In Which I Hear The Sounds of RAGBRAI

Photo taken July 26 on hill on final day. Bikes make slight noises as they whiz by, the final day was sometimes characterized by lots of panting.

Some sounds are very familiar because I hear them every year,  some are more unusual, related to this year's bike ride.

But there is a unique set of sounds that I associate with RAGBRAI:

• The jets: That jet-engine like “whoosh” that you hear as a large pace line of fast road bikes zooms by going 30 mph on a flat. That's an annual sound.
• The low rumble: This year, there were many more of those “fat tire” bikes—those ones with tires that are three times as wide as the usual mountain bike. The bikers who are riding those bikes must be in fantastic shape, because they usually zoom by in the fast lane. They don't “whoosh.” They rumble like an approaching panzer.

We hear the sound of windmills.

• The wump-wump-wump: One new sound is the sound of a windmill. If you see an electric generating windmill at a distance, you might assume it's silent. But if one is close enough to a windmill, there is a low, dull “wump-wump” sound as air is compressed between the blades and support posts. Some of those windmills are massive and so, close up, is there distinct sound.
• The human-bike sounds: Bicycles and bikers make their own noises. The chains clank in their mechanisms; tires, when there are thousands of them, hum. You hear vocal signals, such as “bike on” or “rider off,” and, of course, the boom boxes.
• The human horses: In a town, there is a clipity-clop noise that bike shoes, with their metal clips to hook pedals, make on pavement.

You overhear things, too. An interesting bike passed me today (I wrote this Thursday), which caused me to violate my “don't shoot while biking” RAGBRAI rule—it was a 5-seater, with a family, mother, father, and three rather young kids, with the youngest on one of those pedal-bike attachments at the end looking maybe 6 or 7. They seemed a happy bunch as they zoomed by, but, kids will be kids.

Because mom was saying: “No bickering on the bus” as they passed.

Note bike at left--5 on one. The bus.

Well, I don’t know how many days the bus was on the road, but I hoped they enjoyed their ride.

In Which I Meet A Town of Sellers and Ride 80+ Miles

Curb sign in Guttenberg. Just wait a week and a half!

Well, blog pals, the pace of my biking-RAGBRAI prep, plus getting stuff done before I’m gone from home for a week, has put me behind in blogging.

It’s been an eventful few days—including an epic final practice ride that hints the century loop may be possible, and a scouting expedition to the Land Where Everyone Sells.

First, the scouting expedition: My wife, my sister, my sister-in-law and I all went to the pretty Mississippi River village of Guttenberg Saturday. Our main point was to make ourselves a bit more familiar with the village where RAGBRAI ends this year.

It was an interesting trip. For RAGBRAI, Guttenberg is one of many tiny towns on this year’s route—it is an especially small place for the bike ride to end. Like many Mississippi River towns, the village is both a bit aged and shabby, and also very pretty. Even if the glory days of the 19th century are long gone, the buildings and beautiful river front, and, especially, the river, are still there.

Where we didn't eat lunch, but saw the "lunch" sign. A week at the River Park Place doesn't sound like a bad idea.

We walked around and admired the old bikes used as decorative flourishes, obviously in prep for RAGBRAI. It was getting close to 1 p.m., and one storefront was labeled “lunch.” We were just thinking about that, when the lady of the house snagged us and almost forced us inside. They weren't serving lunch anymore, she just wanted to visit and show off her business and give us advice on what to do in tiny G. She runs a restaurant, bed-and-breakfast, party place spread through three gorgeous old buildings. An apartment can be rented there for $500 a week—and I think it would be a tempting get away.

Not sure it’s a great town for biking, however—I didn't see any trails and, like most Mississippi River towns, it’s located in the hilliest area of Iowa. Note to any East Coast or West Coast readers—Iowa is not Kansas, it’s generally not flat, but it’s topography is like a slightly wrinkly bed sheet—no mountains, but lots of rolling hills and river valleys that you slide down into and then have to climb out of if by chance you cross the state on two wheels. And the hilliest of those hills are associated with the mightiest of those rivers on Iowa’s East Coast (granted, there are hills in the west, too, but western Iowa is a bit flatter than eastern Iowa).

Anyway, we really enjoyed our somewhat commercial tour. She and her partner were friendly folk. We had a pleasant tour, but wanted to find a place were “lunch” was available after 1 p.m.

So, we strolled down the main drag, across the street from the main river of the United States, and ended up at Joe’s Pizza. One member of our party ordered a small pineapple and Canadian bacon pizza, while the other three of us split a larger “Joe” pizza. Joe approved. And a fellow diner was full of suggestions for Guttenberg attractions. It felt a little like we were trapped in a town of car sales people, except they were more pleasant, less pushy and more supportive of each other than your typical car lot steel pusher.

An Amish baker at a farmer's market along the river gave us a sample doughnut to share. He was nice, but a bit pushy in trying to sell his wares--just like the rest of Guttenberg. The place clearly lives on tourists. The doughnut was very good.

The town of Guttenberg is a bit isolated by high hills and the river. I didn’t see any bridge, so there is, as far as I can tell, no way in from Illinois. One U.S. highway enters town, and on the final day of RAGBRAI, when 12,000 cars try to enter town, the traffic jam will be a bit more intense than the mall during the best Christmas shopping season ever.

The lady at “lunch” noted that more than 400 vehicles had registered to park in town. If I had been eating, I might have sputtered at that point. Trust me, Little G, 400 is a tiny, tiny minority of the vehicles you will see—although I bet you already know that.

During our walking and scouting, we picked a church with tall twin spires located south of the bike route (which cleaves the town mostly in two and eliminates most potential parking) to try to meet up at.

A picture of the "other" pizza joint, that we din't eat at. It wasn't Joe's. But it did have a beer bike.

It was a good trip. And we did indulge in ice cream after the pizza, and it was good, too.

The next day, to work off the pizza and ice cream, Cate and I went on our last big training ride. I’m still riding bikes this week, but only short hops—resting the body for the many miles ahead next week.

Kayak boater with dog on Cedar Lake. The clouds that are gathering will lead to a quick downpour, but most of the ride was dry.

Anyway, we went south to Ely and then headed north. We paused for lunch at Parlor City, a trendy restaurant in the New Bo neighborhood. As we headed north post lunch, the sky grew cloudy and rain began to fall.

We were right by a Dairy Queen. The sane course of action was obvious. 15 minutes and a Mocha MooLatté later, the rain ended and we continued our transit north.

We were fading a bit by the time we got to Center Point, but we had always planned to go to Urbana and it just wasn’t that much farther, so after a break, on we went. I had saved a peanut butter sandwich to eat in Urbana, and we shared it. In return, Cate gave me one of her Salted Nut Rolls. Not sure who came out ahead—maybe it was win-win.

Getting ready to head back, at the north end of the long ride. Cate and bikes at park in Urbana.

Then we headed south again. I don’t know if it’s just the psychology of the trail, but the ride home felt much faster than the ride away from home. We noticed we were going uphill as we headed south to Lafayette, and we know from experience that it’s more uphill then downhill going north from Hiawatha to Lafayette, so we decided Lafayette must be on some sort of mountain top or plateau. Of course, “uphill” meant a 2 percent grade—this is an old rail line—and “mountain” is totally sarcasm. If the swell of land is too subtle so see with the naked eye and you must be riding a bicycle to even detect it, it’s probably not a mountain.

Anyway, the downhill run to Hiawatha passed quickly. The joint ride totaled 77 miles. Taking into account the riding I did before and after, that gives me at least 82 miles for the day. Cate and I agreed that the test ride proves that, under ideal conditions, we could survive the Karras Loop. (And we also agree that conditions have to be ideal, so we’re not promising, just saying it’s possible).

Today, I purchased a 4-bike carrier for the van, as well as a new bike computer. More planning and packing, but RAGBRAI feels very close! So far, almost 1,700 miles for the year.

In Which I Get A Totally Awesome Idea

Hey, Carolyn, what do you think? The MMU bell ringers could learn to ring their bells and control bicycles at the same time, right?

Those Dutch. Aren’t their bikes cute? And I do toally wish I had that kick-butt kickstand.

Who needs to borrow the Shriners Band Float for a parade when it would be totally awesome to ring bells as you ride your bike? Dangerous, sure, but totally awesome. Kudos for Iowa Bicycle Festival for posting the video on Facebook that alerted me to this idea.

In Which A Finger Is Wagged At Dangerous Bikers

May 21 update: The posting is anonymous, but a person identifying herself as the mother of the injured biker commented on this post on May 20. If you read this post, please also read her comment.

As longtime readers of this blog may know, CR Biker has had a few close calls.

Once, I slipped on ice and banged up my knee. Several times, rude drivers have cut me off or ignored the presence of a bicycle—indeed, crossing Blair’s Ferry and C Avenue is always the most “invigorating” part of my daily commute because it’s a roll of the dice whether right-turning car and truck drivers will notice or care about a “walk” sign and a biker in the crosswalk.

And once, at night, a pair of teens actually seemed intent on trying to do me harm.

So, I’m a bit defensive about bikers and car drivers. And I was ready to take umbrage when I opened my paper this morning and there was a column with the headline: “Bicyclists, please put safety first.”

Then, I read the column. And my umbrage melted away. I don’t know Nick Gearhart (great name for a biker, by the way), but he’s right. In the column, he describes a scary accident where three bikers ignore a traffic signal and one of them is hit. We’ve all seen them, fast bikers who don’t seem to care if there is traffic or traffic controls or lights.

Somehow, it does not surprise me that the trio of bikers he saw ignoring a traffic light existed as a trio. Like teens in cars, groups of bikers don’t always behave better than a lone biker would.

This is bike to work week. I’ve noticed a few more bikes on the streets and sidewalks, although we two-wheelers are still far from a crowd in Cedar Rapids. I’ve been riding to work every day—not exactly a surprise since I commute by bicycle all year long, stopped only by rain, snow and ice on the road. This has been a good commuting week.

And Nick and his wagging finger? Frankly, I can’t find anything to disagree with in what he wrote. He’s right. CR Biker agrees—while it’s more important for car drivers to be respectful of bikers, on the theory that they can do more damage, it’s also important for bikers to recognize and follow basic rules of road civility, traffic laws and common sense.  “Share the road” goes both ways.

Nick finishes his column in the Gazette this way:  “Let’s all put safety first.” To which CR Biker can only reply, “hear, hear.”

In Which CR Biker Covets A Totally Impractical Ride

Blame this one on Amanda and the silly Dutch.

My oldest daughter told me to Google “Gazelle Cabby.” It turns out it’s a heavy-duty cargo bicycle introduced this year by Royal Dutch Gazelle, a Dutch manufacturer of bicycles and electric bikes. This one is human powered, and since the bike itself, with bag attached, weights in at 85 pounds, one can assume the name “Gazelle” is ironic.

I assume this bike is probably a bit more practical in Holland than in Iowa, since Holland is a land not noted for the bumps in its topography. I’m not sure how it would be to try to push this puppy up the MMU hill. It’s a seven-speed, and one wonders at the mountain-climbing ability of its most extreme gear.

But, still—can I picture myself on the Cedar River Trail, gliding along, with Tristan and Nikayla, ages 3 and 5, in front? Sure. Stop fighting, you two. You can have a Granola bar when we stop.

I can also picture myself with Amelia and Audrey riding along. After all, the front basket can carry 160 pounds, which is comfortably a granddaughter with a grandmother thrown in, too.

Then again, that means I would have to move 160 pounds with the power of my aging legs. I don’t think we’d put in a bunch of miles, although the few miles I could do would be fun ones.

So, the Gazelle would not be a practical primary bike for me. At close to $3,000, I would have to have a lot of extra disposable income before I purchased this puppy—it’s a bit down on my wish list after a big ass macro lens, a vacation cottage on the Mississippi and a full suite of toys that being with “i.”

But a man can dream. And yes, if I was rich and I owned 4 or 5 bicycles—and what rich man doesn’t need 4 or 5 bicycles, in all honesty—I bet one would be a Gazelle Cabby.

Then, I could carry both Audrey and a Brompton in it. A bike with a spare bike. Why not?