![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Maquoketa, Iowa
Jul. 30th, 2004 08:08 pmToday: 80 mile ride.
We started in Hiawatha. The weather didn't look bad, so none of us took rain gear. Within an hour, though, it was pouring.
I have not EVER ridden in pouring rain. Until today. We were soaked. The motorhome cannot/will not come get us (they need to get to the next town and find us a congenial parking place.)
Result: My choices were (a) ride sixty more miles (b)Charm my way into a ride from some passing vehicle (c) feign grave illness and wait in the pouring rain for the sag wagon to come and get me.
I rode.
We stopped in one of the stop towns, got hot coffee, and regrouped. My buddies decided to ride to the pork chop man and stop for a pork chop. Me? No way. I was soaked to the skin, and cold, and my plans did not include stopping to wait for someone else to eat pork chops. I rode ahead.
After a while, the route came to a dirt road, which was mud by the time I got to it. By tradition, RAGBRAI has a few dirt/gravel roads in it. I told my skinny-tired racing bike to think cyclocross (an event which, being in winter, always involves mud). I rode. I got mud everywhere. It was a beautiful road that crossed a large, peaceful river, and I decided I was having a grand adventure despite being hungry, cold, tired, and soaking wet. (It's a good vacation when I can say that.)
Eventually, the rain stopped and I dried off (mostly) and warmed up. Eighty miles, four cookies, and a piece of apple pie later, I was back at the motorhome.
This is one of those days that I'll carry with me like a small, discreet rocket under my saddle. I did that. I toughed it out in the rain and mud for eighty miles. Next time I'm scraping bottom in a race, and think I can't go anymore, I will remember today.
(My buddies found a local who knew a shortcut. They didn't take the mud road-- they said it was slick and scary looking when they got to it. They did slightly less than 70 miles. They had Fred with them, so I think that was a good choice. At 71, Fred can really motor on pavement, but off-road riding is not his style.)
Last, I got a massage today. As J says, that was a "good lick". I've been doing ad-hoc sports massage (on my buddies in the motorhome, to one of the vendor guys in exchange for a hat) and doing fairly well at it. So by the end of my massage today, I had the sports massage lady's number and an invitation to join them next year, plus I understood how she does business (she lines up an evening with a big team of riders and works on all of them after they have dinner and showers-- and if you're tired and sore, and you see someone else getting a massage, naturally you want one too, so she does good business.) Last but not least, I knew that I'm about as good at it as she is. That was a shot in the confidence!
We started in Hiawatha. The weather didn't look bad, so none of us took rain gear. Within an hour, though, it was pouring.
I have not EVER ridden in pouring rain. Until today. We were soaked. The motorhome cannot/will not come get us (they need to get to the next town and find us a congenial parking place.)
Result: My choices were (a) ride sixty more miles (b)Charm my way into a ride from some passing vehicle (c) feign grave illness and wait in the pouring rain for the sag wagon to come and get me.
I rode.
We stopped in one of the stop towns, got hot coffee, and regrouped. My buddies decided to ride to the pork chop man and stop for a pork chop. Me? No way. I was soaked to the skin, and cold, and my plans did not include stopping to wait for someone else to eat pork chops. I rode ahead.
After a while, the route came to a dirt road, which was mud by the time I got to it. By tradition, RAGBRAI has a few dirt/gravel roads in it. I told my skinny-tired racing bike to think cyclocross (an event which, being in winter, always involves mud). I rode. I got mud everywhere. It was a beautiful road that crossed a large, peaceful river, and I decided I was having a grand adventure despite being hungry, cold, tired, and soaking wet. (It's a good vacation when I can say that.)
Eventually, the rain stopped and I dried off (mostly) and warmed up. Eighty miles, four cookies, and a piece of apple pie later, I was back at the motorhome.
This is one of those days that I'll carry with me like a small, discreet rocket under my saddle. I did that. I toughed it out in the rain and mud for eighty miles. Next time I'm scraping bottom in a race, and think I can't go anymore, I will remember today.
(My buddies found a local who knew a shortcut. They didn't take the mud road-- they said it was slick and scary looking when they got to it. They did slightly less than 70 miles. They had Fred with them, so I think that was a good choice. At 71, Fred can really motor on pavement, but off-road riding is not his style.)
Last, I got a massage today. As J says, that was a "good lick". I've been doing ad-hoc sports massage (on my buddies in the motorhome, to one of the vendor guys in exchange for a hat) and doing fairly well at it. So by the end of my massage today, I had the sports massage lady's number and an invitation to join them next year, plus I understood how she does business (she lines up an evening with a big team of riders and works on all of them after they have dinner and showers-- and if you're tired and sore, and you see someone else getting a massage, naturally you want one too, so she does good business.) Last but not least, I knew that I'm about as good at it as she is. That was a shot in the confidence!
