In Which a Fan Rescues a Music Star

Knock on wood, the only times CR biker has needed rescuing, he has had a functioning cell phone with him.

That wasn’t always true, of course. My dad bought my first bike, a 1966 Schwinn one-speed with balloon tires, well before cell phones were popular. I had many adventures and misadventures on a 1974 Schwinn 10-speed Continental, which was so sturdy it lasted for 30 years. And that was three decades sans cell.

But Francis has always been ridden by a rider who usually remembers his phone.

Still, my sister Brigid Rocca posted this story on Facebook, and it’s loaded with good karma. Granted, a “stranded” biker could be a setup, but I’m glad this story had a happy ending, and if I’m ever broken down without a cell, I hope some CR Biker fan happens by.

In Which The Ride Is Grand But The Video Gone

Team Joe--Cate Sheller, Eldon Rocca, Brigid Rocca and me. I went along with it when they suggested the name. We are on the observation deck, the old bridge approach, next to the High Trestle Trail bridge.

Trust me blog friends—the 48-mile ride Saturday was a blast. Not an unmixed blessing, mind you, but a very satisfying time nonetheless.

The 2013 RAGBRAI group I’m part of, “Team Joe,” met for a pre-RAGBRAI conference and training ride Saturday. My brother-in-law and sister Brigid live in DesMoines, and another of my sisters, Cate, drove as she and I made the journey Friday to our fine capital city.

But first, a word about navigating: Never trust a Sheller. Our route to Brigid’s involved a tour of West Des Moines searching for 60th Street (which, if we had found it, would have been useless since our hosts live in Des Moines, not one of its metastasizing western suburbs). And when we called Brigid, we kept getting unhelpful “this phone is being answered by an annoyingly calm robot voice and you are doomed” messages.

Well, the problems were eventually resolved. It turned out I was right (of course) in that the route to Brigid’s involved state Highway 28, which I opined while looking at a Des Moines map. It also turned out I was wrong (of course) in that Highway 28 is not identified on any of the exit signs along I-235, which means my navigational wisdom was of totally nonexistent application.

As I said, never trust a Sheller, at least where directions are concerned.

Anyway, the pointless adventure concluded, we had a fine Friday supper of steak, corn on the cob, tomatoes and apple pie—all good RAGBRAI-style fare, and we laid our plans for the ride.

Our team is splitting the driving of the support vehicle, so technically I will ride 5 ½ days of RAGBRAI this year. Still counts as a week, I think, and I’m looking forward to doing RAGBRAI with a family group again. My first RAGBRAI was with Jon and some Microsoft pals of his from Seattle, my second was solo and this year is my third. Groups are better.

Anyway, after making our driving schedule Friday night, we went to bed fairly early and awoke for Saturday’s ride along the High Trestle Trail, starting in Ankeny.

We had a great breakfast, again thanks to Brigid and Eldon, then headed towards Ankeny in two vehicles. When we got there, we had a surprise since it appears July 13 was “parade day” in Ankeny for some reason, and the parade route included the street right by the trail head, which meant a very full parking lot. The first vehicle was lucky enough to snag a spot, and a few minutes later someone else left, enabling us to grab a second spot.

From Polk County's web site, the trail.

Then it was off on the trail. It’s a very pleasant trail, going through several small towns, with nice rest stops on the way, including several bars and businesses that cater to trail traffic. It was cloudy, and around the low 80s—a temperature that feels very warm when it’s still and sunny, but when it’s breezy and cloudy can actually be a bit cool, at times.

Cool is OK for a bike ride. The wind was from the south (or east? Honestly, I don’t really know what direction we were riding in—that Sheller gene again). We zoomed along for much of the first 12 miles, and even when we had some minor uphill grades in the second half, we did well.

The High Trestle Trail ends in a high bridge over the Des Moines River. It’s a very impressive ride. I was a bit dubious about the concept of crossing the bridge—I don’t like getting on a chair or ladder, and honestly the worst part of the whole trip to Paraguay, for me, was having to cross a high bridge near Tampa, Florida, once on the way to Miami and once on the way back.

Looking from the observation deck to the bridge, and yes, I rode across it. Are you impressed? I am.

I’m not a bridge person. But on this bridge, the side rails are so substantial and the bridge so sturdy, that even though I did have to focus my attention on the bridge deck now and then to calm my nerves, for the most part I was able to enjoy the views and the ride.

The company was superb. Brigid and Eldon—a couple who have their share of biking adventures on their trikes, such as this close encounter with tornadoes—even have developed hand-signals that stand in for many of the standard RAGBRAI verbal signals.

A three-fingered wag back and forth, windshield wiper style, means we are approaching a road. A twirling finger in the air, which could be a disco move, means “all clear” at said road. Rather than yell “biker up” at a rider coming from the other direction, a sort of Vanna White waive indicates approaching bikers.

On the trail. Brigid is passing on the Vanna waive, which means that a biker is approaching from the other direction. It if were me, my hand would be palms down, which means something else.

The signals were OK, except they confused me a little when I was in the lead and had to use them, and I didn’t do all of them well. Mostly, I proved incapable of a Vanna waive, and instead inverted my hand, which, my cohorts tell me, meant that I was apparently signaling “walk like an Egyptian” whenever a biker approached. Maybe the fact that I elaborated the signal by moving my hand back and forth the same number of times as the number of bikers approaching didn’t help that image.

Anyway, we had a great time. Lunch was at the Whistling Donkey, a sports bar in Woodward that actually had decent sandwiches, and then it was time to head back.

The 24 miles back were a bit harder than the 24 miles there. The wind, which had been our morning friend, was our afternoon enemy. What had been downhill was, in the other direction, decidedly not downhill.

Still, the day was fine, our tummies full of good food, and we finished the ride in high spirits, even if there were some sore bottoms.

So what was unmixed about this blessing?

• I killed my water supply. I carry a backpack water holder in my front bike basket, and when I hopped in Eldon’s SUV to accompany him for the ride to Ankeny, my door didn’t shut all the way. “I think you’ve caught your seatbelt,” he said. Seemed likely, so I opened the door, checked the belt and then slammed the door again. Only then did I notice water pooling at my feet. It was not the seatbelt, it was the end of my drinking tube that was stuck in the door. The nipple structure popped off, and Eldon and I thought he had fixed it by forcing it back on. Sadly, there was also a little crack in the plastic holding the structure. Sorry for the pond in your SUV.

• I shot and then lost a video of the bridge crossing. I downloaded my SD card to the laptop computer. If I download to my desktop computer, the same utility program, which says on either computer that it is copying “all media files,” copies both photos and videos. The laptop only copies photos. When using the laptop, I have to remember to manually move videos before I clean the card. Or, if I don’t, they are gone. This was “gone.” Sad, but oh well, it did not spoil the ride.

Anyway, I’m pretty jazzed about RAGBRAI starting in only a week. I am hoping to reconfigure an old laptop to blog from the journey—we’ll see how that goes. I’m not sure my sense of technology is much more advanced than my sense of direction.

In the meantime, my wife kindly bought me a new bike computer, which I installed today (yes, there were long technical glitches, I will spare you the details, it works now). I tested it on a brief Lindale and Boyson trails ride with my granddaughter bike pal, Amelia.

And I have seen the High Trestle Trail. It’s a nice ride. More photos here. I hope to come back some full moon for the night experience—I understand the bridge has pretty lights.

Then again, it was one thing to face the void during the day when I could see there was still a world there. A high bridge at night? We’ll see.

In Which Neither Beer Nor Mud Stand in the Way

Cate and I at the end of the ride. Photo by Paulette.

Granted, one of those things, in a moderate amount, is more help than hindrance. Beer has some carbs and alcohol thins the blood and helps prevent heart attacks. The mud? Totally not helpful, but it was also our own fault.

Cate posted this on Facebook. Our route makes a squiggle guy.

Today, my sister Cate and I did a RAGBRAI analogy ride. It was a decent analogy in that we rode 65 miles and survived to tell the tale. It was also a decent analogy in the foods we found and consumed along the way. It was a slightly poorer analogy in that most of the miles were trail miles, and RAGBRAI road riding involves many more rolling hills—but, as fate would have it, we climbed more hills than we expected to (the one hill on the trail we climbed four times), so that helps.

And, in case you’re tempted, don’t try to ride the Sac and Fox Trail. It does not exist in parts, but can leave you stranded in sticky, stinky mud flats where the trail used to be. Please trust me on this.

Despite mud on my spokes and having to carry my bike while in danger of falling in said mud, it was a great day for a ride—not humid, high around 80, sunny and beautiful. That certainly is no analogy at all for RAGBRAI as it was in 2012, but, knock on wood, let’s hope it works better for 2013.

Anyway, here is how the RAGBRAI ride went:

I had suggested to Cate that she meet me at my house at 8. That’s poetic, but a very late start for RAGBRAI, when most rides begin by 6 a.m. Still, since I knew the weather would be beautiful—no 100 or even 90-degree afternoon temps to avoid—the late start was OK.

We started out heading east to the Cedar River Trail, then turned south. An hour later, at our first break at the “baseball park,” Cate said her GPS showed an average speed of over 12 mph. Pretty good.

We proceeded south to Ely, and had a nice break at the Retreat, a coffee shop there. I enjoyed a frappe and a blueberry muffin, Cate had an orange and carrot smoothie and a cookie.

Early in the ride, Cate in my mirror, gorgeous day. "Looks like distracted biking." That's what she said.

Then we turned north. For the first few miles, it was a regrettable direction, as we headed directly into the breeze that had sped us south. However, the wind was not overly strong, and when we turned a little to the west a few miles into the trek, the side wind was not too bad. Shortly after we got back to the residential area of Cedar Rapids, we briefly stopped to aid a biker whose chain had slipped off the front cog and become stuck.

We didn’t know it, but clearly we would need the good karma while committing crimes later on.

Lunch at Parlor City in the New Bo area was a pulled pork sandwich with sweet potato fries for me, chicken “wings” for Cate.

Looking out Parlor City window at our bikes.

When we discussed plans for this ride, Cate was interested in trying the Prairie Park Fishery, where she had ridden but once last year (with me), and maybe trying the Sac and Fox. I had cautioned her that the Sac and Fox might not be open, but I had neglected to check online before the ride. I should have checked.

We had a pleasant, if rather truck-filled, trip down Otis Road to the Prairie Park Fishery, and then rode around the lake. Then, we took the new connecting trail to the Sac and Fox.

In defense of the trespass on a closed trail that ensued, let me note that we did not see any notice at the Cole Street south and west end of the trail stating it was closed. I suspect that there had been one, which was moved by someone (not us), because there was, inexplicably, a carpenter’s horse perpendicular to us as we entered the trail.

At first, the trail seemed fine. In fact, it was freshly scraped. There were some soft and wet spots, but this is a trail that is normally pretty “primitive,” and it did not seem to be anything beyond normal Sac and Fox conditions.

The Sac and Fox blocked by a felled tree. Did that stop us? No. Should it have? Yes.

We heard it before we saw it. About 2 miles into our S and F trail ride, we saw the grader, slowly working its way east. “Maybe,” I said, “we should turn around.”

But the grader pulled over and the operator gestured for us to pass by. If it was an evil plot to get rid of us, it almost succeeded.

We continued east along the leg of the trail beside the Cedar River. We crossed the first bridge with no problem, but soon the trail started to get a bit soft and damp. Then, really soft and damp. We passed through several muddy areas that left our tires caked, but didn’t stop us. Which is too bad.

Because when we came close to where Indian Creek flows into the Cedar River, the trail simply and totally disappeared into a mud flat—a sucky, slick, threatens-to-remove-your-shoes remains of a recent flood that has scarcely dried at all.

Mothers, don't let your babies grow up to be bikers in the mud.

Mud on my front brake.

I recall the first RAGBRAI I rode, when, on the last day, we entered Davenport heading down a black asphalt street. It was literally so hot that the street had started to melt, and it was a very odd feeling to worry about your bike sinking into hot tar as you rode along.

This was worse. My pedals began to bang on mud as my bike struggled to make headway. Finally, mud built up between the front wheel and fender to the point where the front wheel refused to turn.

Post crisis break, Cate shows off RAGBRAI fashion.

That was potential fall number one. Luckily I was going so slowly that it did not turn into a very messy, muddy spill, but merely ended up as an unexpected stop. Ahead of me, Cate also became mired and had to hop off her bike, but also managed to do so without tipping over.

Then it was trudge, squish, trudge, squish. I almost slipped and fell several times, but only “almost.” An “almost” fall is not a fall. Thank you, good karma.

Well, we made it through the mud flats to where the trail became recognizable again under a railroad bridge. We found sticks and partially de-mucked our poor bikes, hoping that they would at least be in a condition to ride. They were, although I had an odd new squeak in my pedals.

After a few yards, we came to a fork. The left went up a hill, the right was the trail route. I’ve been on the trail before, but never the left fork because it always looked like a simple utility access (there is a fenced transformer visible up on the hill). Today, we decided uphill looked like a better choice than heading downhill along the trail, hoping no bridges were out or more points washed out by mud flats.

As it turned out, the left fork led us to a marshy area with a very interesting hiking path that I have never been on before. I haven’t been on it yet, either, since there was also a road there, and we opted for the road. Pavement never felt so good.

We turned west, roughly in the direction of Cedar Rapids, but did not know where we were. We encountered a comely lass out for a jog, and inquired of her about our location. She didn’t know the name of the road we were on, but said that if we kept going the way we were headed we would come, eventually, to “that fishery place.”

That sounded promising, and in fact was accurate, as the mystery road turned out to be Otis Road, which is the street where “that fishery place,” Prairie Parks Fishery, is located. Our ride back was a bit longer in miles, but we very much appreciated being able to ride our muddy steeds rather than worm them trough muck. And we got a few hills in on that road, which improves the overall RAGBRAI analogy thing.

When we got there, we went back into the fishery for a break. We ate biking snacks we had brought with us (a granola bar and a banana, in my case), and I had some yucky electrolyte potion.

We scrapped our bikes a bit more, and then headed back west along Otis Road. Eventually, we rejoined the Cedar River Trail.

When we circled Cedar Lake, Cate noted that we had finished about 50 miles. It seemed like time for a break and a celebration, so we had Fat Tires at the new Sag Wagon bar and deli that is next to the lake. Seldom has cold Flat Tire tasted so good. I am sure I will visit the Sag Wagon again—we saw little evidence of the “deli” part, but at that point we were more beer thirsty than hungry anyway.

 Then it was off again. We rode to the Boyson Road Cedar Valley Nature Trail trailhead, then back south to Spring House restaurant. The idea was twofold--to reach our mileage target and also to return to an important caloric source.

RAGBRAI, right? So far, we had not yet eaten pie. They sell slices of Kathy's Pies at Spring House. For any of you blog readers not familiar with Cedar Rapids, "Kathy's Pies" is a local pie bakery that has a well-deserved reputation for yummy.

The Pecan was very good. I had mine warmed up with ice cream. Yum.

We both purchased slices for our respective spouses—Cate getting cherry for Paulette, me choosing apple for Audrey. Then we headed north on the trail to Cate’s house.

When we got there, her GPS said we had gone 65.33 miles. That was actually 65.33 for her, since she started recording miles before riding to my house, but since I was then going to then ride to my house myself, I am sure that I eventually topped 65 miles.

It was about 5:45 when I got home. The RAGBRAI ride took almost 10 hours. Our speed was not that bad, we were doing much faster than 6.5 miles per hour, but all those stops (and mud walks) add up. I’m sure we could have cut 30 minutes from our time by not doing the mud walk—but all in all, it was a decent analogy for RAGBRAI. One reason RAGBRAI rides start before 6 a.m. is so that they can finish by around 3, and we were not that far off of that pace.

And I’m alive. I’m sure my legs will feel even more sore, but they aren’t too bad right now. I’m glad I’m not hoping on the bike and riding 65 miles in the morning, but the ride did what it was meant to do.

It showed that we can handle a RAGBRAI amount of distance in a day. And that is good news indeed, mud notwithstanding. More photos here.

Last food stop--pie. Cate sat where President Bush had, of course.

In Which The Trail Goes Ever On

The connector trail between Prairie Parks Fishery and the Sac and Fox. This is the end near Sac and Fox--about to head back to Prairie Park Fishery.

Well, not forever. Longer than it used to.

We had a good day today—lunch with Katy and her kids, swimming and then a bike ride. I also got the lawn mowed, but have not put the lawn furniture back. Don’t tell my wife.

My sister summoned me to help her fix her bike, but she apparently fixed it before I was able to get other there, which is OK. Hope it’s working well.

Anyway, after the mid-day visit with daughter and grandchildren, and finishing the mowing, it was close to 5, but since this is Ben’s final day before heading back to Ames, we decided to go for one more bike ride. Since he had not been there before, I suggested we go down the Cedar River trail through downtown, and then head off to the Prairie Parks Fishery, a city park that is along Otis Road.

Otis Road is a nice ride because the street is right there next to the Cedar River. The river flooded earlier this summer, and some damage is evident—most notably, a closed boat launch before you get to the fishery park. But the road was fine, as was the park and its cute little lake trail.

And, surprise, surprise, the connection between that trail and the Sac and Fox trail has been completed. We didn’t try the Sac and Fox—no time and I don’t know what shape it’s in after the river floods plus Jon's road bike would not be the best choice for that trail—but it’s nice to see how easy it is now is to get from the fishery trail to the longer trail.

On the ride back home, we went on the east side of Cedar Lake, which took up past the “Sag Wagon,” a new restaurant. We didn’t stop, but their bike rack looked pretty full. I’ll have to try it some time.

All in all, the ride was a shade over 22 miles. I had a new light on my bike, but didn’t need it because it was still light when we got home. I’ll have to ride the hills tomorrow, and maybe check on the Sac and Fox sometime before RAGBRAI.

In Which Ben Has The Longest Ride of his Life

I had not planned to stop on the morning ride, which was meant to be fairly brief, but when we went past the playground, Amelia started excitedly yelling "Grandpa! Park!" So we stopped so she could play at the park.

50 miles, blog pals, that’s how far CR Biker rode Friday. Four miles were in the morning, when I took my granddaughter Amelia to a playground near the splash pad at Noelridge Park, and then tooddled around the park before heading home.

The other 46? That was the epic ride. I suggested to Ben that we go on a bike adventure, since he was home and, with Jon’s bike now working, we had two men’s bikes at our disposal. He agreed, and ventured up Devonshire to learn how the controls on Jon’s bike work.

Why did I chose to let him ride Jon’s bike? I could have ridden it, and he could have ridden my bike—from a speed point of view, putting the younger, stronger person on the bigger, slower hybrid bike would make sense. But, while I don’t mind using Jon’s bike, I want to use it gently. So I offered Ben the bike because his lesser mass would not be as hard on the bike. Plus, I need practice miles on Francis anyway.


I texted my sister Cate, who is also in prep for RAGBRAI, and she was available, so off we went, meeting her about noon at the Boyson Road trail head. Our original goal was to go to the rail station in Center Point, a place further north than Ben had ever been on the trail.

Cate, Ben and I at the Boyson Trail head after the ride.

Once there, we stopped to water up and eat some snacks. I am even more in debt to Cate, as she shared a chocolate caffeine shot and some nuts, which I’m sure made my granola bar and fun fruits more effective. We decided to continue north, at least to Urbana, with the thought that once there, we might head to Brandon.

Well, the trail north of Center Point proved very tricky. Recent rains have been very hard on its limestone surface, with at least one awesome trench at a road crossing, and many soft, sandy spots. By the time we got to Urbana, we were just glad Ben had no mishaps with the narrow tires of Jon’s road bike, and decided it was good enough, we would head back.

The round trip to Urbana was over 40 miles. That, plus the round trip to my house and the round trip Amelia and I had done earlier added up to the 50 miles.

It was a fun ride, through the heat of the afternoon, which made it good RAGBRAI training. However, it was a bit rough on me—my legs were definitely worn. It was Ben’s longest ride so far. When we got back to the rail depot in Center Point, I did offer to trade him bikes, but he just laughed and got back on Jon’s. Imagine.

The ride, while by far my longest yet, was far sort of even the shortest RAGBRAI day—although at 50 miles, it’s at least in the range of a RAGBRAI day. So why am I even able to do RAGBRAI? Well, for one thing, the rhythm of RAGBRAI is: Ride 15 miles, stop and eat pie and walk for a mile; then ride 15 miles, stop and eat a pork chop; repeat until 60 miles are done.  If they had served pie in the rail depot, it would have been a different sort of ride.

I’ll eat more on RAGBRAI, and also consume electrolyte drink along with water. On my future long practice rides this week, I plan to do the same thing—take more food and take some drink mix.

Despite being sore, this morning on the way to the gym I did a figure 8 in the neighborhood, climbing the Brentwood Drive hill twice, once headed north, once south. So, despite the soreness yesterday, and losing the rear light on my bike north of Center Point, I think I'm doing OK in RAGBRAI prep.

And Ben, next time, remember. I’m not kidding. I am totally willing to trade bikes.

This photo and one below--samples of trail conditions north of Center Point.

Quaint bridge over trail north of Center Point.

The trail goes under I-380 in a narrow, dark tunnel. The north entrance is above, as we head south. The photo below does not do it justice--to the human eye it is much, much darker in there.

In Which 110 Miles End on a Mighty Steed

The new pump.

I think I’ll call her “Jackie,” after Jackie Joyner-Kersee.

Because she seems pretty fast: Jon’s bike that is—but more about her later.

The biking has been good recently, blog friends. In the six days since I have returned from Paraguay, I’ve ridden about 115 miles on three different bikes.

On some short rides to the Bowman Wood’s School playground, I have towed grandchildren behind Audrey’s bike, which has a trailer that can be attached to it. The bulk of the biking has been on Francis. I’ve put in a lot of miles on my bike with my sister Cate, who is also preparing for RAGBRAI.

It has been a fun few days. I owe Cate yet another meal, since she paid for our break at a new coffee shop in Ely Tuesday.

During our return ride, we were stopped by a train in downtown Cedar Rapids. I shot some pictures of graffiti on the boxcars, and a young man who had pulled up beside us on his bike asked “do you like graffiti?” Sure, I said. “I do too,” he said. Then, as the train slowed, he tossed his bike on a flatbed rail car, jumped on and then clambered to the other side. Well, I may like graffiti, but Cate and I are not quite ready to hop the trails. We just waited until the train was gone.

Which bring me back to today, and Jackie.

In May of last year, Jon and Nalena joined the Peace Corps. While they took off for Paraguay, Jon left his bike with me. The idea is that I would use it, just a bit now and then because it would not do a bike good to sit still for two years—a bike is a machine that should move a bit to keep everything functioning.

But, there was a problem. Jon’s swanky bike has Presta valves—narrower valves built for higher-pressure tires and smaller valve stems than the Schrader valves I am used to. My bike pump has a Presta adaptor, and Jon has been able to use it to pump up his tires.

But, I have not been able to do that. Every now and then, I would drag Jon’s bike out of the garage and attempt to pump up its tires, only to give up in disgust, hating the idea of Presta valves—effete French things that pretentious little bikes wear on their silly, narrow rims.

Today, we had some shopping to do, and while at the store, Audrey asked if there was anything I needed to pick up for RAGBRAI. We bought me a new bladder for my water carrier, and Audrey asked if we should pick up a bike pump that would work with Jon’s bike.

Well, we could try. I selected a pump that has two holes, instead of an adapter, and brought it home.

The pump holes even have pictures of the valves they are for.

And when I went to use it on the Presta valves that I love to hate, it was easy. Just unscrew the right part of the valve, stick on the pump and pump. The tires said to inflate to at least 100 psi, which seemed like a really high number to me, but there was a pressure gauge on the new pump so I complied, in maybe 20 pumps or so.

And there were no pedals on Jon’s bike, so I put on the ones saved from the junk bike. (Jon owns pedals that require special shoes—I still have his pedals, I just can’t use them.)

Anyway, I rode up and down Devonshire for a few minutes to acquaint myself with his brakes and shift levers. I know that in the past I had trouble figuring those controls out, but there was odd karma in the air. Once I fed her air, Jackie was happy to let me learn to shift.

I had planned to ask Ben, who came home this afternoon for a weekend visit, to go for a bike ride since I now had two functioning men’s bikes—but he had fallen asleep, so I was on my own with Jackie.

After a chain lube, tire inflation and new pedals, the mighty steed is ready to go for a ride.

Off I went to the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. The computer on Jon’s bike was displaying numbers that I had trouble believing. On the way up a little rise, I was tooling along at 14 mph—faster than I usually go down a small slope on Francis.  When I got to the trail, on straight stretches I was easily going 18 to 20 mph. If feels fast to go 15 on Francis.

The bike felt airy. When I had to change directions at C Avenue and Blair’s Ferry Road, like when I turned from going south to heading west, Jackie felt like a little baby bike, insubstantial.

But she was fast. And I was using old pedals from a junk bike—I don’t know what it would be like to ride with actual bike shoes that would allow a full range of power from both up and down leg strokes.

Don’t worry, Francis. You’re the bike that will be going on RAGBRAI. But, I won’t feel bad at all on that long ride when all the gazelles sprint by me. I’ve ridden a gazelle, too.

Of course, there were still some road bikes passing me on the trail. I can’t say I was running Jackie at anything near her maximum speed—or as fast as Jon would ride her.

But, Jon, good news. Your bike is capable of motion again. Oh boooooy!

In Which Half A Day Pushes The Limit

Hawk along the trail has its eyes on me.

The turn-around point, old rail depot in Center Point.

Three weeks in Paraguay didn’t do a lot for my RAGBRAI legs.

Saturday, I rode Francis for the first time since the trip. But that was just a short jaunt to the Bowman Woods School playground—with one granddaughter as a passenger on the way there, and a grandson on the way home. A fun ride, but hardly RAGBRAI practice.

Sunday, I took advantage of the nice weather to do some yard work—clearing away three week’s worth of accumulated sticks (quite a bit, by all reports it has been stormy here in Iowa) and then mowing. The front yard went quickly, but my daughter had mowed in during my trip—the back yard was a hay field.

Anyway, it was getting close to 4 by the time I finished. “Go for a long bike ride,” my wife said, and I took her advice.

I rode north to the rail station museum in Center Point, then back again. Before ending the ride, I climbed the Brentwood Drive hill, too.

Now, I’m a bit sore. The ride was about 30 miles total—26 miles up and back to the museum, 4 more miles to and from my home. I finished about 8:15—which implies I was riding about 8 mph or so. In my defense, I made myself stop at least once an hour to drink and to eat some trail mix, and I had other stops to take photos. I timed some trail miles and it took me about 4 minutes to ride one, which is about 15 mph. I suspect I timed miles on downgrade when I felt I was going quickly, but I bet I probably rode faster than 10 mph most of the time.

It was about half a RAGBRAI day. And my legs felt very sore when I was done. Three weeks left now to get ready for the ride—my plan is to ride as much as possible in the next two and then take it a little easy on the week before RAGBRAI.

The trail was nice, although north of the pavement, the impact of rains and storms is more obvious, with some of the limestone surface showing ephemeral waterways. At one point, the top of a tree has tumbled across the trail—I hope that dicey looking arch is removed before long.

It was still a very pleasant ride. I saw two former students and chatted with them, the sun was shining and it was great to have light until after 8, although I did run with lights on for the final half hour.

Despite the slightly sore legs, I would say the first ride was very nice! Now, if we can just arrange for exactly this weather for the whole week of RAGBRAI …

A few hazards--washed out trail (above) and a tree that fell (below). The arch formed by the tree was high enough to easily ride under, although it felt a bit weird to do so.