Day 3 Atlantic - Winterset

As Atlantic had the highest elevation of any of the stay-over towns they had signs posted everywhere proclaiming, "Technically, it's all downhill from here." A little joke that quickly lost its humor with each passing hour of relentless hill climbing.

     I set my alarm for 4:45 AM to ensure we were on the road by 6:00 AM, the official start time of RAGBRAI. Some riders venture out even earlier, but in case of emergency, they would miss the ambulances and SAG Wagons (support vehicles that rescue you and your bike if you break down physically, mentally, or mechanically). As I stepped out of the tent for my morning coffee, I saw frost on the ground. I pulled on my rider’s sleeves and headed for a three cup dose of morning fuel. When I strapped Lionel into his seat, I noticed something was off; the back tire of Lionel’s Weehoo was deflated and my heart sank a bit. I knew there were tire pumps somewhere around the campsite, but I didn’t know where. I also had a 6:00 AM departure time in my head, so we forged ahead with Lionel’s Weehoo limping behind.

     During the ride, all sorts of ideas popped into my head, but the one I'm taking to Shark Tank involves music. Many riders had speakers blasting tunes, which was sometimes annoying, especially when mustache guy was playing soul-sucking heavy metal kept biking at my pace. Other times, the music was tiresome, like the 70th time you hear "Wagon Wheel." But overall, the music helped, and most people had killer playlists that made the miles fly by. One rider had a “Hamilton”-adjacent musical in Spanish that made me slow down to stay within earshot for a mile. Somewhere on the way to the meeting town that morning, we hit a hill so steep you couldn't see the summit. Halfway up, I came across someone playing “Steady as She Goes”—the perfect song for the climb. I shifted into the lowest gear and started bobbing my head and legs to the beat. I have no idea how long the song lasted, but it got me up the hill feeling energized. That’s when I imagined an app that syncs geographical terrain with the ideal song, like a real-life “Dark Side of Oz.” I thought if I can pedal through this day alive, maybe I’ll peddle it to some investors.

      The meeting town for the day was Greenfield, a town which unfortunately made recent deadline news for being struck by an EF4 tornado. The tornado flattened buildings, flipped cars, broke wind turbines, and left five casualties. As we biked through the town, we saw the devastating aftermath. Homes were caved in, and what were once walls now sat as debris on the curbside, ready to be hauled away. Despite the destruction, the city center of Greenfield that day was lively and bustling.

     Day 3 was the hilliest day in RAGBRAI’s 51-year history, and the idea going into was clear: “just get over it.” By mile 60, I was definitely over it, but nowhere near the finish line. Thinking ahead, I pulled over to the "Pickle Guy" to grab a cup of all-you-can-drink pickle juice and a Gatorade. One thing about RAGBRAI is that everything is a pun, and this guy's shirt, of course, read “What’s the dill-yo?” Now, I detest pickles and anything pickled, but Lionel loves them. He drained the first cup and insisted I try it. Knowing that pickle juice is famous for preventing cramping, I took a tentative sip and was surprised at how passable it was. I downed the rest while Lionel looked on, disappointed, expecting me to gag.

     The scariest part of the whole RAGBRAI was getting back on the bike and onto the road. With our setup, we go from 0 to 12 in 60 seconds. Of course, the "Pickle Guy" was parked in the worst possible spot—right at the bottom of a hill, on the left side, with gravel everywhere. Riders were bombing down the hill, trying to maintain maximum momentum to carry them up the upcoming climb. The passing lane on the left was crazier with the fastest riders flying by. I saw a guy shout "Rider on!" and try to pedal out, nearly getting smoked by a speeding cyclist. Determined not to meet the same fate, I cautiously called out "Rider on," signaled my intention, and started to ride. I stuck to the gravel side to climb the hill, hoping to avoid the fast-moving traffic, but my tire skidded and fought for traction. I almost banged elbows with a bullet-speed rider and decided to pull even further to the left, navigating what felt like a balance beam with a treadmill on top. After what felt like forever, I finally made it to the road. As I got three-fourths of the way up the hill, I heard someone shout "Crash!" below. The pickle juice might have been reviving, but I made a mental note to avoid any more death pits on this journey.
     At some point within the following two hours we passed through the town of Orient. I was in a trance, with Lionel drifting in and out of sleep. As the heat increased, our speed decreased. I dipped into my stash of caffeinated energy gels and put on my running mix to energize myself. As a way to keep Lionel cool, I placed a wet towel over his head and clipped his helmet over it, making him look like a babushka doll.

     One of the magical parts of RAGBRAI is that nobody locks their bikes. Some of these bikes are valued at over $10,000 and are just left unlocked and unattended. At that moment, I wondered if perhaps they were left unlocked not due to a lack of fear they would be stolen, but in hopes that they would be. Of course my bike was just as I had left it, lying open in the grass in the dead of sunshine.

     Another five miles of up and down, and I was whooped while Lionel was sawing logs. Just when I felt ready to throw in the towel, I saw a sign for free water and cookies at the top of the hill. I pulled over to find six tables lined up with ice-cold Gatorade, water, and ten different types of home-baked cookies. The stand was run by an angel named Deb with a great sense of humor. On the box labeled peanut butter cookies was an asterisk reminding riders that these cookies may contain peanuts. Above the cookies was a sign, “If you try to pay one cent, I’ll give you a 10-pound bag of sand.” Lionel thought this was the funniest thing he had ever heard and started trying to coax riders into giving Deb some money. Fifteen minutes later, with Deb’s guestbook signed and our bellies loaded with Gatorade and cookies, we set off once more, feeling like Popeye after a spinach casserole. The final mile was all uphill, the longest hill of the day but we climbed it with a smile. When we pulled into Winterset (the birthplace of John Wayne), Lionel asked if we could ride for another half hour to burn some of his energy surplus.

     We survived the first day of "schooling" but had another long day in the saddle the following day. Still, in that moment, I felt quite a sense of accomplishment and I smiled as I crawled into my sleeping bag.