Day 5 Knoxville - Ottumwa
What did I learn from day 5? Wind blows.
I wanted to get an early start, but Lionel was still deep in the clutches of Mr. Sandman, looking like he was in full rigor mortis. While he slept, I tried to get everything ready, including picking up our freshly folded laundry. Whoever did our laundry even matched and folded our socks! I was relieved to put on my chamois shorts, especially after the previous day’s 75-mile ride without them had left my butt sore. By 5:45, I had everything done, including sneaking away for two cups of coffee, but Lionel was still slumbering. As he slept, I began rolling up his sleeping mat and bag from underneath him. Undeterred, Lionel rolled to the side and continued his state of dreaminess while I debated introducing him to coffee.
Once on the road, Lionel’s leg felt better, and our spirits were high. We debated who loved morning rides more, and Lionel insisted on pushing past the first town, probably eager to see Brenda. We pulled into Lovilia, greeted by a sign that read “IT’S COAL TO BE HERE.” We dismounted and walked through the lively town, but didn’t linger long. As with any event, there are always regrets—like missing the side road under the covered bridge just outside Winterset and not jumping into the pool in Lovilia. But when Lionel’s ready to rock, you keep moving.
By day five, I thought I had figured out Lionel’s patterns, furious pedaling until 9, then on-and-off until noon, followed by a zonk-out between 12:00-1:30. But today, he threw me a curveball and fell asleep just before 9, which had me reconsidering the coffee option. Thankfully, Iowa being Iowa, there was a perfect stop just where we needed it, a tent run by the girl’s Thunder basketball team, offering home-baked goods galore. Lionel’s heavy eyelids lightened as he bit into a chocolate chip muffin the size of his head. The service at this stop was top-notch, with offers to fill our water bottles and bring food right to us. They were operating on a freewill donation basis, and I may just write them into my will. By the time Lionel finished his muffin, his face looked like a dalmatian. One of the players graciously handed him a napkin, saying, “I know how it is, I’ve got three younger brothers.” I made sure to grab my phone and capture the moment, a photo that could easily speak a thousand words of gratitude for that basketball team.
On our way to the meeting town, we hit some smooth pavement, and the bike went into turbo mode; it felt like riding on one of those moving walkways at the airport. But just as we were cruising, we were stopped by a patrolman at a railroad crossing where they were laying carpet over the tracks. Apparently, a biker ahead of us had flipped over their handlebars while crossing the deep grooves a few minutes prior and they we just one of a dozen to do so. As we waited for the carpet to be positioned, we heard the blare of a train whistle and saw the guard rails come down. Lionel and I tried to count the train cars, but he announced he needed to pee after car 73. After a quick pit stop, we still had to wait five more minutes for the caboose to pass. Once it did, there was a large applause from the crowd of bikers. With so many people, everyone elected to walk their bikes over the tracks. As I tried to maneuver our bike across, Lionel’s Weehoo got stuck in one of the grooves. My heart skipped a beat, worried that his tire might have popped, but thankfully, someone helped Lionel lift it out and it was okay. That was a great freebie lesson on crossing train tracks properly, and I made sure to cross each one perpendicularly from then on.
After that unscheduled break, I, along with many other bikers, was eager to make up time. I never used a map on the ride, trusting the navigational skills of whoever was in front. Near the meeting town, there was a split in the road going straight would shave off a couple of miles and keep us on the smooth pavement, while turning right would lead to Albia, the meeting town. Not processing this at the time, I rode straight, along with half the riders. Then I heard a woman signaling an alternate way to get to the meeting town. I debated just staying keeping on with the smooth sailing, but knew that sail would quickly meltdown if we missed Brenda, so I reluctantly followed the small group of bikers as they zigzagged through back trails to get back on the official route into Albia.
Albia was a lively town, set up in a square formation. Lionel and I craned our necks in every direction, looking for the first aid mobile but couldn’t find it. Breaking the Scullin family motto of “Thy will not ask for directions,” I finally asked for help and found the mobile surprisingly close to where we had parked at the beginning of town. Lionel decided he wanted to sneak up on Brenda from the back to surprise her. Once Lionel’s batteries were fully recharged on fruity snacks, it was time to head to Eddyville.
Late morning brought a new challenge: wind. Rather than the typical up-and-down struggles of the previous days, we now faced a sideways battle. I was frustratedly looking at my speedometer and seeing we were going at only 60% of what I thought we should be able to do on flat ground. Day 5 was supposed to be easier than days 3 and 4, but it felt like I’d spent an hour biking on a treadmill. When we finally reached Eddyville, I was ready for a break, and Lionel was ready for some ice cream.
Like Mr. Pork Chop, Bachman’s homemade ice cream is a must-get during RAGBRAI. The ice cream is churned by a single-engine piston that can be heard for miles, and sometimes, the line stretches just as far. At that moment, I was fine to stand in line—I probably would have been fine to scrub lasagna pans clean or even file taxes—fine to do anything that didn’t involve sitting on a bike. When we finally got our ice cream, we walked down to a grassy park to enjoy it. After my first lick, I immediately realized our double scoop wouldn’t be enough; I could have eaten a gallon myself. Lionel gave the ice cream his blue ribbon award, officially declaring it the best in the world as we sat in bliss in the park.
Leaving Eddyville, we were hit with an enormous hill that zapped our post-ice cream high. After another hour of riding, Lionel conked out. When I reached the top of a hill, I thankfully spotted a shaded tent on the opposite side of the road. I carefully scooted off my bike, onto the trailer hitch, and unfastened Lionel. He continued to sleep, his head rolling from one shoulder to the other as I carried him across the road, playing a high-stakes game of Frogger. As we approached the tent, I saw a big chair that I thought Lionel could nap in for thirty minutes. He was doing his best Weekend at Bernie’s impression, being a complete dead weight in my arms. As I got closer, the mother under the tent said, “That boy looks like he could use an ice pop,” at which point Lionel, from a dead sleep, popped his head up and shouted, “Yup!”
As Lionel devoured his red ice pop, the mother asked him what grade he was in. When Lionel said first grade, she replied that first grade was a good one and her two boys’ favorite. One of her sons corrected her, saying second grade was his favorite. I chimed in, agreeing that first and second grades are nice because the homework load isn’t too bad. I then asked the boys when they start getting homework, but they looked a bit confused as their mother explained that the school policy was not to give any homework between 1st-5th grade. Lionel’s mouth could have swallowed the world at that point. He first asked if we could move to Iowa, then changed his mind to suggest we go back to China, tell all his classmates about this town’s school policy, and get the entire class to move there too. Of everything we did and encountered on RAGBRAI, this little nugget of information made the biggest impression. I’d like to offer a preemptive apology to all of Lionel’s first-grade teachers next year.
As with all the stopover tents, that one was a real godsend. You can usually find a tent every mile or so along the ride, but the stretch from Eddyville to Ottumwa felt pretty barren by comparison, though I did see quite a lot of factories.
Pulling into Ottumwa, we finally rode on an actual bike trail, which was a nice change, and arrived at a gorgeous campsite—my favorite of the entire week. Here, we met Tracey, a reporter from The Hawk Eye newspaper in Burlington. As we tried to find each other near the baseball field, I spotted her in a yellow dress and started to wave with the hand I had been using to hold Lionel's. Just as I let go, Lionel hit an uneven edge on the side of the road, tripped, and scraped his knee. Lionel is a pretty easy-going, sweet boy, but when he gets off the rails, it can take a while for him to get back. I braced myself for what I thought was going to be a Murphy's Law kind of interview as Tracey approached.
While Lionel wasn’t perfectly behaved, Tracey did a great job balancing the questions between him and me, allowing Lionel to add his own input. She asked questions that he could answer with excitement. After the successful interview, we waited for Grammy and Mommy, who had both recovered from COVID, to meet us at the campsite. Seeing them arrive was such a joy, which instantly doubled when I saw Lionel run into his mother’s arms. He immediately started showing Grammy and Mommy around the campsite as if it were his home, despite having only arrived an hour earlier. After the tour, we headed out for dinner under the golden arches. Xiao Hong looked agog at the empty pile of wrappers that once held an tremendous sum of food. By the end of dinner, I was a bit concerned that Lionel wouldn’t be willing to say goodbye to mommy and join me for day 6, the longest day of biking, and equally worried that my wife wouldn’t be willing to say goodbye. But after some coaxing, the two finally agreed to meet us in Mt. Pleasant the following day.
Add comment
Comments