In Which We Travel Beyond the Universe’s Edge

Friday morning, the bikers who rode for more than a century. And maybe felt like they had been hit with this thing.

We rather boldly went where no biker (on Team Joe) has gone before—on beyond Brandon, the known edge of the universe on the Cedar Valley Nature Trail, all the way to a sports bar in a suburb of Waterloo. And, like an Apollo mission, we came back, too.

Between Friday and Saturday of this week, CR Biker pedaled his “second” bike, the hybrid Clarence, about 120 miles. Six of the miles were Saturday, going with my wife to take a young grandson to several parks. But 114 of those miles (no, not a hallucination, as someone on my sister’s Facebook note suggested) were on Friday.

She posted a Map My Ride image on her Facebook news feed showing 109 miles. On joint rides, CR Biker will typically have more miles simply because I ride to and from my house—but in this case, I can’t post my own Map My Ride image to verify in the distance. My phone survived until 97 miles Friday, and then died. I am happy to report that, while my body lost power at about the same time my cell phone expired, my capacity to keep going in a bonking state apparently exceeds that of my cell phone.

Anyway, my sister once, several years ago, rode as far north as Brandon. Before this year, I had never gone far north of Urbana on the Cedar Valley Nature Trail. My sister has also started at the north end of the trail and ridden as far south as La Porte City—but there are miles between those towns she has never seen at all. We’ve taken to calling our new rides north of Urbana as “going beyond the known universe,” and Friday was the first day either of us did the whole trail—twice, both coming and going.

We’ve talked about a bike ride to Waterloo before. When I mentioned it to my wife in the past, because I wanted someone to then come get us, her reaction was always: “If you rode your bike to Waterloo, you can turn around and ride it back;” and my counter reaction was: “But honey, that means we would be biking into the night.”

We were both right. Cate and I were running rather slowly with lights on the gathering night by the time we returned from our grand ride, but we did indeed turn around and ride our bikes back. We were also both wrong, because just as the trail begins in Hiawatha, a suburb of Cedar Rapids, it ends in Evansdale, which I presume is a suburb of Waterloo although I’m a stranger in those parts. So it’s not really a Cedar Rapids to Waterloo ride—but at least it was, for those of us who started in Cedar Rapids, a CR to Evansdale ride.

Along the way, beyond the known universe, we encountered many strange sights:

• Several places were the trail was “closed,” but like Elizabeth Warren, nonetheless we persisted.

• The largest fry pan in Iowa. What a slightly odd claim to fame.

• Blood-sucking moths that lurk in the pretty but perilous Mosquito Coast.

• Actual remnants of railroad visible at a few street crossings at the trail’s north end—evidence that they didn’t lie to us when they claimed that this whole trail used to be a rail line. Perhaps the Earth is round, too.

• The known universe’s largest serving of onion rings, a marvel that far outshined a non-functioning decorative piece of cookery.

• Unexpectedly good plumbing. Center Point keeps its prize for having the best restrooms along the trail, but every little town—Center Point, Urbana, Brandon, La Porte City—has biker-friendly indoor plumbing and watering facilities.

Anyway, we began our expedition around 7 a.m. We headed north, casting longer than usual shadows on a cooler than usual trail. Neither of us is often to be found on a bike trail at 7 a.m. We chose this Friday to do the ride because a bridge project will close the trial north of Center Point as of Monday, so if you are planning to recreate our feat, you may have to act very quickly or wait some time.

Morning shadow on the trail.

I had coffee. We stopped in Lafayette.

Morning light at depot in Center Point.

Shadow on limestone trail north of Center Point.

Shadows get bumpier as trail gets a bit more primitive.

The morning was quite pleasant, and the first few miles passed uneventfully. Pretty birds were becoming active and we spied a few orioles. Cate saw a feral cat that I missed. We were doing splits of 11 and 12 mph on the miles heading north to Center Point, but that would soon change.

We knew from experience that our bikes are slower on limestone. More energy is consumed tossing up little rocks and sliding about just a bit, so as we headed north of Center Point, our miles became slower, around 9 mph.

About 2 miles north of Urbana, the trail does a sharp turn (which makes we wonder, a little, about the whole rail line thing—did this early 20th century rail line have this odd kink in it?). We call that change in direction “Half-Dead Man’s Turn” for reasons described in a previous blog post.

Approaching Half-Dead Man's Curve. Thankfully, devoid of the heart-broken bikers.

Luckily, no unexpected lovelorn travelers awaited us around the bend, neither when we were headed north nor south.

We continued on past the farm fields to the region where Linn County conservation signs gave way to Black Hawk County conservation signs. Although the trail goes through more counties, these two conservation boards seem to be the ones that sign the trail. And kudos to both. Black Hawk, by the way, gets the prize for the better scenery—the trail is just prettier and more interesting north of its mid point. Linn can be proud, too, however—trail maintenance is clearly superior in Linn land.

We got to Brandon, just a few miles beyond the far northern reaches we had explored before. A couple were breaking camp at a small park there, and a local was with them. I asked about the one distinction Brandon has—a giant fry pan—and the local kindly gave us clear directions, so we headed through town to the community center, and there we saw it.

Anything that bills itself as the “biggest X in Iowa” may be worth seeing, if it’s not too far out of your way, but don’t make a special trip. Sure, go see this giant impractical piece of public art representing the shape of something that is cooked with, if you’re in the area.

Brandon, if you’re fry pan proud, you might want to stick a sign on your bike trail, too. We met a rider from Cedar Falls at said pan, and got some interesting intelligence on the ride north.

Biggest fry pan in Iowa, but one that has never been cooked in.

Beyond Brandon, in the unknown regions, lies the Mosquito Coast, which Cate aptly named. The trail runs, for a time, along bottom lands of the Cedar River—marshy water and river to one side, low wooded bluffs on the other. Very pretty—and very buggy, and we were both glad we had made liberal use of insect repellent.

Eventually, the trail pulls away from the river and runs through pleasant, still woody, countryside until it hits La Porte City. There, we faced a choice. You cross a new, very nice bridge, over the Cedar River, enter town, and come to a fence where the trial is closed. You could do the official detour, which the native biker in Brandon had told us was a 9-mile, hilly ride on county roads. You could take a shorter route on nearby Highway 218. Not exactly a bike-friendly back road. Or, you could take the legally dubious action of putting your bike on the other side of the barrier, scaling the fence, and walk your bike 40 yards or so beyond the dip that caused the bridge over a creek to be closed several years ago.

I won’t say which choice we made. There is a Fifth Amendment.

The fallen tree just north of Brandon. Most minor barrier on trail that we encountered.

Crossing the Cedar River.

On the final bridge.

Passing under the interstate at north end of trail.

We carried on. As we neared the Waterloo end, we began to comment on the paucity of trail traffic. We were riding on the perfect Iowa summer day, sunny, in the 80s, much nicer than most of this summer has been. If you are 13 miles north of Hiawatha—that is where the Center Point depot is—you would see a fair number of other bikers on a day like this. But about that many miles out of Evansdale, it was quiet, too quiet.

And we passed a “trail closed ahead” sign. Oh dear. But a few bikers from the north did pass us, and we asked if the trial was indeed closed. One of them shouted out as she passed something like “they will let you through.”

They? What?

The trail ends, but we walk through. Then the trail continues.

And then we came upon it. A 30-yard gap where the trail simply disappears into nothing—a hole that construction equipment was moving about in. We edged off the pavement onto bare dirt, and a man in an earth mover gave was a weary look.

“Is it some kind of utility work?” I asked.

“Yesterday, this wasn’t here,” he answered. I only assume that part of the trail must have been destroyed or damaged by something—an asteroid strike or dynamite explosion, or something.

Anyway, we went through the hole where there is no trail and made it to the second Cedar River bridge at Evansdale. We had had made it, and then went on beyond the trail into town. It was well after noon, we had bicycled well over 50 miles, and we were hungry.

A yard sale attracted our eye. We stopped and had a chat with the natives, who directed us up the street two blocks to a sports bar.

Now, I am not a sports bar person. But this was mid-afternoon, the bar was fairly quiet, and it turned out to be a culinary wonderland. I ordered a grinder sandwich with coleslaw, while Cate opted for tacos. We both ordered an appetizer to share—me, onion rings; her, mozzarella sticks.

Our waiter was chatty and friendly and helpful. Perhaps he has encountered bikers before, because when he saw us and our water bottles, he not only brought us ice cold water, but an extra cup of ice for our bottles. He also kept a watchful eye and refilled us whenever the H2O containers got low.

His tip was good, and he deserved it.

The food was perfect for a long ride—tasty, filling and plentiful. Cate said she had never seen such a large serving of onion rings, and I agreed—it was way beyond what I had expected.

Lunch stop. Product placement.

Somewhat heavier, we stumbled into the warm Iowa afternoon sun. I had ridden almost 58 miles to get to lunch, and it was time to head home.

The homeward journey was everything in reverse. Quite stretch of trail near the Waterloo end. Hole in the trail where the worker gave us a sad look but did not object to our tromping through where temporarily there is no trail. Fence blocking the trial where we faced a legal choice (and made the same choice we had earlier).

One of the more northern road crossings--signs of the old rail line.

We stopped at each town and verified their plumbing was still in order, but we were sagging a bit at each stop. We had ridden one RAGBRAI day by miles and were well into our second. And when we got to the beautiful Mosquito Coast, Cate had another strange encounter. Two of what appeared to be moths landed on her arm and gave her painful bites.

Well, according to my internet research, they were probably large flies known as “deer flies” that can be mistaken for moths in shady light. Anyway, I’m glad the encounter was brief and with few insects, and I can’t say I regret that they appear to prefer a taste of Cate. Memo to self: Always dip in Bug Soother before braving the Mosquito Coast.

As we neared home, my store of energy seemed to give out. Cate eventually had me take the lead, as she was so outpacing me, which was nice of her. We weren’t moving fast, although we were moving with lights on, by the time we got back to Hiawatha.

Well, we did it. We also agree that it’s not likely we’ll do the 100-mile day this year on RAGBRAI—that’s a bucket list punch we both aren’t lacking anyway, and we have nothing to prove.

We can ride more than 100 miles. It takes a while, there may be giant bugs and misdemeanors involved, but we did it. And the next day, I took my grandson for a ride on my bike.

Late afternoon, headed south. Old grain storage, north of Brandon, I think.

My bike bag bangs in my spokes, forcing a quick stop. I shoot pretty image. We are between Brandon and Urbana, on return trip and growing very tired.

Beyond Urbana. Bike shadows growing long.

Almost to Center Point on return trip, the bridge that they are closing the trail to replace.

Last pit stop in Center Point. I am at nearly 100 miles, but my phone will die before I make the century which is too bad, I wanted to hear that robotic Map My Ride voice reel off triple digits.

Note: Post updated July 8 to correct name and spelling of Evansdale as well as location of bridge that is causing trail closing. My sister is a good copy editor. In my lame defense, I wrote this at 1 a.m. or so after putting a young grandchild to sleep.