We woke up enshrouded in fog. While Lionel slept, I slipped into my Hope In Motion cycling clothes, marking my debut ride in proper cycling gear. One of the major perks of booking with the charter group was that I didn’t have to set up or take down my tent each day, plus I could leave my bags in the tent for them to move. Even more importantly there was free coffee every morning starting at 4:30 am. After my second cup, I was giddy to start the adventure. As I waited to depart, I spotted someone with a familiar bamboo bike. Looking up, I saw Michael with his touring bike. We shook hands and smiled before pedaling off into the chilly fog.
The first hour took some adjusting. With 18,000 people on the road and limited visibility due to the fog, it was a challenge. My teeth chattered, and my shivering arms made it tough to keep my bike straight. Within the first hour, I saw two ambulances and began wondering if this trip was the worst decision of my life. But soon we reached Silver City, our first town stop. These towns offered food, music, games, and bathrooms. Regardless of how long you wanted to stay, everyone got off their bikes to walk through. I was the only one wearing basketball shoes, Brian wore flip-flops, and everyone else had their clip-in bicycle shoes, sounding like Clydesdale horses stomping down the pavement. The three of us enjoyed breakfast sandwiches while listening to a string band. After a visit to the farm equipment museum, we went on to ride the toughest segment of the day.
Brian and I might have underestimated the difficulty of the first day. Though it was one of the shorter days, it featured a saw-tooth roller coaster ride. For the next hour, it was a rapid descent at 30 mph for thirty seconds, then a slow crawl up a mini-mountain for eight minutes. Over and over. I had flashbacks to the neighborhood hills I used to ride as a kid, which seemed enormous then but were mere anthills compared to Iowa's.
RAGBRAI's first day includes a Mile of Silence to commemorate cyclists who have died in accidents. It's also a reminder for all cyclists to ride right and stay alert. One major challenge was getting Lionel to stay quiet during this moment of reverence. Here's how that went:
Me: “Okay, Lionel, we are coming up on the Mile of Silence, so you need to stay quiet for the next four minutes.”
Lionel: “What?”
Me: “We are in the Mile of Silence, so be quiet.”
Lionel: “What is the Mile of Silence?” Me: “It’s a mile where no one talks.”
Lionel: “Why doesn’t anyone talk?”
Me: “To show reverence for cyclists who have been killed in accidents.”
Lionel: “What does reverence mean?”
Me: “It means not talking during the Mile of Silence.”
Lionel: “How long is the Mile of Silence?”
After continuing like this throughout the entire Mile of Silence, Lionel pedaled quietly for the next ten minutes.
After the grueling hills, we arrived in Henderson, the meet-up town, and collapsed in the grass. Brian and I were tired, but Lionel got a second wind from the sugars in his pineapple ice cream. He soon started trying to bury Brian in grass. Vivi, a fellow rider and educator from South Carolina who adored children, joined us to capture the moment. She greeted Lionel every day with trail mix and cheerful shouts of “Go, Lionel, go,” which always gave him a turbo boost.
Before leaving Henderson, we had to use the “peetapotties.” A medic from the first-aid mobile asked if she could slip in before us as it didn’t have a bathroom. We agreed, and she invited us to visit her mobile afterward. She introduced herself as Brenda and gave Lionel two fruit snacks. She told Lionel she would be in each meeting town at the halfway point of each day and that he should stop by for more fruit snacks. This new routine made the first half of our bike trips fly by as Lionel pedaled eagerly to see Brenda.
Leaving Henderson, we faced more hills, though not as close together as after Silver City. After a relatively comfortable ride that boosted my confidence, we pulled into Emerson, where Lionel encountered his first slip-and-slide. After some coaxing, he tried it and then didn’t want to leave. I went through it too, forgetting to take off my money belt. For the next seven days, I paid everyone with soggy bills.
On the final stretch of the day, Brian and I decided to stop at Mr. Pork Chop. Mr. Pork Chop, one of RAGBRAI's original vendors, had passed away earlier this year, but his legacy continued with his son serving up giant pork chops from a piggy mobile. As we ate, we could faintly see the orange water tower in the distance.
Our sleepover town was Red Oak, themed "Pedal to the Pumpkin," with an orange water tower atop the world’s steepest hill. Arriving in town, I ran into Michael, who showed me how to find our Pork Bellies Venture campsite. It was like a hash run, with black and white checkered PBV signs every 200-500 feet indicating the way with arrows. Naturally, it led us up the steepest hill of the day, and Lionel decided to literally conk out. Climbing that monster hill was the first time all day I got down to my lowest gear, and wished there was a lower one. Midway up, I had to stop for a breather. Once over the hill, Lionel woke up and pedaled with me to our campsite.
After a hot shower, three cups of ice-cold lemonade, and a fresh set of clothes, Brian asked if I felt better or worse about tackling the entire week of RAGBRAI. While we made it through the day, it was more challenging than I’d anticipated. My mind flashed to day 3, which would be twice as long and twice as hilly as day 1. Brian would be gone, so I’d need to rely on help from strangers. Still, the secret to RAGBRAI is to take it one day at a time and stay positive. By day 3, I’d be stronger from days 1 and 2. I’ll be ready, I told myself.
That night, I made sure to get my sleeping bag, but Lionel kept the comfy pillow. It didn’t matter, though, as I fell asleep without any hesitation.
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