Another Easy Century: Further Adventures of Craig and Che

Crossroads Tavern Kelley, Iowa

With all the bad news about my friends suffering near death experience while riding and motorcycles running bikes over and cars hitting bikes and their drivers throwing the bikes upon the victims before stomping on them I'd thought I'd share some happy memories.

Someone asked if this 100 miler was a planned ride.  We had no idea how long the ride would be but we discussed doing a century on road bikes earlier in the month.  We would ride the RRVT to the High Trestle Trail and come home on the Neal Smith Trail.  The last time we rode this route it was 123 miles, a solid century.  But today we planned to cut up north early by skipping the Adel to Yale portion of the Raccoon River Valley Trail and head to Perry via Dallas Center and Minburn via the new trail segments and county roads.  The missing part of the equation was how many miles would be eliminated when we cut off the fat.

We met at The Library for breakfast, omelets and Diet Coke plus water.  Mary rode with me here.  The bartender was eager to fill our water bottles.  He even offered to fill them with ice.  Unless the bottle is insulated, ice lasts a brief moment in the heat of the summer.  Today's nice weather perhaps 20 minutes.  Having fed we followed Mary's suggestion to ride down frat row and take a left on Franklin to catch the Waveland Trail and work our way south to the Walnut Creek Trail.  She separated from Craig and I at the latter.

The worst part of the ride is busting out of Des Moines.  The Greenbelt de la Clive sucks for bicycling.  Too curvy, too crowded and too much plant life obscuring views.  Keith from Bike World once told me that he tried to average 20 mph through the trail.  16 mph is dangerous enough.  This must have been a decade ago.  Now the trail is busier.  I would prefer to take Hickman all the way to Waukee but gasoline is too cheap in the Western Ghetto.  Traffic sucks.  Frogger time with humans.  At least Dowling's track team was not practicing like they did when we left for BRAI.

One of the benefits of the the attack on farmland by greedheads and land rapers between DSM metro and Waukee is that Craig has more options for attempts to drop a deuce at Arby's

When we finally reached the turn for Dallas Center, Craig and I shifted into big ring and sprinted.  It was his desire to see how fast he could go on a flat trail.  Having been on his touring bike for a year and a half he was ready to fly.  Craig was able to get a nice jump on because once again I failed to adjust the High Limit screw on my front derailleur and had to adjust the barrel instead costing me precious seconds.  Without losing a finger from my left hand I then succeeded into getting the Versailles in the 50.  Thinking about it now I should have taken the Trek 2200 for its reliable Campagnola and the 53x11.  Craig was on his campy bike.  Mine is awaiting a computer.  Heaven forbid I ride a bike without one.

 No stopping in DC.  County road to Minburn was our destination. R16 to F31.  These are nice roads to ride on.  Flat without much traffic.  On the northbound road there is a house with a farm gate that has a chainsaw hanging from it.  It seems out of place with all the childrens' toys and swingsets and swimming pool.  How the West was won, shotguns and chainsaws.  F31, the west bound road is similar.  Merely farmhouses and little traffic.  This was the way took when we rode to BRAI on a weekday.  Weekend just as slow.  i never saw Mudder's when we hit Minburn.  I saw the trail and that was the only thing I wanted to see.

The trail to Perry is just as dull as it was in July.  Bobcat, construction vehicle not feline, tracks still there.  Looks like they graded the shoulder again.  Little shade.  Just a safe way to get to Perry without dealing with cars.  The trail to the Rocking Horse.

Mile 42 we hit the Rocking Horse around 1 pm on a Saturday.  Locals.  They place smelled like beer breath.  The breath of people who have been drinking for 18 hours now confined in a small space.  The bartender has a hole in his neck from smoking or a 2" drill bit.  I never met a pothead that had that happen yet tobacco is legal.  I did not ask.  He communicates with fingers.  Busch Light cans are $2 each.  We stay for one then hit Casa De Oro on 2nd St for cheap Mexican food.  I like how they cleaned up the old building and put something nice and useful inside.  However, where do they find the cheap art work?  I order the #7, 3 taco meal, and Craig the #14.  We are seated where we can see our bikes parked just outside the door.

Craig beat me to the punch of taking this photo. I would like to inform you that I spied this sign first.  Next door to Casa De Oro, Perry, Iowa or how or Spanish friends would say "E O Wah."

From Perry we must ride to Bouton to reach the High Trestle Trail.  This can be accomplished by risking one's life on High 141, Iowa's deadliest highway, or by gravel roads.  Disclaimer:  the further away from the Des Moines metropolitan area the safer 141 becomes.  Coon Rapids safe, Grimes deadly for cars and bicycles alike.  We took a right on Lucinda St and despite it being a one way street we followed it all the way to 18th and turned right at the high school.  We should have gone a block further north and taken Pattee St which turns into McKinley St and ends up on the gravel road we were looking for.  But no one honked or ran us over or yelled at us.

Once at the high school turn north and then take a right at the middle school.  The road turns to gravel but good gravel, this was my second road bike excursion on this rock, and take the first left until it runs out and then a right.  The last stretch is tolerable gravel.  Not the nice smooth river rock but limestone now.  This road leads to highway 169.  On the highway take the first right which is a short distance.  The should although gravel is extremely wide and I have been know to take it when I am not in the mood to play with cars.  The final stretch to Bouton is gravel and by now your hands and ass are numb from rough roads.  Mercifully, the pavement begins. 

Bouton, Iowa

We did not stop at Carmen's Bar for a beer.  Instead we turned left at the bar and then right on 130.  130 is an old concrete highway that leads to Woodward.  If bored on the road look for the numbers that were stamped into the drying concrete.  Not a long stretch only one or two minor elevation changes and cracks in the surface from long ago that have been filled with tar.  When you see a golf course you are in Woodward.  We did not continue straight to the main road, highway 210 or Main St, and Caseys this time.  Instead we took the first left and saw how people lived in Woodward.  Just like anyone else in small town Iowa.  Nice homes and quiet neighborhoods.  Eventually we reached the trailhead.

Despite all my bitching about people evicting people out of a foreclosed trailer court, 10 families deposed, to make a bar and campground, we stopped at the Whistlin' Donkey located on the northside of the trail.  There were about 10 tents in one area but the "lodge" was not open.  During our visit with the owners during Brai we were told it would be 3 weeks til open.  They were waiting for the kitchen to be finished.  What this has to do with beer sales I do not know.  Beverage coolers were in place and function in July.  So Craig and I sat on the patio and rested before riding the 2.6 miles to The Trestle.

I had a job to do.  I do it well.  I am the Official Photographer of Craig Lein's FB Profile Shot.  Most of these are done while riding bicycles.  The Majority it seems are at The High Trestle or on the way to the HT.  Craig tries to visit this bridge at least once a month.  He missed July because HE DID NOT TAKE MY ADVISE ON BRAI and use my route.  But August he did.  Here a few examples of my work.  Please feel free to contact me at pyrtwist@gmail.com if you would like me to perform this service for you.

During the Solid Century Ride.  My suggestion for the NY background on the rail bridge between Dawson and Perry

Craig has a fascination with these cows and they do for him.  The FB profile shot was taken during the Bittersweet Rd adventure

The latest FB profile shot.  He was concerned that I was getting too close before snapping the photo, that the iron works would be missing form it.

I wish he would use this one.  That hair!

Self protrait.  For some reason I did not smile.  Probably the sun.

After the photo shoot we headed the 2.5 miles to the Flat Tire Lounge in Madrid, Iowa.  We had 3 Busch Lights, two too many.  No a/c today because large groups of people floating through the doors.  Tall Dogs and some Duathalon event/benefit.  Children too.  Like a time warp, the Olympic football Gold Medal match was on tv.  My God, 10 hour games??  No a rebroadcast.  Mexico still wins!  By the time we get rolling again my legs have gone into repair mode and are stiff.  7.2 long miles to Slater.

Back to the Trestle for a moment.  When I am at the center of The Bridge I am 40 miles from my home.  Today we were at 55 miles at the center.  Thus, for a century we were 5 miles shy.  Craig whipped out his Droid and pulled up Google Maps.  He pointed to an intersection.  "There is a bar here.  It is 5 miles or so north of Slater.  That would give us the missing miles.  Trust me."  So I did.

We skipped the establishments in Slater and rode to the trailhead of the Heart of Iowa Trail on R38.  This smooth blacktop county highway heads north to Ames, Iowa, home of the Iowa State University.  There are bike lanes on both sides.  After 4.5 miles we reach the Crossroads Tavern, Kelley, Iowa.  The last time I was here it was a large gas station.  That was when Anders Olson and I rode to Ames for Ragbrai.  There is food available at the Crossroads.  We split a basket of fried green beans.  Breaded and fried and served with ranch dressing for dipping.  $3.  A man and his pre-teen son order tenderloins while they played pool together.  A band was setting up outside.  We will have to visit here again.  After the beans and a Busch Light it was time to head south.  We made up the missing miles.

Once again we did not stop in Slater except for Craig to answer Nature's call at the Night Hawk.  I answered the same call at the trailhead on the way to the Crossroads.  While he was pissing I watched a drunk couple get into a red Firebird convertible and drive away.  Small town Iowa.  I wonder if Randy Travis' Firebird was red.  Pulling out of the bar we missed the tree only because there was a reflector on it.  South bond to Sheldahl where Craig put a foot down at all three stop signs.  I remained clipped in but at extremely slow speeds.

After 5 miles we rested at The Oasis for a bit almost regretting not having bags with a beer to drink.  We then left the trail to go to Polk City and stopped at the Kum&Go for Gatorade and Mountain Dew.  I ate a Powerbar while consuming my caffeine and sugar.  Craig had a brownie.  Dottie's Landmark Tavern was open but we skipped it.  Craig does not like the service there.  The other bar is bit to locally for me.  This had to be a record for Craig and I.  No beers from the Crossroads until the Locust Tap!

The Neal Smith Trail added a new challenge.  Craig wanted to see how fast he could  while descending the dam wall.  I went first.  Got my speed up to about 14 mph and started looking around.  Lots of tree debris on the trail, all of it dry but hitting such at a bad angle could cause a crash.  Check the woods for deer.  We have seen plenty today and as evening creeps in they appear more often especially does and fawns.  Although the trail seemed abandoned by humans there is always the possibility of someone riding or walking on the trail.  No desire to tackle one of them.  The last time we hit this section of trail together there was a blue light not unlike a new cheap flasher for a bike.  it disappeared for a bit only to reappear directly in my eyes as a young child was holding it while he walked with his father.  Although we still had daylight I did not want to see those two again as I was trying to set a record.

After the first curve I was bit more comfortable and shifted into big ring and downshifted a few on the cassette.  There were two more curves and I need a high rpm push for final acceleration.  I pick up speed a bit and then braked for the final curve.  Then I attacked.  Simultaneously my right middle finger pushed the shifter lever while my legs exploded turning the cranks.  I should have stood up for this.  The bike was shaking.  I took a long visual on the trail ahead while this was going on.  No humans or critters.  No tree shit either.  It was clear to the curve near the bottom where I could not see past.  A few more clicks on the shifter and then a glance at the computer.  31.8 already.  Sweet!  Turn that crank faster and look ahead again.  Nobody!  The computer read 35.4 when I hit the curve.  I could see the wooden bridge.  Half of the surface was painted grey.  Hope it is not slick.  Time to back off.  There was a couple sitting on the bench on the other side of the bridge when it finally came into view.  Hope they stay seated for I am not breaking.  Just gonna ride this out and wait for Craig.

Craig eventually caught up.  His top speed was 31 mph.  I think I can easily hit 40 mph IF the course was closed and the deer were chased out.  Perhaps a sweeping of the top section.  but after breaking a clavicle and watching two of my best friends biff hard and suffer worse fates than me because of stupid bikers I tend to be a tad more cautious.  I still love to dive bomb a hill but I use a jet or two brain power first.

Craig said that when he hit the bridge he almost bounced off his bike.  He must have hit it hard.  I probably was out of saddle when I rolled over it.  Bridge intersections are bumpy on most trails.  He though it would have been funny if he launched off his bike and landed in the laps of the bench couple.  Oh the thoughts that run through our minds as we defy death!

The rest to the NST was uneventful.  the section that parallels I-80 really needs to be repaved.  We have known this for a decade.  No other users on the trail, just memories.

I hit my 100 miles just after passing the Ding Darling sign.  Between that and the InterUrban Trestle.  Craig got his near North HS.  I started a few miles south of him.

When we got to Birdland Marina it was dark.  Although I tested my lights earlier they were now dead.  My kids may have swapped the AAs for the Wii controllers.  Or I may have left the light on after my last adventure to the Lift.  I did turn it on as I started my descent of the Wall.  But my red flasher was working fine.  Craig had a headlamp strapped to his helmet.  It was dim.  His rear flasher was fine.  So at the marina I called Mary.  "Meet us at the Locust tap and bring AAs and my headlamp and a lock."

The lack of adequate lights almost killed us.  I feel like such a hypocrite for bitching about the lightless biker that nearly killed Joe Hildreth the week before.  But when the trail turned toward Lutheran Hospital and the Botanical Center we did not see a detour sign or a Trail closed sign.  No warning at all.  At the bottom of this stretch under University Ave bridge Craig shouted something like "SHIT  WHAT THE FUCK!"  In the darkness appeared a fence blocking the trail.  No signs, no reflectors, no flashing amber lights.  Sudden stop.  This is part of the improvements to the Botanical Center.  I knew that all the trees around the cul de sac were removed.  Jason Boten calls this area "Adulters' Row.  But I did not think that the project would impose on the trail itself.  There was a dried dirt path around the fence.  And at the end of it we saw the detour sign for northbound trail users.  The beer at the Tap would be needed now.

104.5 miles just to get a beer here!

We beat Mary to the Locust Tap by 1 minute.  She brought all the necessary supplies I requested.  We had a table by the window that we leaned our bicycles against.  No bikes at the radiator bike rack.  Craig had a Hamm's, Mary and I Busch Light.  I did not feel like a change.  We stayed for one round and rode our separate ways, Mary and I south across the river to Little Italy, Craig west to Ingersoll. 

He ended up with about a half mile more than me.  31st and Woodland is a bit further than Little Italy.  I had 105.9.  Craig clocked 106.3 miles.  A great day on bikes.  The weather was wonderful as the heatwave finally moved on.  At moments I almost needed a jacket.  But after all it is August and Autumn is still a month away.  I am sure we will bring them in September.

Super Lights and No Lights = Near Death

There are seven cervical vertebrae in the neck that support your head and connect it to the shoulders and body. A fracture (break or crack) in one of the cervical vertebrae is called a cervical fracture or sometimes, a broken neck.
Causes of Cervical Fractures
Cervical fractures are most often caused by a forceful impact, or traumatic blow to the head. Athletes involved in impact sports, or participating in sports that have a risk of falling of 'snapping' the neck (skiing, diving, football, cycling) all are linked to neck fractures
Immediate First Aid for Neck Injuries
Any injury to the head or neck should be evaluated for a neck fracture. A cervical fracture is a medical emergency that requires immediate treatment. Spine-related trauma may injury the spinal cord and could result in paralysis, so keeping the neck still is critical. If there is any chance of a cervical fracture, the patient's neck should be immobilized (not moved) until medical attention arrives and X-rays can be taken. It's best to assume there is a neck injury in anyone who has an impact,fall or collision-type of injury. Symptoms of a cervical fracture include severe neck and head pain, pain that radiates to the shoulders or arms, or bruising and swelling at the back of the neck.


I should be really happy now but I am not.  The cursed heatwave finally broke.  Got my choice position for UAR on Sunday.  Purchased two tickets to see New Order in October, downloaded 2 bootlegs yesterday, two more downloading now, listening to one for the first time right now, The Galaxy, Auckland, New Zealand 1987 (Bernard actually used the words "pubic hair" during the first tune!).  Airline tickets are cheap.  Mother is about ready to go back to her home and the lawn just got mowed by my son.  Friday after work.  Amen!  Hallelujah!!!  But I am in a mood somewhere between tears and anger.  Successfully refrained myself from placing the F word in the title.

Joe wearing a hemet that he will replace when is cleared for riding.

12:52 pm today, a mere 40 minutes from locking the doors and calling it a "week" I got a text from Donnie Hildreth.  "You hear about Joe's head on collision Tuesday night GWT?"

Shit.  Not again.  Another friend hurt bad.  "Nope, do tell."  Donnie called instead of texting.  It's always bad when texting will not cut it.  I got the scoop with a voice. 

Joe and I have ridden together for years.  Joe is perhaps the fastest and strongest rider I know that does not race.  He should race.  He'd kick the crap out of all but the elite.

After getting the details from Donnie I texted Joe.  Told him to heal up.  He thanked me immediately.  That's a good sign.  I finished up work and then texted again.  "Can you talk?"  The phone rang immediately.

Joe's voice was a little softer and a bit harsher than normal.  Could not tell if that was the meds or the pain making the vocal modifications.  But it sounded like Joe.

"Heading south on the Great Western Trail Tuesday night.  It was very dark and past 930 pm.  Three bikes with super lights were headed my direction so I moved close to the right edge of the trail and looked down so I would not be blinded.  He had to be over all the way on the left behind the super lights bikes.  Wrong side of the trail.  The right side of my face was hit.  I really do not remember anything."

Super lights need to be toned down a bit when there are other riders in the opposite direction.  It is to the point that it is not unlike driving a car and fookers drive with their brights on all the time.  If there is no adjustment settings perhaps block the light with a hand.  I have very bright lights and I always dim them when encountering others.  Cheap flashers get the job done too.  They let people know that you are there.  Use uber lights when there are no eyeballs to burn out.

"Kevin Pearson was behind me a ways and overheard the super lights say that there was a bad collision and then he saw me laying down on the trail.  Two riders with lights  stopped to help.  Fortunately, one was a nurse and saw that my neck was messed up.  They got me in a truck and to the hospital."

"As for the guy that collided with me, his bike was really messed up.  They said his fork was bent all the way back to the frame.  Wheel was tacoed and tire blown.  He must have been really hurt because people said that he was standing around as dazed as me.  But then he was gone.  I hope he is alright.  I have a severe concussion.  He must have had one too."

Donnie said the guy walked off into the darkness with his bike.  But everyone focused on Joe's needs.  So damn close to turning into Superman, Christopher Reeves, it is not funny.

"Makes me rethink about riding on the GWT at night.  Many bikes without lights.  We all sometime or another have too much to drink.  We've been there.  I am not mad at him.  I don't want to have him punished.  I just want to make sure he is ok."

Then Joe revealed that he is a REAL BIKER.  "I looked at my bike yesterday.  It's not in too bad of shape.  Front wheel needs truing.  Brakehoods need to be realigned.  He got the worst of it."

But the question in my mind was whether he would ride again.  Joe answered that without being asked.  We discussed next year and what rides we should do.  Wisconsin has one that is limited to 300 riders.  5 days 400+ miles.  Good overnights.  Ragbrai proper is out he said.

"The most enjoyable part of Ragbrai was riding to the start.  Too many people.  Too many idiots.  Too many people without enough experience.  Bikers ditch to ditch.  People pulling up right next to you stealing your space.  Not willing to pass and move on.  No wonder there are so many accidents.  Every morning I'd wake up in my tent to the sound of ambulances screaming.  And the sirens would scream all day long non-stop."

So I asked the important questions.  "Did you have lights?"  Yes he did.  "How is your helmet?"  He plans to replace it before riding again.  Helmets are good for one bad crash.  Replace them if this happens to you.

"But I am really lucky.  It could have been much worse.  The doctor told me yesterday that surgery is not necessary.  The fracture will heal on its own.  I was lucky that people stopped to help me.  I was lucky that a nurse was there when it happened."

Tomorrow Joe will walk his daughter down the aisle for her wedding.  The doctor said he could take his neck brace off for this.  She rides bikes as well as her soon to be husband who happens to race for Scheels.  I think they'd understand if Joe takes it easy tomorrow.

RAGBRAI: The Choclate Milk Shite Storm

Don't know who this leg belongs to but I bet they needed some Oxy for it.

Chocolate milk.  All for a chocolate milk.  Could have been anything.  A gatorade, a Powerbar, an apple, an orange, one of those coins "Bummsfookville welcomes Ragbrai XL 2012" or even a pencil.  Or a banana.  I've been known to pull off to the side of a banana.  Whatever the bikehag hands out, Ragbraiers will go to the right and grab.  Swag.  On Wednesday she was handing out chocolate milk.

I have nothing against chocolate milk.  Tasty.  One of the best recovery drinks available.  Inexpensive.  AE makes the best IMHO.  But I may be a bit lactose intolerant these days.  A pint of milk is really a shitebomb an hour or so after guzzling.  My chef and I sell Kemp's milk and we joke that they are really chocolate bombs.  Chug one and wait.  Hope we are near home when it goes off.  But I did not follow the Siren's call to get a free chocolate milk.  Sam Hildreth did.  My dear friend, mentor and calm figure that I should emulate more except in terms of bicycling.  He needs to ride more with me.  Bicycling is the only realm I can offer him anything.  Well, the finer points of New Order and Busch Light.

Sam was one of the 23000+ riders on Wednesday as Ragbrai rolled its ugly ass to Marshalltown.  I think Sam has participated in 3 or 4 of these bike circuses.  He paid for his wristband and the fees to have the Tall Dogs schelp him and his gear to Sioux Center.  His brothers Joe and Donnie rode to the start of Ragbrai, supported, instead of the long bus journey.  I missed them by a day.  Joe got 700 miles this year for Ragbrai.  That's more than I got all July.  But Sam took the bus. 

Sam rides a black Trek 1200.  Because of an old football injury, Valley HS, West Des Moines, he removed the drop bars and replaced them with flat bars.  His neck pain made riding intolerable.  This was done this year.  His bike may have sat in the garage for two years collecting dust until he swapped bars.  I have ridden quite a few miles with him and his brothers.  But Sam's one true passion is Philmont.

Philmont is a 250 square mile BSA preserve in the Sangre Cristo region of the Rookie Mountains in northern New Mexico.  If memory serves me right, he has visited that place 5 or 7 times.  I had the distinct privilege of going there with him in 2009.  At Philmont one puts on a backpack and a pair of hiking boots and disappears in the Rookies for 10 days.  Everything one needs is carried in backpacks.  Clothing, tents, cooking gear, food, bear ropes ect.  Every few days these people pick up food at a designated station and then back into the wilderness they return.  Self contained at its finest.  We have stood on the top of Mt Baldy, 12,441', and stared into Colorado.  We also stared down a mountain lion at night at 25 yards.  Serious business.  No Casey's every 10 miles.  No SAG.  Cellphone reception void.  Bicycling became a way to train for Philmont.

On Tuesday July 31st I text Joe Hildreth.  "How was your Ragbrai?"  Having rode Tour de Kota with Joe and Donnie I was curious.  This had to be the hottest Ragbrai ever.  During my 'Brai I got a text from Joe but he was a day ahead of me on the ride out to the start.  And this year, despite riding for 6 days and 362 miles, I never got close to the Official Ragbrai Route.  TdK was my structured tour.  Brai was my week of fun on a touring bike without people telling me to move along.  I think I was with at most 40 bikers versus the 23000 the Hildreth brothers were with. 

His reply, "Great trip. Seven hundred miles.  Sam wasn't so lucky..."  Damn, 700 miles??!!!???  I must find friends that actually ride bikes.  Sam!!!!  WTF??!!  He never made it to Story City.

So the bikehag is standing at the side of the road luring unsuspecting bikers to her with the promise of chocolate milk.  When I asked him if it was AE he said he did not recall.  What he recalls is moving to her and receiving the chocolate milk.  The bomb exploded immediately.

As he was returning to the route another bicyclist cut him off.  There was contact.  Then Sam says he must have passed out.  His next memory is one of him falling down a steep ditch unable to get one foot out of the toe clips.

"Once again I protected the bike with my body," he told me.  His brother said that his bike was ok and did not appear damaged.  Sam has not seen it since the chocolate bomb.  It would be very difficult for him to go out to his garage and look at it.

On Monday the foot that could not get out of the pedal  was operated on.  Four screws are now part of his skeletal structure.  His tibia or fibula was broken at the ankle and many of the bones in the foot were moved about.  One month without putting weight on it.  Surgery.  He would have been better off with a broken collar bone instead.

"I never again did I see the person that forever changed the course of my life," he said.  "He rode on as I fell into the ditch."

"Were you alone?"  Joe and Donnie are fast riders.  Sam has been unable to train as much as they do and I bet they left him in the dust early on like they did me on TdK.

"Yes, alone.  Ragbrai picked up my bike.  I rode in the meatwagon.  I got an email from Ragbrai stating that found a bag with my stuff in it.  That's the first sign that somebody stripped the bike but it could have fallen off.  I had my Ragbrai info in it."

"What about Philmont?  You got 11 months to recover before you lead the Crew in 2013."

"Philmont is out.  I have not told the Crew.  The doctor said that it would be 3 years before I could carry that much weight (50lb) and hike in the mountains again."

3 years.  Train tickets for 2013 have been paid.  Training began last year.  My son is going.  No Sam this time.  Damn, I almost cried.  The one great adventure left has been DENIED by an asshole on a bicycle.

"Shit, I'll be 60 by the time this foot is healed.  Everything is good at 50.  Then at 55 you start falling apart."

I resisted the urge about asking about the bike.  True bikers when talking to true bikers, once the health issues are discussed and the possibility of death is not in the realm, will ask how the bike fared.

'So I am going to get a resistance trainer and put the bike on that.  The bike now is my only outlet for adventure.  The bicycle is my only training instrument."

What a relief.  I still have a biking friend.  A normal person would say "Fuck it.  Fuck that shit.  That shit nearly killed me.  My body is forever fucked up and I aint never risking it again."

"You got to get the shoes for those SPD pedals that have been in your garage for 3 years.  Put the tension on the lowest setting.  Clipping out is most important and your foot and ankle will be weak at that."

"Yep.  I promise."

I concluded the phone call with an offer.  "Join me on the Darkside.  Ride Brai not Ragbrai.  Avoid 23000 extra people.  I will show you the Russian blond in Gliddon.  You will like her.  It is the best adventure you can have in Iowa."

The Vortex--Ragbrai 2012

Outside Breda, Iowa, on mile 70 mile solo journey toward home.

Word English Dictionary defines Vortex as any activity, situation, or way of life regarded as irresistibly engulfing.  Seems a fitting definition of The Ragbrai, for you that are not drawn into this bicycle maelstrom, Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa.  For those that have participated in it and love bicycling understand that during the last full week of July The Vortex tugs at the heart to draw you back into the fire one more time.

But some of feel the  pull but want to avoid the bullshit.  23010 riders were in Story City per ISP.  That is insane.  Lines 50 deep for kybos, food and water.  Imagine finding a campsite?  Good luck finding an air conditioned haven to wait out the 100F+ weather!

But how does one end the torment of the desire to Bicycle Ride Around Iowa, appease The Vortex, and avoid the bullshit?  Bagging off route.  I suppose vehicle supported off route but that brings in other bullshit that I do not want to write about now.

Having missed only 2 or 3 Ragbrais since 1991 I have seen the best and worse.  The last time I was on the route I ran over an idiot who crashed into the bike in front of him.  The time before I almost needed a Valium to deal with the herd on the route.  Extremely crowded conditions create broken bones and loss of blood even death.

Obligatory Day 1 photo .3 miles from my house.

7am Friday morning I packed the Trek 520.  Riding clothes, off bike clothes, tent, pad, sleeping bag, tools, tubes and cooler of Busch Light and ice.  Destination Jefferson, Iowa, an 80 mile ride normally.  Mary gave me a half hour head start then joined us later on her fast bike.  She escaped most of The Vortex because her job and other obligations that intervened.  We planned to meet on my return.  So the two of us met Craig and Chad in Waukee, weighed our bikes on the scale, Craig 320 lb, me 300 lb, Chad had ants in his pants and missed out,  and then we rolled on the newish trail to Dallas Center where The Vortex stopped us at The Harvest Moon.

The last 2 PBRs at The Harvest Moon.  never ever say that we have almost drank you dry of something because The Vortex will force us to complete the mission.

 Mary left before they ran out of PBR tallboys.  Afterwards 3 of us rode the county roads to Minburn and sought refuge in Mudder's.  The county road was nice and free of vehicular traffic.  We stopped for a 1 beer break in at a farm house.  I was the only one carrying because Craig suggested that if they did they'd never get out of DSM.  Mudder's was a typical small town dive.  We watched The Open.

At Mudder's

Leaving Mudder's we took the new trail section from Minburn to Perry.  So new we could see the tire marks from construction equipment.  In Perry we met up with about 50 baggers.  Some started the day before and stayed in Madrid, 35 miles from my home in Des Moines.  After hours we started drifting westward to Dawson where we watched the sun go down.  Someone took a bottle of Brut aftershave and broke it against the depot creating a stink bomb.  Then the night ride on Highway 141 to Jamaica, Iowa and the Do Drop In.  Here The Vortex was strong and many people slept in the field of this old closed high school.  A few people escaped and made it to Jefferson, a few to Cooper, a place with bad water.  Craig was too exhausted to go further so we stayed in Jamaica.  Chad lit his tiki torch and headed home until he realized how far away home was so he turned around and did not see him for almost 24 hours.  The Vortex works that way.





Dutch giving thumbs up for the night in Jamaica and the great breakfast at Tojo's

Because of the wonderful breakfast at Tojo's, everything omelet, hashbrowns and toast, we decided to head straight to Scranton and avoid Jefferson.  Short cut.  Jamie H joined us and Beaver joined us at Cooper where we saw Kramer and Walter as they were heading up the trail to Jefferson.  It rained on us for about 3 minutes and we caught up with the ambitious Jefferson riders 4 miles west of J-town.

Sam Auen leading the Jefferson ambitious riders.  My camera leading too much to the left

Normally Scranton is a quick stop.  There is only a Casey's General Store and a city park.  But today The Vortex was waiting in the form of a tavern.  Food and drinks and Metallica on the jukebox.  The Bar Fly bus pulled up, too.  It may have been suggested that this normal 1 beer stop became a 4 hour stop for some and a SAG point for others.  Jamie and I had cheeseburgers.  Craig hung out with the females of the Subtle Savages.  After acquiring a bottle of Fireball at Casey's we rolled up and out not stopping until we found the only shade tree on E57.  Here Shorty produced a big bottle of Lord Calvert.  "This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad."  At least it was Canadian.

My tire was leaking air at this stop so when everyone left Craig pumped the tire since I lacked a presta adapter.  Once rolling we encountered a local who was riding 20 miles that day in preparation for an elk hunt expedition.  He led us to the Rush Inn bar renown for the busty blond woman of Russian origin.  I have heard about this place but never had a chance to stop here because usually I have underage children with me when we bike through here.

She was dressed in a low cut dress in preparation for a bachorlette party. Kramer was tempted to go with them as her husband said that we could leave our bikes here and take the bus to Breda where the party was headed.  Breda was also our destination.  She also chastised Craig for an open container outside.  "I don't see it," in a sexy Russian accent.  Craig put the can behind his back and smiled.

Next stop was less than a block away at the Downtown Tap.  But the 40 minute wait for frozen pizza had Craig and I leave Jamie in favor of Casey's pizza.  We ate it outside getting covered in grease.  While it cooked we iced up.  Two towns before Breda none of which had pubs or stores. 

Half way to Lidderdale aka Liquordale, Craig suffered a food coma.  He pulled over and fell asleep on the lawn of a farm house.  I let him sleep for 5 minutes or until the snoring started.  Revived, we rolled on.

Lidderdale has a park with tables under a metal shelter plus a gazebo.  This town also has a small convenience store or did when I rolled through here with my family.  But on this evening the park was all we had.  Craig and I took a break.  14 miles left until Breda as I would later discover on my way home.  We sat there and wondered where everyone else was when the bike lights appeared.  8 others caught up.  We stayed a bit longer and left en mass to Mount Carmel.

Mount Carmel is on the highest point of area it seems.  Not a steep hill but at night hills seem different.  We rested at the steps of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church before making the final push into Breda.  The vantage point of this town is the view to the west.   The horizon was dotted with red lights blinking in synchronization.  The wind turbine industry has grown greatly here.  Each one with its own red light to warn aircraft of its presence.  Quite a sight at night.  Off in the distance to the north were fireworks.  We had visual entertainment on the ride into Breda.

Red's was easy to find in Breda.  It was the place with all the bicycles parked inside.  Good to see everyone especially those that got a ride into town and missed the fun on the road.  Dutch shared a pizza with us and we all relaxed before heading to the park for sleep.

For my second night I did not use the tent.  I pulled the ground cloth out and put my pad and sleeping bag on it and slept in a dark area in the park.  But at dawn it sprinkled so I moved to a table in the shelter.  Not much rain.  Probably could have stayed outside.

The park is located next to a swimming pool so we had access to showers!  In the morning I took advantage of this and enjoyed an open air toilet.  Not very often one finds a shittar with a view of the sky.  Back in 2009 when I was at Philmont 99% of them were "shittars with a view" as my friend Sam called them.  But this one was a flusher.  Sam Hildreth would have been impressed.

My Brai.

The decision to flee came to me soon.  Last year Mary and rode 100 miles from Carrol to Madrid.  Breda is even further away.  I gained a day.  The text I received from Craig seemed to indicate that Perry was an overnight.  It was not.  Instead of spending a day in Breda with nothing to do why not chop that 100+ ride in 2?  Sometimes it is easy to escape The Vortex.  A day of doing nothing in Breda sounded dangerous.  I studied over the map at breakfast.

I left Breda at noon.  I had breakfast at the corner store which is hard to describe as it seemed to be part knick knack store part church rummage sale but the special was $6 and included ice cream.  Clean restroom, too.  Broasted chicken was available across the street at a BP where I iced up and purchased water.  I had a breast.  Said my good bye to Craig and headed east alone.

First stop was to apply sunscreen.  Second stop was to photograph the wind turbines.  Third stop was in Mount Carmel to call Mary.  I could not get service in Breda.  Told her the plan.  I'd try to get as close as I could.

I had a sandwich at Casey's in Gliddon.  While sitting on the curb I saw the sign.  101F at 240 pm.  At least the breeze was good.  The wind was from the southwest and fairly strong.  Going south was tough but a favorable crosswind helped on the east stretches.  Gliddon to the turn on E57 would be my last south run for quite awhile.

The road was lonely, even cars were few.  I did come across two baggers who stopped and talked.  A tandem pulling a trailer just rolled on.  But I really thought I'd see more bikers. 

Last year it was the White Pole Road.  This year the Lincoln Highway.

At Scranton I guzzled a Gatorade and reloaded my bottles and added fresh ice to the cooler.  I decided to go into Jefferson today to change up the route a bit,  Here I stopped a bar on the square where 4 touring bikes were parked.  Did not know them.  After a beer I went to Pizza Ranch.  This would be the last place to eat before tomorrow.

On the Raccoon River Valley Trail east of Jefferson

First photo of bike with newly acquired flag.  On RRVT.

Took the trail to Cooper and stopped to investigate the water situation.  It was as bad as it was last year.  Filled a cup with the hose faucet and saw chunks in the bottom of the cup.  The sink faucet did not have chunks but tasted metallic.  The garabage can was overflowing with beer cans.  Yep, baggers overnighter here.  Time to get off the trail and head to Jamaica.

What seemed like a 10 minute ride the day before was taking much too long.  I was tired when I rolled into Jamaica but was not going to stay.  Nothing open.  Dawson was my target.

141 was not as busy on a Sunday evening as it was on Friday night.  I rode on the shoulder and cars gave me a wide berth.  Kinda funny how while passing me they'd continue toward the centerline and hit the rumbles there before drifting back into their lane proper.   But no one tried to kill me.

Photo taken on our 123 mile Solid Century earlier this year.

Dawson was empty.  I stopped at the trailhead/depot and called it a day.  Assess the situation.  First, drink a bottle of fresh water from the refrigerated water fountain inside the depot.  Second, walk across the street to the pepsi machine and get a $1 Gatorade and drink that immediately.  Third, wash up.  Fourth, stare at map.  Fifth, open up 1 of the 3 remaining beers and relax.  Munch on a Powerbar and contemplate the next move.  70 miles covered.  It is dark.  Perry is 6 miles away but full of people.  Stay here.  Everything I need is here except for food.

It's a 520 thing.  I did miss taking a photo of 520 Ave outside Huxley

At 957 pm the Man With Keys arrived to lock up the place.  He asked if I needed anything.  I needed two things at this point.  The electrical outlets inside the building since my charger does not fit in the outside ones.  And I need the lights to shut off.  He was very kind and said he'd leave the place unlocked as he did for a group last night.  As for the lights, they are on a timer and go off about 230 am.  I thanked him.  Now I had permission to squat here.  I now merely needed to find a dark corner to sleep.

During my first visit here last year I thought to myself that this would be a great place to crash.  But on this visit it was still too hot to sleep inside.  Now I'd be outside more visible to people passing by.  I laid the ground cloth next to the building and a table and my bike.  Time for the last two beers.

Dawson is not quiet at night.  Many trucks traverse P46 on their way elsewhere.  Even at 11 pm on a Sunday.  Then I was startled out of my slumber by two bicyclists.  One said that there was "one here and there is one by the post office."  Don't know what they were referring to.  By the time I found my glasses they were gone.  Never did return.  It was 220 am, 10 more minutes til the lights go out.  I moved to the table and slept on top of it until almost 6 am.

It was pointless to sleep after 6 am as the town comes to life.  bikers were already using the trail wondering why this strange man had set up a homeless camp.  Mary said she was planning to leave around 630 am.  I guesstimated that we had the same distance to cover.  I wanted to meet her in Slater.  Time for a sponge bath, drink a bottle of water, final charge of the phone, pack and leave.

On the bridge over the Raccoon River.  In Iowa we name our rivers after animals, well, some rivers.

I stopped twice between Dawson and Woodward.  On the bridge over the Raccoon I applied sunscreen and took the "New York" photo.  That photo was another of a series that we started during the Solid Century.  Why someone painted "New York" on a bridge in Iowa is beyond me but it makes a cool backdrop for a photo.  Craig Lein uses it for his FB profile.  My idea.  Next stop was in Perry at Casey's for caffeine, beer, ice and a slice of breakfast pizza.  Then off to find the gravel road to Bouton, Iowa.

I was disappointed that federal grant money was not award to pave or create a trail linking Perry to the High Trestle Trail but merely paving the gravel road or making a trail beside this road to Bouton would be wonderful for those that do not relish chunky limestone roads.  I've ridden road bikes over it.  The gravel is not bad and once in Bouton there's a paved road to the trailhead in Woodward.

Not even 9 am and it is over 90F!!!!  Prospects for a dangerously hot day.

In Woodward I stopped at Casey's once again!  Noticed that they had Templeton Rye just like the one in Scranton.  Instead two of those Michelobe Ultra 19th Hole Tea&Lemonade malt beverages were added to the cooler.  I also got a bottle of cold spring water and then rolled to the trailhead for a rest and to text Mary.  I drank a beer and watched people.  Someone had a floor pump and was kind enough to let me use it.  It had been a few days and the rear tire was pumped with Craig's mini-pump.  Both tires were getting low. 

Mary was already in Polk City having a pop and chips.  12.7 miles to Slater.  She had about 7 to get there.   I rolled over the Trestle without stopping.  I rolled past the Flat Tire without thinking about beer.  And I did not stop until i saw Mary just west of Slater.  We kissed then rode to the Night Hawk's patio and discussed our options.  

Since it was 1030 and nothing was open we decided to explore the Heart of Iowa Trail which happens to begin a few blocks away.  Then we would eat somewhere.  After lunch we would head to swede Point, only 2 miles off trail, to set up camp and possibly take a shower before visiting the trestle at night.  That was my Ragbrai plan from the beginning.  Skip Webster City to see the Bridge in all its blue lighted glory at night.  But first one of those Mich Ultra teas we shared as a group of 4 road bikes with back packs rolled up.  They were on their way to Boone to intercept The Ragbrai and they brought their own vodka.  Respect.  One was from Texas and she started to bitch about the heat.  Yes, it is a hot one today.

I-35.  no trip on The Ragbrai is complete without a photo of it.  this is my first one from below.

We took the road to Huxley.  The trail is not paved.  Having been on it once I was not impressed with the surface but that may have had something to do that it was soft from the spring thaw.  The trail had to be bone dry but the road is faster and had a bike lane.  There was nothing in Huxley except for 6 childcare facilities.  Mary spotted a coffee shop but she said it looked closed.  We got on the trail now and road to Cambridge, the next town.  To make this trail safer planners made it inconvenient:  many interruption devices to prevent bikes from blowing through stop signs and getting hit by cars going to daycare facilities.  I'd rather be on the road.

Cambridge was closed, well the bar (food) was closed on Monday.  We went to the convenience store and purchased Gatorade and potato chips.  Mary was suffering from the heat.  Templeton available here, too, btw.  Asked about the next town, Maxwell, and we were told that the Kum&Go went out of business.  Time to turn around.  I was hungry.  One stop underneath I-35 and a beverage consumption.

Taking a breather underneath I-35.

Back in Slater we ate at the Night Hawk.  This is the new bar in town.  It was a nice menu.  Restrooms are clean.  Pie is on the menu.  Nice options.  Mary had the BLT special and I a southwestern burger and a $4 giant mug of Busch Light.  We tried to kill an hour here.  It was now over 100F outside. 

7 miles to Madrid.  I hate this stretch.  Boring and usually windy.  Today extremely hot.  A woman for team Butt Ice rode with us and talked enough to take my mind off the oven we were riding in.  She helped us pass the time until we reached the Flat Tire.  Time to charge phones and kill 4 hours.  Waiting for sunset.

kevin Lange.  Photo courtesy of Stretch.

Inside the Flat Tire we were introduced to 3 legends of The Ragbrai, Kevin Lange, Frank Brown and Sonny.  They entertained us for hours with their Brai and biking stories as we waited out the sun.  It was good to meet them.  frank had a stroke in may and is having speech issues.  He drives the van from bar to bar while the others ride.  Other people were here, too, on their way to The Ragbrai.  Most were aiming to Boone.  I brought my Gatorade bottle inside and filled it with water.  3 bottles of water for every beer.  I may have pissed 6 times.  But it is survival and it is too damn hot to be outside.

I think we rolled out by 6 pm.  3 more hours of sunlight.  The worst was over.  we rode to Swede Point.  I have often thought about staying here.  heard good things about it.  Found a campsite close to the showers.  I was going to take one now.  Another after getting back from the night ride to The Trestle and one in the morning.  But just like getting kicked in the nuts we were told that there was no water!  Water main broke.  Should be fixed tomorrow.  We were welcomed to stay for free.  Fuck it.  Fuck that.  Why would we stay a few miles off route without running water.  Sure there was a hydrant but SHOWERS and FLUSH toilets were the attraction.  We turned the offer down in the kindest possible way.  Besides, there was no breeze at the campsite.  Shattered we rolled back to the trestle to ponder the next move.

Sleep at the trailhead in Woodward.  Water, electricity, flush toilets.  A few meters from the trail.  Get some food in town.  Why not?  First we checked out the Whistlin' Donkey, the new bar/restaurant/campground that occupies the former trailer court across from the trailhead.  We met two of the owners.  They open in 3 weeks.  Waiting for kitchen to be finished.  No showers.  Going to build cabins.  Got a tour of "the lodge".  Nice enough.  The European hostel user in me rather see a shower house but I bet they are banking on cabin rentals and food and booze.  They said we could camp there for free.  But after setting up the tent we discovered that there was no breeze.  We left the tent up and went to Casey's.  All the other eating establishments were closed.

A large pizza and 4 Gatorades we took back to the trailhead.  Cheap, greasy, tasty and delicious.  It finally was getting dark but we were too tired to see the bridge.  Food coma maybe.  Heat exhaustion.  We spent another hour contemplating sleeping arrangements.  Too hot in the tent and the ground there is bad from trailer debris.  The trailhead has too much light and the dark areas are rocky.  Mary and I tried various tables before just putting the ground cloth down in front of the buildings and calling it a night.

One group of bikers without lights noted our presence, "there's people laying there!"  Then a woman and her son came around to collect cans and bottles.  i got up and gave her ours.  They had a Great Pyrenese like ours.  I should have told them to go to Dawson and Cooper.  Lots of cans there.  It was quiet after that.  The lights stayed on all night.

Around 6 we got up.  I was feeling quite ill, part of my sinus/ear infection that had been going on for over a week.  I moved slowly.  pack the bike then get the tent.  Drink water and visit the restroom for the 5th time.  A city employee came by and talked to us.  He was friendly and did not bitch that we squatted here last night.  He said that among their biggest expenses was toilet paper!  I think he said they spent $12K USD, 3K above budget for it.

Homeward bound.  Ride past trestle, do not stop.  Ride past Flat Tire, do not stop.  Stop at Night Hawk which happened to have the patio service running at 830 am.  Time for a Blue Moon!  The the ride to the Oasis.  We stopped at every stop sign at Sheldahl.  Mary is a teacher, not an English teacher, but we wanted to be safe.

Mary at The Oasis

From there we rode to Polk City and had Subway in the park.  Then the Neal Smith trail all the way home.  Familiar ground makes time go by quickly.  44 miles from Woodward to home.  I had 301 miles for The Ragbrai.  Great to spend time with my friends and Mary.  But good to be home.  I left that damn bike outside on the deck.  I was sick of it. 

I took Wednesday off.  Originally I planned to ride to Kellog on a rumor about an off route party.  Brad O and Clayton were to meet me.  But I had enough for a while.  Judging by the record heat, 106F and the thunderstorm that ripped through, I made the right decision.  It was a bad day on The Ragbrai.  I had broken away and was glad.

A blurry memory from Craig about meeting him Thursday and riding to The Lift to tear it up was in my head.  I had to text him to confirm.  So Thursday I rode to Slater and met him at the take Down in Slater.  then we took our time riding home.  Mission accomplished.  An extra 62 miles.  Mary joined us at the Lift.  We called it a Ragbrai and discussed next year.  Always next year, more riding, less bar time.  The Ragbrai will be here again when the earth completes it orbit.  And The Vortex will drawn us in again for another dance.

Tour de Kota 2012 Little Bike Ride on the Prarie

A pattern emerged: one bad day and two great days in a row.  The previous day sucked so the next two days had to be good.  I do not believe in such superstitions but the that is the way this week worked. 

Refreshed, fed and recharged we rolled out of Watertown, SD, on fresh black top.  Today I was prepared.  I wore Underarmor underneath my jersey and a jacket.  No chances today even if the jack would come off after 10 miles.  Today's destination was De Smet, SD, home of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  We would roll past the tracks leading to "The Little House on the Prairie."

I may or may not have relieved my bladder near this historical marker

The terrain was flat and marked by lakes, remnants of the glaciers.  Trees were scarce again.  The wind was at our back or at least out of our way.  The route would be a shade over 60 miles.  We rode strong and together and kicked ass.

Nothing to report of the pass through towns.  There was a "gas" incident in Hayti.  Not naming names but if you are sitting next to me and let one loose be prepared to get a face full.

Lunch was in Lake Norden.  Ribeye sandwiches, delicious and filling.  The bar across the street was closed although some riders managed to get mixed drinks.  The owner lost out on a lot of money that day.

South of lake Norden and the Sargento factory.  This business does metal scuptures

We found a service station that sold beer in badger, SD.  Although they had new Belgian's Dig in bottles, our riders thought that a 12 pack was too much so we had a 6 pack of Busch Light tallboys at the city park.

Erwin was the last town out.  Only gonna say that these residents need to trim their bushes and plant life, thin out the garbage trees and leave the water on at the church.  Donnie discovered this to his shock and horror.  It was good for a laugh and later that night some others related this incident.

One can almost see the horse drawn wagon in the distance. @Laura Ingalls Wilder historical Marker

The remaining ride into De Smet was fast and smooth.  We stopped at the historical marker for Laura Ingalls Wilder and then rocketed in to the first open bar we could find, Wheaties.

Wheatie and Mrs. Wheatie.  He went home to get this jersey.  Later he wore it when he rode his motorcycle around the campground.

Wheaties is named after the owner Pete.  It is a classic dive with a HD fetish.  All of us were able to belly up at the bar and I bought the first round.  later we had cheese burgers and fries and Joe got Wheatie to buy us the 6th round.  Many bikers appeared.  Took them almost the entire week to show up for beer but now they came out of the closet.

just a small town girl....My camera must have got wet or settings changed.  There is a huge quality issue since the ride into Watertown

Entertainment was in the form of vocal talents at the campground.  A family from upstate New York, near Albany, moved here 9 moths prior because the father enjoyed the hunting and fishing opportunities.  One of their daughters and her brother sang.  Their music teach also sang for us with the best of Whitney Houston.  I almost requested I Feel Love by Donna Summers but that was a request beyond my control.

Bicycles make good drying racks.  The bikes stayed dry underneath this tree when the rain hit early the next morning.

Despite my lack of cellphone service De Smet had an espresso machine.  This was at Wards where we dined on lasagna and salad before hitting Wheaties for round two.  While there we met up with Beau and Michelle Anderson of Dell Rapids.  When they told us what they saw in Erwin we all laughed.  Yep, check the water before using the toilet.




DONE!!


Back at camp I busted out the Fireball.  Mrs. Wheatie gave us a bag of ice to chill this bottle.  Julie and Sandy and Mike from Team Duster helped us kill the bottle.  They never have had this whisky before.  Julie thanked me the next day.

The day was now complete.  I slept well.  About 4 am there was a light shower but that did not slow anyone down.  I was hoping to sleep in but did not need it.  One last ride and I was in good shape.