I’ve never prepared for anything in my life as much as I did for RAGBRAI. I watched videos on how to pack and meticulously organized each day's outfit into large ziplock bags. Being a natural procrastinator, I did half the packing the day before and the rest at 6 in the morning before we drove down to Glenwood, Iowa, for the start of RAGBRAI.
Before we even left, our plan hit a snag. My mom came down with a severe case of COVID and couldn’t get out of bed. We quickly moved to Plan B, which had my wife stay home to care for her, while my dad and Brian joined us for the six-hour drive. My father would then plan to spend the night at a hotel and drive back the next day.
On the way, we listened to the JUSTGOBIKE podcast about how we should have been training. I did pick up some crucial advice on tackling hills: look over your front tire, don’t look up, and imagine a lasso pulling you up from your waist. This tip proved essential as Iowa is often mistaken for being flat when it's actually "flat like a waffle."
When we arrived at our charter service campsite, "Pork Belly Ventures," which was on the town’s only frisbee golf course, we quickly got our tent number, coffee/lemonade/beer mug, meal tickets, and wristbands. I also received a white plastic bag for a mid-week laundry run. I said goodbye to my dad, who wasn’t entirely convinced this was a great idea, and I began to wonder if he might be right. I said a silent prayer, hoping he wasn’t.
Walking around the campsite, my nerves began to calm. The average age seemed to be about 53 years old, and I figured I could keep up with them. Brian, Lionel, and I hopped on a shuttle to the downtown expo. On the crowded bus, we met people from all over: Texas, Massachusetts, Seattle, everyone spoke about how this week was the highlight of their year. A surge of excitement washed over me, and I vowed that Lionel and I would finish the ride.
The first night set the tone for our nutrition plan for the week; we ate a pint of ice cream for dinner. We decided not to stay for the headlining band that played from 9-11 pm, opting instead to return to the campsite. I'd like to say it was forward planning, but really, it was because the campsite had free IPAs on tap. Brian and I figured we could enjoy a few, knowing the first day’s ride was only 41 miles, half the distance of some other days. Once the brass band stopped, we headed to our tents, used the “peeta-potties,” as Lionel calls them, and tried to sleep. Lionel crawled into my sleeping bag and was immediately delighted with all the extra legroom. He also laid claim to the large comfy pillow. I let him have them, seeing how happy it made him, though I later regretted it when the night turned cold, and I couldn’t get the sleeping bag past my arms.
At 5:15 am, my alarm went off, and I was ready to go. Lionel, however, decided to hit the snooze button a few more times.
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