July 27, 2002- Anamosa to Bellevue
62.4 Miles- 2790 Feet of Climb
The Ridges of Jackson County
Conditions- Heavy rain most of the time to sunshine at 11 AM. Winds, tailwind after the rain ceased. Hills- steep and long- all memorable!
As always, our great thanks go to Rich Ketcham at Geobike for allowing us to use this helpful information.
Towns visited
Anamosa (start town)
Amber, Scotch Grove, Canton, Andrew, Springbrook, Bellevue- (Tire Dipping)
January, 2002- overheard in board room at the Newspaper-
"Ok, folks, it's all done, we've just about completed the route planning for this year's ride."
"Wait a minute, Jim, I see that you really have done a great job, and you have really planned it well with the built in apology to the riders about the last two year's routes with the hundred mile days back to back and those grueling hills, but I see here that the steepest hill on the whole trip is the bridge over the I-35."
"You know you're right on that one. You know it's not too late to put some hills in her on this last day since we haven't finalized the last day. Ya wanna change her on that one?"
"Yup, I think we oughta make up for those six flat days with one real hilly one. Where are the steepest and longest hills in Northeast Iowa?"
I'm sure God smiled on this meeting and decided to throw in some of the needed rain, too!
Anamosa is a very nice overnight town. The talk around the evening campfire has changed. We've stopped talking about the weather and the stock market and our separate worlds away from Ragbrai. After a week together, Ragbrai is the world that we know. We have become our own family. All of us. With the dynamics of most groups, there's usually gossip and some that are on the outside. This is not true with the Hawgs. Mary tells me that the Hawgs have several vacancies for next year. As proven by these pictures, you can see that we have all ages and all patterns. The young Hawgs have been thinking all week of how to wisely use the beads they have acquired as a commodity. Hmmm.
With this town especially, I felt that some of the younger townspeople especially would rather we stayed home. The noise level during the night is the highest yet. Even the teenage girls of our host family are yelling in the front yard with their boyfriends who have apparently had way too much to drink and are throwing firecrackers at 2:30 AM. We are in our tents close to the sidewalk between the downtown area and the main campground. I take the beads to the girls and tell them that these are a gift and I would like to get some sleep since I have to drive to Houston in the morning. The boyfriend says, "who cares", but the girls go inside. It begins to get quiet. Then the motorcycles go up and down the street with the characteristic staccato blast. We've heard this all week and have noticed that it's the same motorcycles in every town. Maybe we need a separate quiet ordinance for Ragbrai! Ahh, it's 2:45 and getting quiet now, and there's a nice soothing sound of rain on the tent. RAIN! I run out in my boxer shorts and put up the rain fly. The lightning is blinding. This rain isn't just a shower, it continues raining through the night and into the morning. I'm usually the one that starts the zipper symphony in the morning, but today I'm going to stay in the tent and see if anybody gets up. Why would they? It's as dry as the Sahara desert in this tent, but it's windy and heavy downpour out there. Oh yeah! I sure want to do that. I unzip a hole large enough to just stick my head out. Geez! They're up. Why? Cindy is one cell phone call away. "Hi sweety. Just go to Anamosa and we'll be three hours ahead of the game on our trip to Houston. But my finger stops dialing. I start packing to maybe ride and maybe quit. The packing's just the same both ways. The roar on the tent slackens. I get out today's cycling outfit and put it on just in case, making sure that no rapid movements to give away my awakened presence in the tent. Tara's voice says "Dave, you up?" Cool. It's too wet to take the camera. "Yeah, I'll be just a moment." Everything gets thrown in the duffel. The rain ceaseth and it sufficeth us. (say that three times). It was just the eye of the storm, though and this Texan knows that the Southern half of the storm is worst. I wonder if they have named this storm yet. We embark in the heavy rain. Why are doing this? We're like lemmings marching to the sea. For what purpose? Not sure, we just do it. The sound of the rain on the helmets is as if there is a construction worker with a jack hammer working on my helmet. This is Forrest Gump's big fat rain. As I listen to the roar of the rain I hear something that sounds like a freight train off to the right. I turn to look. I is a freight train. Whew! We go through Amber, our first town without stopping. A new loud roar is in the distance and it crescendos to deafening. It's the hard rain approaching through the cornstalks. Another rider tells me that hail can ruin an entire crop. Is that a crop of corn or cyclists? We're not engaged in intelligent conversation today, either. Screaming into the stinging rain down a hill a deer crosses in front of me at a run. I'll bet she's not amused about this, either. Tara screams something from behind- "Dave, they run in two's" Why do all these people by the road have flats in the high winds, rain, and hills? That's right, another of our fans has poured tacks on the road. I wonder if that jerk realizes that a tack could cause an accident and can kill a rider? We've lost Aaron and Bruce (who takes his camera) and later find out that they stopped to eat pancakes at the same location as in 1991, when Ragbrai followed the same route. Bruce found Mary (maybe she's not phantom hawg after all) in Scotch Grove. We stop in Canton for a sandwich and some coffee. Tara finds shelter under a big tarp. The hills are longer and much steeper. This is like the "flying into Greenfield" day two years ago! Thank goodness it's not hot. Will this rain ever stop? It's on everybody's nerves. A cyclist yells "on your left!". I hold my line. He passes and yells, "on your left means move over". I yell back, "actually not" and notice that he is not a registered rider. He's a "Daaay tripper, one day rider, yeah. It took him sooo long to find out, but I found out"........ People are thinking about going home already. They are distancing themselves from the Ragbrai spirit of friendship and camaraderie.
Bruce is still a ways back fighting his gears which have been in the shop five times during the ride. We know that the worst of the hills are still way ahead and Bruce really needs the large chain ring for that. The wind for once on the ride turns into a tailwind and the rain stops and turns into beautiful sunshine. We stop in Springbrook. Only 10 or so more miles. Rainy or sunny, this is hands down the prettiest part of the trip. The hills are relentless. My granny gear is earning it's keep. The whole ride, we ask locals "how many more hills?" They're always wrong. A hill is a whole lot different in a car. But we ask one one more time. He says one long downhill all the way into town. Yeah sure, you jerk, you don't know what that does to our heads. But he's right. We're careening into Bellevue. Hey, this is fun. Right into Bellevue. We're a parade. Hundreds of people. "Hey everybody, this is Bob, Tara, and I'm Dave! Let's hear it!" They cheer us personally. Hand slapping. Tire Dipping. It's over... NOOOO!
Yep, just like that. Goodbyes, and hellos and we're back to do what we do 51 weeks out of the year and to talk about that 52nd week that only you and I can comprehend.
Some interesting quotes heard over the week-
From a fellow Hawg- "Why do these idiots holler "rumbles" three times in a row? Who doesn't know by now that there are 3 sets of rumbles each time?
From a 1st day virgin Ragbrai- "Tumbles!"
From Diana, the Santa Claus rider- "Only on Ragbrai can you meet someone and chat with them for two minutes then compare body aches and discuss crotches!"
Well, that's it. Send me your pics. I'll post them and credit you.
I love you guys!
Dave, out
Email me at plummer_dave@prodigy.net
Links to Today's Towns
