Day 6 Ottumwa - Mt. Pleasant

Recipe for day 6: hills, heat, wind, distance, and soreness

Surprisingly, Lionel actually popped out of bed at 5:30. We packed our bags, doused ourselves in sunscreen, and hit the road at 6:00 a.m. sharp for the longest ride of the week. We were making excellent time in the cool morning air until Lionel began to complain about feeling cold. I kept telling him that the sun was just about to pop up and that pedaling would warm him up. He countered that as he pedaled, we went faster, which made him even colder. This was quite a quandary, I wanted to cover as much distance as possible in the early morning, but Lionel was complaining that his teeth were chattering and that he was in pain, and about 1,000 people were listening to this exchange. I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to channel my inner "Guru Ken." I explained that the experiences of feeling really cold and really hot are both important parts of life. Later on, Lionel would use this exact logic against me when I told him that the pool was too cold to go swimming in, "Jumping in cold pools is part of life, Daddy, you said that."

As I rambled on, trying to get Lionel back on the bike, I came up with the idea of giving him my arm sleeves. Lionel slipped them on and smiled broadly. Back on the bike and moving, I was now the one who was distinctly cold, and I told Lionel. He replied, "Don't worry, Daddy, the sun will pop out soon." The sleeves seemed to do the trick. Previously, I had offered him a cup of hot chocolate to warm up at the first town, but now he said, "I'm all warm now, let's keep moving." And move we did. The morning riding conditions remained ideal, with the sun playing hide and seek with the clouds until 9:00 a.m. Lionel and I rolled through the next two towns, stopping only to fill up on water (conveniently, Lionel's bathroom breaks lined up with the cornfields).

As we pulled out of Eldon, I saw a sign leading to the farmhouse that inspired the American Gothic painting. I thought that was cool but didn’t give much consideration to tacking on the additional two-mile detour. The meeting town where Brenda was waiting was Fairfield, and Lionel seemed set to pedal there without stopping. The meeting town is usually in the middle of the day’s route, and on most days, we would have seen Brenda by now. But at mile 35, we were still eight miles out, and I declared that we had to stop for something to eat. I listed several options, and Lionel liked the idea of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When we got to the front, the cashier asked, "And what would you like, little boy?" to which I responded, "He’s no longer a little boy; he’s about to be a little man." The cashier asked Lionel if he was riding that day, and Lionel proudly said, "I am riding this week." This surprised the cashier, who called over the boss of the PB Peddlers, and he said Lionel could order any sandwich for free, which put a huge grin on his face. I powered up with a banana and some Gatorade, and we soared on to Fairfield.

In Fairfield, Brenda invited us into the medical trailer, and Lionel got to sit on the bed and look at the rescue motorcycle. Before long, we were back on the road. I was feeling good and had aspirations of making the Karas loop, an optional route that added 15 miles to the day and would earn you a century patch, an award for biking 100 miles in a day. To get the patch, I needed to keep moving. I told Lionel that if he stayed awake the whole day, I would give him five dollars. This kept him on high alert for the next hour. At mile 55, we hit a long section of compulsory gravel. Throughout the trip, I’ve learned that you don’t measure a ride by the mileage, you measure it by the conditions: hills, steepness, wind, and the type of road. I would have gladly traded 14 miles on the road for the 1.4 miles of gravel. Fortunately, I had the right tires, and with much sorer legs and an even sorer butt, I eventually made it through the rocky mire.

We pulled into the pass-thru Wayland around 1:00 p.m. and stood in line for a well-deserved smoothie. Lionel was kind enough to share a sip with me but keen enough to prevent me from getting another. As we drank our smoothie, we listened to the troubadour, and I pondered whether the Karas loop was still a viable option.

Back on the road, Lionel reminded me that he still hadn’t fallen asleep. Within three minutes of this comment, I captured a photo of him completely zonked out. It was a fortuitous napping spot, as it happened right outside an Amish tent selling cinnamon rolls—a first for Lionel, but certainly not his last. Under the tent, Lionel chatted with an Amish girl who was a year younger than him. I thought about how drastically different these two children’s lives were—a legally blind child living in China and a five-year-old girl living in south-central Iowa without electricity. Despite their differences, they immediately found common ground in their interest in necklaces. Upon leaving, Lionel was gifted a handmade bracelet, and the spirit of RAGBRAI once again uplifted us.

Those high spirits were dashed almost immediately. As we were just about fully mounted on our bicycle, a young man in his 30s pulled up and asked for an Allen wrench to fix something that had come loose on his clip-on shoe. This was a bit of a challenge, as we were in a somewhat dangerous spot, and the tool was buried at the bottom of one of the pockets in the back of Lionel’s bike. I considered saying, "No, I don’t have one," but part of what makes RAGBRAI great is that people constantly stop to help one another. So, as this guy babbled on about the exact spot where his clip-on shoe began to malfunction, his plan to ride for the century badge, and everything else about his ride, I kept interrupting him to tell Lionel to stand back from the bikers racing up just a foot and a half away. We couldn’t really move further over unless I wanted to bring the bike into a drainage ditch. While this guy was talking, I shot him daggers with my eyes, hoping he’d put two and two together and move my son to safety. But he remained oblivious to the peril at hand. So I pushed him aside with my left hand, dropped the bike down, marched over to pick up Lionel, and put him on the safer side of the bike. I then practically threw the Allen wrench at the guy, telling him to keep it.

By mile 70, I gave up the dream, or at this point, the nightmare, of completing the century ride. The sun was out, and we were definitely slowing down. We stopped outside a church to relax in the shade, suck on some ice pops, and nibble on beef jerky. It was likely the first time in my life that I didn’t want to leave church and felt like a human Band-Aid peeling myself off the grass. Still, we were getting close to Mt. Pleasant, the overnight town. Once there, I could lay in the grass forever.

I don’t know if the RAGBRAI coordinators did this on purpose, but it seemed like the final boss hill was always at the end of the ride. This time, instead of just one, there were hills. I began to think to myself, "I’m pretty sure I could walk to town faster."

I got to Mt. Pleasant in a daze and allowed myself to lay on the grass of the university grounds campsite for 10 uninterrupted minutes of relief. Due to our busy night in Ottumwa, we missed out on the hot showers the previous day, so I made sure to prioritize that. After the shower, someone at Pork Belly Adventures asked Lionel if he’d like an ice cream sandwich, which you, the reader, can easily predict his response to. The packaging on the sandwich said "FatBoy," and the ice cream portion was as thick as Lionel’s mouth when opened to its widest. It seemed like the 10th free thing Lionel had been handed that day, setting a new record—and smashing the record for the most treats in a day, a record that hopefully remains unbroken for the rest of his life.

An hour later, not only did Grammy and Mommy meet us at the campsite, but Uncle Paul and his girlfriend also drove all the way from Kansas City to cheer us on. From our campsite, we were able to walk ten minutes into the rocking downtown square. Somehow, we arrived just early enough to get a table at the Chinese restaurant, which quickly filled to max capacity by the time we got our water. Normally, I have Chinese food arrive on the table simultaneously with my order, but I was delighted by the delay as I sat on the cushioned seat and basked in the wonderful A.C. The poor wait staff likely had a harder day than the riders, trying to serve 50 times their regular crowd.

That night, Xiao Hong and Grammy took Lionel back to the tent, and I got to see The Spazmatics, a group dressed right out of the set from Revenge of the Nerds that covers ’80s New Wave songs. It was a blast to be out and in the hubbub of the overnight town’s action, and I got really tuned up listening to their cover of the Violent Femmes’ "Blister in the Sun." I walked back to the campground feeling pleasantly exhausted.