In Which Team Joe Does RAGBRAI 2018

Team Joe in Boone on Tuesday. We stopped for lunch at a house of a college friend of Cate and Brigid. We stayed in Ames that night with another member of the Cate and Brigid ISU mafia. And our Newton host was a friend of Brigid and Eldon. We were aided this year by both the kindness of strangers and the kindness of old friends.

What will we recall about RAGBRAI 2018? A lot, I am sure. It was the year of the tyre trouble, as three of four team members, including your correspondent, suffered flats. It was the year of the guardian angels, as two of three team members with flats were quickly aided by helpful members of the United States Air Force. It was the year when we thought anybody out of state who did RAGBRAI for the first time might not get the right idea about Iowa—lows in the 50s and highs in the 80s are not all that typical in the last full week of July.

Overall, it was a grand ride.

I rode five days of RAGBRAI this year, about par for my recent rides. The ride in total was a bit over 400 miles, but for me it was about 370 miles. We had a few passing sprinkles on the road, but the weather was so cooperative that when we did have rain, it was while we were in town. Everything got a bit wet in the campground in Jefferson—it was sunny when we left for supper, and we had not really battened down the hatches before we toddled off to eat. Despite that bit of dampness, it was a gorgeous week.

Morning view from a ridge top on Monday.

It was not without some problems. The first day I rode, I felt sometimes awful—faint and dizzy and I wondered if all the practice rides had been enough. That, however, was a long day—more than 70 miles—and a hilly day with over 2,500 feet of climb. And while no day in RAGBRAI was truly hot, it was 90ish warm, one of the warmer days this year.

My wife says I probably got dehydrated, and I think she is right. As fate and H2O would have it, I felt pretty much fine the rest of the week—pretty much, although my old back and my old knees did let me know that they didn’t always appreciate everything.

Team Joe is aging, and when my sisters and I were going through the extended rituals required to get out of a camp chair or arise from the ground, there were grunts and groans that we began to consider the old person arising soundtrack of RAGBRAI.

Tall bike casts shadow Tuesday. No, non-Iowans, this was not a typical summer week.

 We learned to persevere this year. My front derailleur was a bit touchy, and once or twice a day would over shift when I was trying to go from the small to the large cog. Fortunately, the chain never got stuck, it just meant I had to immediately stop and get my fingers greasy putting the chain back on. I thought it was my mechanical glitch of the ride, but actually it was the minor annoyance in the year of the flat tyre.

It began in Baxter on Wednesday. We were just nearing the edge of town, we were beyond the walking scrum and again riding, when there was a dramatic pop. I think I was actually in the lead—not where I usually am (slow Joe), but I heard the pop and my sister yell something.

Cate’s back tyre had blown. As we started to look at it, a random stranger, a nice older gentleman who appeared to be in our age group, stopped to lend a hand and chat. And a few seconds later, the woman who took command popped over.

Major Caroline had a force of personality and instantly was in charge. She took the wheel, helped random helpful man take off the tyre, and found the problem right away. It wasn’t a rock or other sharp object—the tube had ruptured on its side because the side bead of the tyre had failed.

USAF Major Caroline informed Cate that she needed to walk back through town to the bike shop and get a new tyre there. We four (Cate, Brigid, random helpful man and I) nodded in agreement. We were prepared to storm Normandy if Major Caroline told us to.

Major Caroline (and random, kindly helpful man--it's not just the Air Force, RAGBRAI riders in general are often ready to help).

Entering Nevada on Wednesday.

Well, as blowouts go, it was well timed because it was in a RAGBRAI town where one of the roving bike shops did have a repair kiosk. We bid goodbye to Major Caroline and all hoped in our hearts we would meet again, and Brigid and I idly chatted as Cate walked back, wheel in hand, to the bike repair tent.

Bike shop guy told her that she probably had over inflated her tyre slightly, the day had warmed up and “poof.” We vowed to watch it a bit with the air from that point on.

As it turned out, tyre mayhem wasn’t done with us yet. On Thursday morning, my penultimate ride of RAGBRAI, Eldon and I were riding together. We were still in Newton, riding along in the stream of morning bicycle traffic, when Eldon hailed me and we pulled over into a small campground parking area.

You know the Allstate ads featuring actor Dean Winters as Mayhem? I could imagine his voice. “I’m a pothole in Newton, Iowa. You have self-sealing tubeless tyres on your fancy British tricycle, but I’m going to cut a half-inch gash in one that will have it bubbling out sealant like a toddler with a cold bubbles out snot.”

Another flat tyre. The good news is that there was a spare tyre in Marco, our support vehicle. The bad news is that the spare tyre was in Marco, our support vehicle, so there were several phone calls, an interlude of waiting, and then the rest of Team Joe (and our kind host Duane) showed up.

Cate put the spare tyre on a pump and walked over with it hanging there, and the resulting “tyre cross” became a new unofficial symbol of Team Joe and the year of the tyre.

Camp view in Sigourney on Thursday.

The pump cross in Newton.

Chain came off--It's back on now, almost.

Rolling on hills on Thursday.

I ended up leaving Newton alone, as changing a tubeless tyre turns out to be a more involved and lengthier process than a regular tyre—you trade the smaller likelihood of a flat with that system for the greater investment in time should a flat occur—although Eldon caught up with me well before we stopped for lunch that day.

But wait, as they say on TV, there’s more. Fast forward to Saturday, the final ride. Brigid was laid low in the morning. The plan was that all four of us would ride that final day—family from CR would handle the logistics of getting Marco—but on Friday night, my delayed twin sister ate some tasty Indian dish that contained cauliflower.

Which, it seems, is something Brigid ought not do. On the way to Iowa City, she became very nauseated, and unable to ride. Eldon stayed with her to tend to her, and Cate and I rode alone that day. The sickness was short lived, and Brigid and Eldon were fortunately able to join us for an Ethiopian feast at a Coralville restaurant that night, but on Saturday’s ride, it was just Cate and I.

We were nearing Atalissa after a pleasant, not hilly roll through Johnson County. The road suddenly seemed very rough to me—way too rough. I pulled over, and felt my back tyre. This time where was no dramatic poof, no blowout noise, but the tyre was completely deflated.

So Cate and I upended the bike and began the process of changing the tube. There was an obvious hole in my tyre, but the tyre appeared sound enough for continued use. I had a spare tube with me and Cate had a pump. As we worked, another rider had trouble and pulled over on the same bridge, and then three Air Force guys showed up.

We were mildly amused because we had been there longer, but the USAF helped second rider first—but it didn’t matter and I don’t want to sound like I am complaining at all. In fact, the USAF was nothing but helpful, and even if they aided the other guy first, they didn’t hesitate to come over and lend us a hand, too. We were having a little trouble putting the tyre back on, and a strong young gentleman from the Air Force provided the needed hand strength. And Cate’s frame pump was being a little finicky, so the Air Force whipped out one of theirs, and two of them inflated my tyre.

The Air Force is indeed the guardian angels of RAGBRAI, and even if we were both secretly missing Major Caroline, we also very much appreciated the aid of the Air Force dudes.

Air Force team rolls out of camp in Onawa on first day of RAGBRAI. As it turned out, these guardian angles often aided Team Joe (among, I am sure, many others).

In Atalissa, I stopped at the bike repair tent, but just for air. It’s hard to fully inflate a road bike tyre with a frame pump. We had second breakfast at the fire station there and then were then on our way.

There is an adaptive bicycle group that rides RAGBRAI—tandem bicycles where the stoker has limited or no eye sight, for example, or people who don’t have the use of their legs riding specialized trikes with hand pedals. As it turned out, that group was staying inside the school in Onawa and began RAGBRAI accidentally riding with Team Joe.

At the end of RAGBRAI, Cate and I had arranged to meet our ride at a rendezvous point—the QC Expo Center—located in Rock Island, Illinois. As we crossed the bridge over the Mississippi River, we had a delay as this low bridge swings open for barge traffic, and we noted we were surrounded by the same adaptive bicycle group who were using the same meeting point.

West Liberty, Saturday. Stopping to fill my "bomb bay," a small bag on my bike, with seed balls to toss in ditches. One of the Monarch butterfly support group members.

RAGBRAI 2018 is now in our rearview mirrors. As we look back, it wasn’t one of the RAGBRAIs with the most dramatic scenery—no Lansing or Guttenberg mountains. But it was full of the rolling hills and country vistas that make Iowa so pleasant on those few, rare, beautiful summer days that for some reason this week was full of.

Despite mayhem, blowouts and sharp objects on the road, it was a very satisfying ride. May the blessings of the pump and tyre cross be upon you.

Cate borrows my camera for a dam selfie. The dam is behind us. We are delayed in crossing the Mississippi by barge traffic, but really don't mind much. We have finished RAGBRAI!