wikipedia, so be careful, but do avoid twiddling your nipples with licorice and rubbing antipsychotics on them. That's begging for trouble. Which brings us back to topic 1...if the male nipple is useless, then this couldn't happen to men...right? Right?
Au contraire! Associated Content says that everyone is a potential victim. And can. Can. Result in "great embarrassment to the sufferer." I'm slapping my breasts with licorice just thinking about the humiliation and how well it'll go over with my friends at Ground Zero.
This is where you wish that my mother interrupting me for details about the salt to water ratio in a normal saline solution were enough to derail me from this line of investigation. Too bad for you.
Here's "Milkmen: Fathers Who Breastfeed", courtesy of unassistedchildbirth.com. And for those doubting Thomas' in the crowd, the Bible condones it.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs
Friday night I went to an ash spreading for a friend's brother out Monticello way. I had played games with the brother in the past, even without my friend around, so I knew him, although he wasn't a close friend in any sense. There was a nice, although strange, ceremony that involved putting a lot of his things onto a bonfire, which was nice with his favorite chair and the knife and compass he always carried, but a little more peculiar when they started burning a small sapling of every kind of tree and plant on the property where he lived, and his father, confused at what he was holding in his hand at one point, announced after plum, oak, maple, wild rice..."various plants". The urn with his ashes was taken around for everyone to say goodbye, and then rowed out onto the lake where he had lived to be spread at his favorite fishing spots.
Afterwards, we took my friend back to his aunt and uncle's house for the evening, where I got to see this sign:
Which I thought would be the most peculiar sign I'd see all evening (although fair warning to Kyle who's been known to flush My Little Ponies and American Doll accessories), until Kyle and I got to the Hilltop Bar in Hanover and saw this:
Whew!
Afterwards, we took my friend back to his aunt and uncle's house for the evening, where I got to see this sign:
Which I thought would be the most peculiar sign I'd see all evening (although fair warning to Kyle who's been known to flush My Little Ponies and American Doll accessories), until Kyle and I got to the Hilltop Bar in Hanover and saw this:
Whew!
I'm a Child - Reason #+1
A sign for Hanover Area Girl Scouts makes me laugh.
But the Hilltop Bar does an excellent burger with fried onions at 10:15 p.m.
But the Hilltop Bar does an excellent burger with fried onions at 10:15 p.m.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Great!
Phone rings, waking me up, "Hello?"
Telemarketer: "Hello, Mr. Scooter?"
Me (groggy): "Um, uh...yes."
Telemarketer: "How are you doing today, Mr. Scooter?"
Me: Sick.
Telemarketer: "Great! I'm with the Special Olympics and we're...."
Telemarketer: "Hello, Mr. Scooter?"
Me (groggy): "Um, uh...yes."
Telemarketer: "How are you doing today, Mr. Scooter?"
Me: Sick.
Telemarketer: "Great! I'm with the Special Olympics and we're...."
Komodo vs. Cobra
I was home sick today and ended up watching a movie on DVR so that I could fall asleep in the middle and get back to where I was when I fell asleep. Ming once asked me what differentiated a bad snake movie from a good snake movie, and I can't entirely explain it, but I can state that overlaying 2005 James Bond music, Survivor self-referencing, guns that never run out of bullets, birds that squawk over all the swear words, the imdb keyword "big breasts", and putting Pearl Harbor Military Command in what looks like a rest stop are all hallmarks of a bad snake movie.
So is hearing Michael Pere' state, "I didn't know a beautiful lady scientist would come with a sense of humor."
So is hearing Michael Pere' state, "I didn't know a beautiful lady scientist would come with a sense of humor."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Bleacher Failure
I'm glad this happened after our visit to Circus Juventas. Eryn would have disliked this immensely (courtesy of Ming):
ST. PAUL, Minn. -- Seven people were taken to the hospital after bleachers collapsed at circus school performance in St. Paul.
Police say there were multiple injuries, but most appear to be minor. Sgt. Paul Schnell says there were about 450 people on the bleachers when the structure collapsed at the Circus Juventas event Sunday about 10 p.m.
Witnesses say the crowd had just stood up to cheer when the bleachers gave way.
Circus Juventas is a performing arts circus school for children. The collapse happened during the final show of the season.
ST. PAUL, Minn. -- Seven people were taken to the hospital after bleachers collapsed at circus school performance in St. Paul.
Police say there were multiple injuries, but most appear to be minor. Sgt. Paul Schnell says there were about 450 people on the bleachers when the structure collapsed at the Circus Juventas event Sunday about 10 p.m.
Witnesses say the crowd had just stood up to cheer when the bleachers gave way.
Circus Juventas is a performing arts circus school for children. The collapse happened during the final show of the season.
I'm Asian, That's What We Do...
Well...clearly this is for Kyle, but it comes with the added benefit that I can prepend the quote, "I'm Asian. That's what we do. We're naked." Although that's not the punchline.
Fontariffic
I posted this on Facebook, but I thought it was amusing, so I'm going to cross post it to the place where I keep things of a more permanent nature. My name in Jesus font, courtesy of Kevin Royden's Tumbleblog.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Old Man
Yesterday was Ming's 36th birthday. To celebrate, I realized I should have captured this anecdote from our trip to Circus Juventas' Yulan last week. We were trading jokes while waiting in line;
Me, to Logan: "What's brown and sticky?"
Logan, pointing at Ming: "HIM!"
The actual answer is "a stick", or if the other person gets it correct too often, "poop". I wasn't sure why Ming was sticky and didn't want to check, but Logan assured me he's the stickyman.
Me, to Logan: "What's brown and sticky?"
Logan, pointing at Ming: "HIM!"
The actual answer is "a stick", or if the other person gets it correct too often, "poop". I wasn't sure why Ming was sticky and didn't want to check, but Logan assured me he's the stickyman.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Hide and Seek
I think between blogging about RAGBRAI and my additional job as corporate Agile blogger, I worse myself out last week. Blogging about burn up and burn down charts, spikes and backlogs is fun, but it wears me out after a while because it's not second nature to me yet. It does make me wonder exactly how much text I produce in a year.
Today, after blogging about ten recommendations for readable code, I was driving home from work and saw a woman mowing her yard. Then I saw this guy, behind a telephone pole, with his head poking out around the pole obviously spying on her. But he was only about 40' away and not even across the road. He didn't jump out to get her or anything, and he was on an incredibly busy road so there was no danger of grabbing her and dragging her away, so I figure it was her husband being a tool. But it was seriously creepy to watch.
Today, after blogging about ten recommendations for readable code, I was driving home from work and saw a woman mowing her yard. Then I saw this guy, behind a telephone pole, with his head poking out around the pole obviously spying on her. But he was only about 40' away and not even across the road. He didn't jump out to get her or anything, and he was on an incredibly busy road so there was no danger of grabbing her and dragging her away, so I figure it was her husband being a tool. But it was seriously creepy to watch.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Free S***
Before I put it up on Craigslist for someone to cart away, does anyone need a Directv Receiver, Model D10, sealed. They seem to go for $5 on ebay/craiglist. If a friend wants it for $5 less than that amount, please speak up soon. I also have a variety of other boxes, depending upon your needs, for the same price.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Wabi Sabi and Baxter Black
I've spending some time at the moment looking at the idea of Wabi-Sabi as it applies to Agile programming. Among the items that popped up was this 9 minute video about Baxter Black, a poet cowboy in Benson, Arizona. He has a series of videos on YouTube that are actual storytelling/poetry. I guess I should have heard of him, being an intermittant (several times a week) listener of MPR, but he was unfamiliar to me. I'm interested in whether my parents have met him, having hung out in Benson all these years.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Mount Pleasant to Burlington (43.2 miles, 1145 feet of climb)
I started the day with a flat tire. I hate that. Stupid slow leaks. It was on the front, so it wasn't the new wheel, which was good because it meant the back wheel wasn't exhibiting a pokey spoke issue. I had two flats that day. After we'd been traveling for a few blocks, I tapped my breaks and didn't stop at all. Which is how I realized my breaks weren't on. So I reclipped them and got going, not realizing I'd clamped them too tight. 41 miles later I had a flat and when I went to pull it off the rim and spokes were so hot I almost burnt my hand and the spokes were rattling a bit because of the heat working. Felt like a right git. A nice kid in Burlington brought me a portable compressor to fill my tire, however, so things weren't as bad as they could have been.
I don't think I've pointed out yet that my sister's mileage is probably closer to the real amount. My odometer was off by about 40%, so I just gave up watching it, and we added a bit of mileage here and there because of where campsites were situated or because we biked back to the car from the end point. What I have listed in the titles is the official line.
Our last breakfast of Chris Cakes. The real weight killer isn't RAGBRAI, it's finishing at RAGBRAI, going home, and still eating pie and a plate full of pancakes every morning despite not riding 50+ miles a day.
A patriotic turn out in New London.
Just after Geode State Park. I came down a hill not too far from here just as a guy was starting up the left hand side of the road, yelling at people to slow down and get to the right. As we turned at the bottom onto the dam, there was a guy sprawled out on the road with a dozen people around him, clearly bleeding from several locations on his head, only one of which was his nose. He had that disturbing breathing pattern that is sort of hitching, sort of slowing, and absolutely unhealthy sounding. As there were plenty of people to assist in first aid, I concentrated on getting up the hill and out of the way before the ambulance and cops came through. Which they did, the cop going about 70 in the opposite direction of the riders which is really scary if you're familiar with RAGBRAI.
Based on the hill (danger, falling rock), I guessed the guy to be going close to 40 if he was all out by the time he got to the bottom, and a comment on a newspaper article later asserted about 39. LissyJo sent me the article stating he didn't make it.
Snake Alley in Burlington. I almost bypassed it as I had just fixed my flat, and then I did what this guy does, which is double back to tackle it. I just couldn't bring myself to pass it up and worry that later I'd regret it. Think fired bricks, laid on their sides at varying heights, going back and forth up a very steep hill. I made it to the top, sitting bolt upright on my hybrid while around me, to the left and right, road bicyclists with their clipless pedals fell over, almost bumping into me as I climbed at about 3 mph. A fun way to end a huge ride.
End of the ride and the tradition of dipping your tire in the river. I didn't go to the official spot. I went a block down where there weren't any people so I could get to a corn dog faster.
Proof the tire is in the water, and Lamby has completed the journey.
A nice man took a picture of me with the bridge in the background.
On the way home we stopped in Riverside, future birthplace of James T. Kirk. Here's a shuttle. I had an eye out for Yeti. You can't know for sure now that I'm not a potential ancestor of our most famous fictional starship captain.
And here's me inappropriately touching the Riverside NCC-1818. Who would have ever thought I could extend that hobby to starships!
I don't think I've pointed out yet that my sister's mileage is probably closer to the real amount. My odometer was off by about 40%, so I just gave up watching it, and we added a bit of mileage here and there because of where campsites were situated or because we biked back to the car from the end point. What I have listed in the titles is the official line.
Our last breakfast of Chris Cakes. The real weight killer isn't RAGBRAI, it's finishing at RAGBRAI, going home, and still eating pie and a plate full of pancakes every morning despite not riding 50+ miles a day.
A patriotic turn out in New London.
Just after Geode State Park. I came down a hill not too far from here just as a guy was starting up the left hand side of the road, yelling at people to slow down and get to the right. As we turned at the bottom onto the dam, there was a guy sprawled out on the road with a dozen people around him, clearly bleeding from several locations on his head, only one of which was his nose. He had that disturbing breathing pattern that is sort of hitching, sort of slowing, and absolutely unhealthy sounding. As there were plenty of people to assist in first aid, I concentrated on getting up the hill and out of the way before the ambulance and cops came through. Which they did, the cop going about 70 in the opposite direction of the riders which is really scary if you're familiar with RAGBRAI.
Based on the hill (danger, falling rock), I guessed the guy to be going close to 40 if he was all out by the time he got to the bottom, and a comment on a newspaper article later asserted about 39. LissyJo sent me the article stating he didn't make it.
Snake Alley in Burlington. I almost bypassed it as I had just fixed my flat, and then I did what this guy does, which is double back to tackle it. I just couldn't bring myself to pass it up and worry that later I'd regret it. Think fired bricks, laid on their sides at varying heights, going back and forth up a very steep hill. I made it to the top, sitting bolt upright on my hybrid while around me, to the left and right, road bicyclists with their clipless pedals fell over, almost bumping into me as I climbed at about 3 mph. A fun way to end a huge ride.
End of the ride and the tradition of dipping your tire in the river. I didn't go to the official spot. I went a block down where there weren't any people so I could get to a corn dog faster.
Proof the tire is in the water, and Lamby has completed the journey.
A nice man took a picture of me with the bridge in the background.
On the way home we stopped in Riverside, future birthplace of James T. Kirk. Here's a shuttle. I had an eye out for Yeti. You can't know for sure now that I'm not a potential ancestor of our most famous fictional starship captain.
And here's me inappropriately touching the Riverside NCC-1818. Who would have ever thought I could extend that hobby to starships!
Ottuma to Mt. Pleasant (75.5 miles, 2841 feet of climb)
The second to the last day. The end is in sight. It was the only day I had allergy issues, and it was because I was sleeping inside a church with air conditioning. The outside air agrees with me more. My sister questions why we had three tents in a single room, but the tent is there to cut out just a bit of the snoring from the others (and protect them from my snoring). It has little to do with space issues. And my tent takes less than 5 minutes to set up and tear down, so it's not a major inconvenience.
To begin the day we had to climb out of Ottumwa, or O-Town as the locals were calling it in their papers - a nice place that's a little east coast, a little south, a little midwest, and reminded me of where I started in Maryland on the Cumberland. However, it's easiest to compare Ottumwa to sort of a mini-Duluth. The first 45 minutes were some big climbs, but at least everyone was rested and strong. Some more so than others as a guy shot up the largest hill past me, one hand on the bars, the other holding on to his cellphone while he had a spirited conversation that didn't involve any panting or grunting whatsoever. Other riders started showing up after the hills, conveniently climbing out of the backs of pickups. That's what happens when there's more drinking than riding.
In addition to being the only day I had a short problem with allergies, it was also the only day I had problems with food. In Hedrick I ate a few pancakes, which was fine. But I also ate two burnt sausage patties. So grease. No problem. Charcoal...something to avoid on future rides.
Couple of friendly riders before a big hill.
Lamby, Eryn's stuffed animal, who accompanied me completely across Iowa strapped to my handlebars. I had a concern that no one would really talk to me, assuming I was some sort of Lamb of Jesus nut who'd start preaching from my bicycle, but plenty of people said "hello" without a following "brother", or offering up a "blessed day". My sister didn't help as she yelled loudly as she passed me, "Hey! Is that a lamb for Jesus?!" Lamby came through fairly clean, despite getting wet a number of times, but a bit sun bleached for his/her journey.
All the way until the middle of the day I was assaulted with signs that read:
Got Milk?
Got Dutch Letters?
Packwood!
It seemed like something you'd see on the cover of a porn movie. I don't know what getting Dutch Lettered would entail, but I'm pretty sure it's outside my permissible list.
The first 63 miles or so were pretty easy. I was flying along as my Dad was no longer with us (he wasn't really slowing me down - I just took the opportunity to open up a bit when I was alone). He'd looked like crap the night before, and by Ottumwa he was sporting hideously puffed cheeks from a gum infection, not to mention a fever. That was the end of his riding time and he spent the rest of the trip in the RV until they got him back to the cities to check into the hospital and get three holes drilled into his teeth/gums. I believe there were possibly 2-3 root canals impending as well, but I don't know if that was a certainty. He picked the right day to get taken out, as the last 20 or so miles of the ride were hard. I don't think I've biked that hard in a very long time. I geared down into 2x6 to 2x4 (I don't usually use my third gear on the hybrid, it's a killer) to tackle the first few hills, until I got to the top of the third after dealing with a headwind that negated almost all the accretion of hill momentum, looked ahead of me, and saw three more hills marching up, up, up into the distance. I geared down into 1x# range, and began a long mostly-uphill slog, putting one foot in front of the other until I hit Lockridge, which felt like it was at the top of a mountain and visibly closer to the clouds. It's the only day in two RAGBRAIs where people were so visibly slowing down that I was out enough in front that the bicyclists were sparser than usual.
You'd never know you'd been traveling up for so long in this picture.
But at least there was free water and good food after all that climbing. Lockridge is where I had the Gooseberry pie.
On the way through the hills, I passed a young brunette who loudly announced, "RUMBLES!" It was too late for me, and I thumped across the rumble strip, jarring my helmet and my back. "Way to demonstrate!" she yelled at me.
Having seen her nameplate, I yelled back, "At least in Iowa they're on the flat parts of the road and not at the bottom of the hills, like in Winona!"
"Hey! You're from Minnesota!"
That's how to bond in 15 seconds while on RAGBRAI.
Also Lockridge. A couple of chaps worn out from the up.
Mount Pleasant. The only train I had to wait for in all of Iowa. The guys in the warehouse area next to the tracks crawled up on cars and boxes to peer over the fence and check out the cyclists.
There seemed to be fewer team buses than in the past, and fewer speedy pelotons on the road (seems related). I suspect maybe some of them cut back when Lance bailed on RAGBRAI for placing third in the Tour (a topic of much discussion on the ride - you could find someone to talk to about the Tour any time you wanted), or cut back because of the economy. But Homunculus was there and camped near our RV at the Threshing grounds. I didn't get to meet Thong Girl or Cherry Bomb, but the male members of Homunculus may have been the (drunk) guys who were discussing outside my tent as I was trying to get to sleep:
"Dude, I'm going to make you say dude tonight."
"No you're not."
"Dude. I'm so going to."
"No, you're..."
"Say it."
"No."
"Say 'dude'."
"No."
"No what?"
"What?"
"No you won't say what, dude?"
"I won't say it."
Picture 30-60 more minutes of that as you drift in and out of consciousness.
There was a big storm rolling in that night, and someone from the campsite/town was going from area to area to tell people where they could take shelter if they didn't have an RV. We had an RV, and for a while we tried to all sleep in it, but between Eryn's 102 temp, John complaining he was cold because of his infection, the slope of the RV trying to roll me onto Ceri who was on the floor, the humidity/heat, and the potential for crying toddlers, I quickly moved back to my tent figuring I might not be safer, but everyone else would be.
This brings to mind a discussion at the information booth earlier in the evening, as I was getting directions to the Methodist Meat Loaf in town.
Man: "Where are the shelters?"
Info Lady: "The small school house over there. Or, if you walk down the street, the new school is a shelter."
Man: "I can park there?"
Info Lady: "You don't need to drive. It's just a block."
Man: "But I can park there?"
Info Lady: "Sure, but it's easier to walk."
Man: "But there's a ramp."
Info Lady: "Noooo..."
Man: "Where's the ramp?"
Info Lady: "There's no ramp."
Man: "Where do you park your car?"
Info Lady: "What?"
Man: "To protect it from hail."
Info Guy: "There's no ramp, you're in the middle of Iowa."
Man: "Well that just figures!"
Dude.
Eryn had a more tiring day than I did, despite the hills. Here she is listening to country music near our RV. I bet she would have gotten up if she'd known there was a steam powered carousel, but my sister forgot to share that information.
The trolly, as night rolls in. It's hard to see in the background, but there are various terraces in the hillside and there are tents everywhere. It was one of the nights you could appreciate how many people were really there because they were (mostly) colocated.
Music at Mount Pleasant:
Riders. Hmm...this may be from the day before, near the free bananas. I had a lot of time to film while waiting for John to repair the kid's tire:
To begin the day we had to climb out of Ottumwa, or O-Town as the locals were calling it in their papers - a nice place that's a little east coast, a little south, a little midwest, and reminded me of where I started in Maryland on the Cumberland. However, it's easiest to compare Ottumwa to sort of a mini-Duluth. The first 45 minutes were some big climbs, but at least everyone was rested and strong. Some more so than others as a guy shot up the largest hill past me, one hand on the bars, the other holding on to his cellphone while he had a spirited conversation that didn't involve any panting or grunting whatsoever. Other riders started showing up after the hills, conveniently climbing out of the backs of pickups. That's what happens when there's more drinking than riding.
In addition to being the only day I had a short problem with allergies, it was also the only day I had problems with food. In Hedrick I ate a few pancakes, which was fine. But I also ate two burnt sausage patties. So grease. No problem. Charcoal...something to avoid on future rides.
Couple of friendly riders before a big hill.
Lamby, Eryn's stuffed animal, who accompanied me completely across Iowa strapped to my handlebars. I had a concern that no one would really talk to me, assuming I was some sort of Lamb of Jesus nut who'd start preaching from my bicycle, but plenty of people said "hello" without a following "brother", or offering up a "blessed day". My sister didn't help as she yelled loudly as she passed me, "Hey! Is that a lamb for Jesus?!" Lamby came through fairly clean, despite getting wet a number of times, but a bit sun bleached for his/her journey.
All the way until the middle of the day I was assaulted with signs that read:
Got Milk?
Got Dutch Letters?
Packwood!
It seemed like something you'd see on the cover of a porn movie. I don't know what getting Dutch Lettered would entail, but I'm pretty sure it's outside my permissible list.
The first 63 miles or so were pretty easy. I was flying along as my Dad was no longer with us (he wasn't really slowing me down - I just took the opportunity to open up a bit when I was alone). He'd looked like crap the night before, and by Ottumwa he was sporting hideously puffed cheeks from a gum infection, not to mention a fever. That was the end of his riding time and he spent the rest of the trip in the RV until they got him back to the cities to check into the hospital and get three holes drilled into his teeth/gums. I believe there were possibly 2-3 root canals impending as well, but I don't know if that was a certainty. He picked the right day to get taken out, as the last 20 or so miles of the ride were hard. I don't think I've biked that hard in a very long time. I geared down into 2x6 to 2x4 (I don't usually use my third gear on the hybrid, it's a killer) to tackle the first few hills, until I got to the top of the third after dealing with a headwind that negated almost all the accretion of hill momentum, looked ahead of me, and saw three more hills marching up, up, up into the distance. I geared down into 1x# range, and began a long mostly-uphill slog, putting one foot in front of the other until I hit Lockridge, which felt like it was at the top of a mountain and visibly closer to the clouds. It's the only day in two RAGBRAIs where people were so visibly slowing down that I was out enough in front that the bicyclists were sparser than usual.
You'd never know you'd been traveling up for so long in this picture.
But at least there was free water and good food after all that climbing. Lockridge is where I had the Gooseberry pie.
On the way through the hills, I passed a young brunette who loudly announced, "RUMBLES!" It was too late for me, and I thumped across the rumble strip, jarring my helmet and my back. "Way to demonstrate!" she yelled at me.
Having seen her nameplate, I yelled back, "At least in Iowa they're on the flat parts of the road and not at the bottom of the hills, like in Winona!"
"Hey! You're from Minnesota!"
That's how to bond in 15 seconds while on RAGBRAI.
Also Lockridge. A couple of chaps worn out from the up.
Mount Pleasant. The only train I had to wait for in all of Iowa. The guys in the warehouse area next to the tracks crawled up on cars and boxes to peer over the fence and check out the cyclists.
There seemed to be fewer team buses than in the past, and fewer speedy pelotons on the road (seems related). I suspect maybe some of them cut back when Lance bailed on RAGBRAI for placing third in the Tour (a topic of much discussion on the ride - you could find someone to talk to about the Tour any time you wanted), or cut back because of the economy. But Homunculus was there and camped near our RV at the Threshing grounds. I didn't get to meet Thong Girl or Cherry Bomb, but the male members of Homunculus may have been the (drunk) guys who were discussing outside my tent as I was trying to get to sleep:
"Dude, I'm going to make you say dude tonight."
"No you're not."
"Dude. I'm so going to."
"No, you're..."
"Say it."
"No."
"Say 'dude'."
"No."
"No what?"
"What?"
"No you won't say what, dude?"
"I won't say it."
Picture 30-60 more minutes of that as you drift in and out of consciousness.
There was a big storm rolling in that night, and someone from the campsite/town was going from area to area to tell people where they could take shelter if they didn't have an RV. We had an RV, and for a while we tried to all sleep in it, but between Eryn's 102 temp, John complaining he was cold because of his infection, the slope of the RV trying to roll me onto Ceri who was on the floor, the humidity/heat, and the potential for crying toddlers, I quickly moved back to my tent figuring I might not be safer, but everyone else would be.
This brings to mind a discussion at the information booth earlier in the evening, as I was getting directions to the Methodist Meat Loaf in town.
Man: "Where are the shelters?"
Info Lady: "The small school house over there. Or, if you walk down the street, the new school is a shelter."
Man: "I can park there?"
Info Lady: "You don't need to drive. It's just a block."
Man: "But I can park there?"
Info Lady: "Sure, but it's easier to walk."
Man: "But there's a ramp."
Info Lady:
Man: "Where's the ramp?"
Info Lady: "There's no ramp."
Man: "Where do you park your car?"
Info Lady: "What?"
Man: "To protect it from hail."
Info Guy
Man:
Dude.
Eryn had a more tiring day than I did, despite the hills. Here she is listening to country music near our RV. I bet she would have gotten up if she'd known there was a steam powered carousel, but my sister forgot to share that information.
The trolly, as night rolls in. It's hard to see in the background, but there are various terraces in the hillside and there are tents everywhere. It was one of the nights you could appreciate how many people were really there because they were (mostly) colocated.
Music at Mount Pleasant:
Riders. Hmm...this may be from the day before, near the free bananas. I had a lot of time to film while waiting for John to repair the kid's tire:
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Chariton to Ottumwa (76.9 miles, 3388 feet of climb)
My sister claims 111 miles this day. She and her husband did do the extra loop, but I'm not sure where the other 8-11 miles came from. I did NOT do the extra loop, but spent those hours rolling a little slower with my Dad which necessitated putting on suntan lotion so thick it was more of a covering than a lotion.
It was near the loop point, if I remember correctly, that a young woman gave a cop a bit of sass and he made a threatening bottom gesture with his traffic baton. That was the clincher for me. No loop is worth an erotic police spanking. To me. I'm fine if my sister and brother in law are of a different bent.
It stormed like crazy in Chariton while we were sleeping. Big cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning that made you question the wisdom of sleeping in a tent under a tree. About 5:15 a.m. my Dad announced, without leaving his tent, "Scott, I'm going to take a rain day." I responded, "We don't have to leave at 5:30. We can leave at 8:00. Just wait and see what the weather does." At 5:30 a.m., almost to the minute, the rain quit and blue skies rolled in.
Here are some evil, noisy bugs singing to me from the tree above my head. The one positive aspect of the thunderstorm is that it shut them up.
I had a strange dream while I was sleeping at Chariton. I dreamt I met a doctor of sun tan lotion application. He explained to me very carefully that was the context of his PhD. He proceeded to give me many lectures about appropriate sun tan lotion application, most of which involved a smooth, evenly applied, motion from left to right. Obviously I had some concern about the amount of sun I was getting.
A nice photo of the Confidence cemetery. It was Ingmar Bergman who made a movie about a bicyclist racing death on RAGBRAI. Hmm...given I saw a guy dying the last day, that loses some of its amusement. Still, a pretty picture.
I pulled up next to a kid from Maryland at one point and talked to him about the C&O Canal trail I rode in Maryland/D.C. last year. He stated that he rode it all the time. When I mentioned the water tasted worse the closer you got to D.C., his sister looked back over her shoulder and exclaimed, "You drank the canal water?!" I pointed out that I drank water from the pumps, so it came from beneath the canal, but she still looks horrified.
The Pterosail guy! We saw him last time. I think the wind was more in his favor this ride.
Fountainheads. They addressed each other as "Hey Fountainhead!" It did make them easy to spot in a crowd.
A co-worker! And his sister. More proof of my adage that no matter where I go, I will bump into someone I work with. He and I have ridden the MS150 together with the corporate team, and I can look up from my typing and see an MS150 neckerchief he signed.
A mid-sized to smallish hill. Just imagine doing this every mile or two.
Here's live hill action:
Near the free banana stop. John stopped to help a bicyclist with a flat tire here. The kid had a high end road bike and absolutely no knowledge of how to change a tire. He let John take it off, put on a new tube, put on the tire, and start to pump it. His contribution was to point out he thought the tube might still be pinched. I made John stop and give the tire back with instructions that the kid had seen the process and should make sure it suited his needs and borrow a pump from any one of a hundred people when he was finished, and that there might be a foot pump at the banana area. I have a rule that I never pump up someone else's tire on a ride as they'll blame me if it pinches and pops. You have to blow up your own tire and manage your own risk. Own the bike. Own the tubes. Own responsibility for popping. It'll keep you out of quite a bit of conflict.
Cannon in Blakesburg. I had to replace a spoke.
Then half a block later, I needed a second spoke. Two RAGBRAIs. Two catastrophic spoke failures. I had them replace the whole back wheel as it was cheaper than replacing any additional spokes. It was a good choice, as a broken spoke the next day would have killed me. Here's my poor bike up on the blocks. John took off ahead of me as it was the last rest town and I set out 30 minutes later to catch up with him. In front of me was this gigantic bank of storm clouds and a nasty head wind. There were raindrops and 60-degree temps on my face. Neck-burning heat and 85+ degree temps at my back. I met up with John in Ottumwa, and I was as dry as a bone, while he was dripping from head to toe. That's what he gets for abandoning me.
The Shower Shack in Ottumwa, decorated with my mother's favorite motif, rubber ducks. I bought her a vintage rubber duck at the end of the ride from an antique store. It never occurred to me that they'd make it through 30 years without molding out inside.
It was near the loop point, if I remember correctly, that a young woman gave a cop a bit of sass and he made a threatening bottom gesture with his traffic baton. That was the clincher for me. No loop is worth an erotic police spanking. To me. I'm fine if my sister and brother in law are of a different bent.
It stormed like crazy in Chariton while we were sleeping. Big cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning that made you question the wisdom of sleeping in a tent under a tree. About 5:15 a.m. my Dad announced, without leaving his tent, "Scott, I'm going to take a rain day." I responded, "We don't have to leave at 5:30. We can leave at 8:00. Just wait and see what the weather does." At 5:30 a.m., almost to the minute, the rain quit and blue skies rolled in.
Here are some evil, noisy bugs singing to me from the tree above my head. The one positive aspect of the thunderstorm is that it shut them up.
I had a strange dream while I was sleeping at Chariton. I dreamt I met a doctor of sun tan lotion application. He explained to me very carefully that was the context of his PhD. He proceeded to give me many lectures about appropriate sun tan lotion application, most of which involved a smooth, evenly applied, motion from left to right. Obviously I had some concern about the amount of sun I was getting.
A nice photo of the Confidence cemetery. It was Ingmar Bergman who made a movie about a bicyclist racing death on RAGBRAI. Hmm...given I saw a guy dying the last day, that loses some of its amusement. Still, a pretty picture.
I pulled up next to a kid from Maryland at one point and talked to him about the C&O Canal trail I rode in Maryland/D.C. last year. He stated that he rode it all the time. When I mentioned the water tasted worse the closer you got to D.C., his sister looked back over her shoulder and exclaimed, "You drank the canal water?!" I pointed out that I drank water from the pumps, so it came from beneath the canal, but she still looks horrified.
The Pterosail guy! We saw him last time. I think the wind was more in his favor this ride.
Fountainheads. They addressed each other as "Hey Fountainhead!" It did make them easy to spot in a crowd.
A co-worker! And his sister. More proof of my adage that no matter where I go, I will bump into someone I work with. He and I have ridden the MS150 together with the corporate team, and I can look up from my typing and see an MS150 neckerchief he signed.
A mid-sized to smallish hill. Just imagine doing this every mile or two.
Here's live hill action:
Near the free banana stop. John stopped to help a bicyclist with a flat tire here. The kid had a high end road bike and absolutely no knowledge of how to change a tire. He let John take it off, put on a new tube, put on the tire, and start to pump it. His contribution was to point out he thought the tube might still be pinched. I made John stop and give the tire back with instructions that the kid had seen the process and should make sure it suited his needs and borrow a pump from any one of a hundred people when he was finished, and that there might be a foot pump at the banana area. I have a rule that I never pump up someone else's tire on a ride as they'll blame me if it pinches and pops. You have to blow up your own tire and manage your own risk. Own the bike. Own the tubes. Own responsibility for popping. It'll keep you out of quite a bit of conflict.
Cannon in Blakesburg. I had to replace a spoke.
Then half a block later, I needed a second spoke. Two RAGBRAIs. Two catastrophic spoke failures. I had them replace the whole back wheel as it was cheaper than replacing any additional spokes. It was a good choice, as a broken spoke the next day would have killed me. Here's my poor bike up on the blocks. John took off ahead of me as it was the last rest town and I set out 30 minutes later to catch up with him. In front of me was this gigantic bank of storm clouds and a nasty head wind. There were raindrops and 60-degree temps on my face. Neck-burning heat and 85+ degree temps at my back. I met up with John in Ottumwa, and I was as dry as a bone, while he was dripping from head to toe. That's what he gets for abandoning me.
The Shower Shack in Ottumwa, decorated with my mother's favorite motif, rubber ducks. I bought her a vintage rubber duck at the end of the ride from an antique store. It never occurred to me that they'd make it through 30 years without molding out inside.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Indianola to Chariton (44.4 miles, 2182 feet of climb)
A short day to offset the long hilly days!
It was a bit misty out. I wrote a haiku in my head while I was bicycling. I am very in touch with my artistic side.
White hole in the sky
Beads of mist on my forearms
A RAGBRAI morning.
Sometimes a surprise rolls out of the fog. A couple next to me were discussing the fog and one said, "It's just like a fishing day in Canada." All I could think was "except for the constant pedaling!"
So many cyclists. I'd like to offer an ode to all the female cyclists, like the nice young woman from Duluth who told me I should bike the north shore and eat at Betty's pies. She was very convincing. Oh lovely RAGBRAI girl, with your jersey unzipped, your hair unfurled, diamond earrings in place, legs awhirl...that's as far as I've gotten, although it needs a bit about bike shorts, pony tails, and chain marks on calves.
Eryn watching a singer in Chariton, with a very svelte looking Klund in the background. Chariton is the place I had the delicious blackberry pie. You can't see them in this picture, but on a nearby corner are three Amish teenagers lounging and looking absolutely like a gang and leering at bicycle-shorted women who walk by. I say this in order to draw a distinction between my ode and this behavior. I was appreciating, not coveting. There's a very distinct difference. I did picture them as Jay and Silent Bob for a moment which almost made me laugh.
I believe this may have been the day I saw a guy at the pancake breakfast in a Mycogen jacket. I used to work for Mycogen Seeds, specifically writing code to automate their gifts-for-seeds program. That jacket was probably delivered as a result of code I wrote. An interesting way to meet an end user in the midst of Iowa.
A couple of videos of Bikes in the Mist, the Scooter Fossey story:
It was a bit misty out. I wrote a haiku in my head while I was bicycling. I am very in touch with my artistic side.
White hole in the sky
Beads of mist on my forearms
A RAGBRAI morning.
Sometimes a surprise rolls out of the fog. A couple next to me were discussing the fog and one said, "It's just like a fishing day in Canada." All I could think was "except for the constant pedaling!"
So many cyclists. I'd like to offer an ode to all the female cyclists, like the nice young woman from Duluth who told me I should bike the north shore and eat at Betty's pies. She was very convincing. Oh lovely RAGBRAI girl, with your jersey unzipped, your hair unfurled, diamond earrings in place, legs awhirl...that's as far as I've gotten, although it needs a bit about bike shorts, pony tails, and chain marks on calves.
Eryn watching a singer in Chariton, with a very svelte looking Klund in the background. Chariton is the place I had the delicious blackberry pie. You can't see them in this picture, but on a nearby corner are three Amish teenagers lounging and looking absolutely like a gang and leering at bicycle-shorted women who walk by. I say this in order to draw a distinction between my ode and this behavior. I was appreciating, not coveting. There's a very distinct difference. I did picture them as Jay and Silent Bob for a moment which almost made me laugh.
I believe this may have been the day I saw a guy at the pancake breakfast in a Mycogen jacket. I used to work for Mycogen Seeds, specifically writing code to automate their gifts-for-seeds program. That jacket was probably delivered as a result of code I wrote. An interesting way to meet an end user in the midst of Iowa.
A couple of videos of Bikes in the Mist, the Scooter Fossey story:
Totem
Almost missed this one. My sister and brother in law attempting to extend the canopy on the RV to protect their bicycles. It was raining pretty good in Greenfield. I remember being mad at Greenfield because my sister's map ended at an intersection in town that had no distinguishing features, no RV, no directions, and almost no phone access from my mobile, although I found if I faced one direction instead of the other three I got consistent service. I finally figured out they must be at the fairgrounds, so we hoofed it up there and dodged through the hundreds of RVs and campers until we found them.
Eryn had her first "walking taco" in Greenfield. She enjoyed it and the company of the two guys next to us who were being chatty about the ride, time in the service and time as engineers. During a discussion of the hill profile for the rides, it was pointed out that the next day's ride trended downward despite all the hills, and one stated while pointing at the biggest up/down change, "Yeah, yeah, until you get caught in this crevasse." Very amusing if you just did 5,096 feet of climb. Perhaps not as amusing to someone with all their blood sugar.
But I digress. Here they are, taming the RV!
Eryn had her first "walking taco" in Greenfield. She enjoyed it and the company of the two guys next to us who were being chatty about the ride, time in the service and time as engineers. During a discussion of the hill profile for the rides, it was pointed out that the next day's ride trended downward despite all the hills, and one stated while pointing at the biggest up/down change, "Yeah, yeah, until you get caught in this crevasse." Very amusing if you just did 5,096 feet of climb. Perhaps not as amusing to someone with all their blood sugar.
But I digress. Here they are, taming the RV!
RAGBRAI: Greenfield to Indianola (77.1 miles, 4470 feet of climb)
Ah, Greenfield to Indianola. The one day my sister had to admit, that at least temporarily, as long as she was eating pancakes, she was an Oriental girl and that it had nothing to do with a rug.
Welcome to Macksburg. Home of Skillet Tossing. See the bottom for a somewhat grainy video. It involves tossing a skillet at a few scarecrows with balls for their heads. The big fence is designed to protect bystanders, but it is in no way foolproof and a few people almost ended up being brained.
It did rain for a chunk of the day. Not a torrential downpour, but a drizzling moisture that meant it was too hot for a rain jacket, and too cool for a t-shirt.
It doesn't rain on you inside the pancake barn. But it does drape cobwebs all over you and your pancakes. Strangely, pancakes don't seem to stick to cobwebs the way skin does. So if you're ever going into a dark cave full of unknown arachnids, I suggest putting on a suit made out of breakfast food. You should be safe.
Macksburg warns you to avoid the skillets.
A view of the overcast sky.
And wearing rain jackets in the water line.
By later in the day it was heating up. Somewhere after this point were Jagger girls, and before this point a pair of young women dressed up as cowgirls who were encouraging bicyclists to pay to have their photo taken with them. A big step up over the "Have your picture taken with my horse/cow" folks. I had an urge to have a picture snapped with them for Pooteewheet as they were showing a lot of midriff, but I knew I'd ask them to do something like a faux spanking, and then I'd have been arrested for corrupting what was probably a minor/s (actually, I'm not sure what the age of a minor is in Iowa). So, lost opportunity, but a safe completion of the ride with no time in the hoosegow.
Ah. Corn. Bicycles. Riders. Thus was RAGBRAI.
A train that doubled as a smoker. Or a smoker that doubled as a train. Smoked meat was a staple of RAGBRAI. Just don't try to order the Texas potato - I stood there for 15 minutes and they finished one for the person ahead of me. Nothing at RAGBRAI is worth a 15 minute wait except the kybo, and even that is negotiable if you're not afraid of the one behind the rows.
At the end of the day, I was exhausted as we pulled into Indianola. I was a bit surprised at just how much energy I'd used up. My Dad seemed a little worse for the wear comparatively, which was fine, it was the end of the ride. And then we realized Indianola had directed us up what appeared to be a mountain in the middle of town. Followed closely by a much steeper mountain. I think John was almost angry at Indianola for betraying his sense of daily completion. When I directed us down various side streets toward our host family for the evening, he doubted me several times, concerned that I was leading him toward lost-dom and several more hills. Now I know how Jesus felt about Thomas.
A bevy of video:
Skillet tossing in action:
Elvis lives!
The queen of hearts. I didn't mind old music. I did mind Christian music. Ugh. It was about the only thing that destroys my bicycling experience and, as previously noted, I listed to O-Town and Hannah Montana. I also heard Insane Clown Posse (the song told me who was singing it and involved the riff from The Little Mermaid), show toons (Chicago ahead of me, New York behind me. Completely backwards), and strange syntho-techno-pop that almost threw my rhythm off.
A video that captures a little of the crowd that inhabited every meeting town. In this case, St. Charles.
Welcome to Macksburg. Home of Skillet Tossing. See the bottom for a somewhat grainy video. It involves tossing a skillet at a few scarecrows with balls for their heads. The big fence is designed to protect bystanders, but it is in no way foolproof and a few people almost ended up being brained.
It did rain for a chunk of the day. Not a torrential downpour, but a drizzling moisture that meant it was too hot for a rain jacket, and too cool for a t-shirt.
It doesn't rain on you inside the pancake barn. But it does drape cobwebs all over you and your pancakes. Strangely, pancakes don't seem to stick to cobwebs the way skin does. So if you're ever going into a dark cave full of unknown arachnids, I suggest putting on a suit made out of breakfast food. You should be safe.
Macksburg warns you to avoid the skillets.
A view of the overcast sky.
And wearing rain jackets in the water line.
By later in the day it was heating up. Somewhere after this point were Jagger girls, and before this point a pair of young women dressed up as cowgirls who were encouraging bicyclists to pay to have their photo taken with them. A big step up over the "Have your picture taken with my horse/cow" folks. I had an urge to have a picture snapped with them for Pooteewheet as they were showing a lot of midriff, but I knew I'd ask them to do something like a faux spanking, and then I'd have been arrested for corrupting what was probably a minor/s (actually, I'm not sure what the age of a minor is in Iowa). So, lost opportunity, but a safe completion of the ride with no time in the hoosegow.
Ah. Corn. Bicycles. Riders. Thus was RAGBRAI.
A train that doubled as a smoker. Or a smoker that doubled as a train. Smoked meat was a staple of RAGBRAI. Just don't try to order the Texas potato - I stood there for 15 minutes and they finished one for the person ahead of me. Nothing at RAGBRAI is worth a 15 minute wait except the kybo, and even that is negotiable if you're not afraid of the one behind the rows.
At the end of the day, I was exhausted as we pulled into Indianola. I was a bit surprised at just how much energy I'd used up. My Dad seemed a little worse for the wear comparatively, which was fine, it was the end of the ride. And then we realized Indianola had directed us up what appeared to be a mountain in the middle of town. Followed closely by a much steeper mountain. I think John was almost angry at Indianola for betraying his sense of daily completion. When I directed us down various side streets toward our host family for the evening, he doubted me several times, concerned that I was leading him toward lost-dom and several more hills. Now I know how Jesus felt about Thomas.
A bevy of video:
Skillet tossing in action:
Elvis lives!
The queen of hearts. I didn't mind old music. I did mind Christian music. Ugh. It was about the only thing that destroys my bicycling experience and, as previously noted, I listed to O-Town and Hannah Montana. I also heard Insane Clown Posse (the song told me who was singing it and involved the riff from The Little Mermaid), show toons (Chicago ahead of me, New York behind me. Completely backwards), and strange syntho-techno-pop that almost threw my rhythm off.
A video that captures a little of the crowd that inhabited every meeting town. In this case, St. Charles.
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