Ragbrai

I don’t want to bury the lede.

This story doesn’t end well.

Last summer my friend Cam asked me if I would be interested in a weeklong bike ride across Iowa the last week in July.

“It’s called Ragbrai – Register America’s Great Bike Ride Across Iowa – it’s about five hundred miles.”  

“Where do we stay?” I asked.

“Most people camp. It’s a fun event. This year there were over twenty thousand riders.”

Twenty thousand? I haven’t camped since I went to Philmont Scout Ranch in 1967.  “No way, Cam. I’m too old to sleep on the ground.”

Cam is an endurance athlete. She does ultramarathons and other crazy races.  She’s always looking for a new challenge. A couple years ago she persuaded me to sign up for the 70.3 Michigan Ironman. I am a triathlete, but my races are all short.  “It will be fun,” she said. “We’ll rent an Airbnb on Lake Michigan for the week and Suzanne and Neil (our spouses) and the dogs (she has two Rhodesian Ridgebacks) can join us.”

It actually was fun – even the training – and we finished the race, so I was glad I let her persuade me. But camping with twenty thousand cyclists. No way.

Cam doesn’t give up easily. A week later she was back.

“Look at this.” She showed me a picture of an 18-wheeler hauling a multi-colored trailer with five doors in the sidewall. “It’s called a Snoozebox. Bunk beds and air conditioning!”

I checked it out. Five 8 x 10 cubicles that could each sleep four people (they’d have to be close friends) with a/c and multiple power outlets, but no running water. They would park it near the outdoor showers and porta-johns.

“Okay,” I said with some trepidation.  We reserved our Snoozebox in November and started training in February.

I am not a cyclist. Triathletes wear tri-shorts that you can swim and run in, and we ride as fast as we can for the race distance – for me that was usually twelve or twenty-five miles at 18 to 20 mph.  But this wasn’t a race – it was a test of endurance. We just had to finish. We bought padded bike shorts and gloves, and our rides were conversational.  Fourteen miles per hour or less. No cardio stress.  

We would ride three or four times a week – anywhere from twenty to fifty miles. On Saturdays and Sundays, we would stop for coffee after the ride and talk about all the crazy Ragbrai posts on Facebook. The ride was going to start in Glenwood, Iowa just east of the Missouri River and wind through a dozen small towns ending in Burlington, just west of the Mississippi River. 

Ragbrai was a big event for these small towns and at each stop along the way there would be local groups offering beer, sausage, pancakes, pies, pastries, coffee, burgers, pizza – all the essential food groups. Cam and my coach, Heather, continually reminded me that this was not a race and that I needed to enjoy the journey.  “I want to try the slip-n-slide, “Cam said. “And go to a spaghetti church dinner.”

I figured I would pass on the slip and slide, but the spaghetti dinner sounded good.

Neil and Suzanne (the spouses) were not excited about the idea of driving us to Glenwood – it’s an eight-hour drive – so I made a one-way SUV rental to Glenwood and another from Burlington for our return on Sunday.   We left Evanston on Saturday morning at 5 a.m. and made it to Glenwood by 2. We unloaded our gear, drove to Enterprise – which was closed for the weekend – dropped the key off and took an Uber back to the Snoozebox.  We were parked next to an empty house and the owner allowed us to use the shower and toilets.  We shared wine and beer with our Snoozebox neighbors, Gary and Pat, and went to bed in our air-conditioned cubicle.

There is no official starting time or line for Ragbrai. The roads are controlled from 6 am to 6 pm.  We were on the road by 6:30. The tent campers had to pack up and put their gear on the Ragbrai bus to take it to the next stop. With the Snoozebox, we didn’t have to do that, and it allowed us to get an early start, so the bike traffic was not intense.

The first day ride was to Red Oak – forty-four miles away. The first pass through town was Silver City – eleven miles down the road. As we rolled through the Iowa farmland, the sunlight refracted through a light surface fog. It was beautiful and eerie, like a scene from “Field of Dreams.”  On our training rides I always followed Cam – she set a good pace. But I weigh a lot more than Cam, so on the first significant downhill, I cruised past her, even though I wasn’t pedaling.  I slowed down on the next uphill, expecting Cam to pass me, but she didn’t. I thought maybe her chain had come off so after a few minutes I stopped along the side of the road to wait for her.

Big mistake. While there were only dozens of riders when we started out when I looked back to try and spot Cam, there were hundreds. The road was packed.  I scanned the pack for a couple of minutes, and then got back on my bike.  I decided to wait for her when we got to Silver City.  We had agreed that if we got separated we would meet at the Fire Station in town.  As I approached the outskirts of Silver City, there was Cam on the side of the road waving and laughing. 

We walked our bikes through the town. It was a carnival atmosphere. We weren’t that hungry yet, so we passed on the breakfast burrito and the donuts, but then we spotted the pie table. Couldn’t resist that. We split a large slice of pecan pie.

We got back on our bikes. The next town was Henderson – we could have breakfast there.

At a rest stop before we got to Henderson, Cam spotted these dudes who always rode in speedos with American flag capes – like superheroes. She asked if she could have her picture taken with them, and of course they were happy to comply.

We got back on our bikes and headed toward Henderson.  About three miles past the rest stop we started down another long hill.  I’ve replayed this scene in my head countless times, trying to remember exactly what happened.  As we descended my momentum carried me past Cam. Ahead of me to my right there was a guy in brown shorts and a tee-shirt. I saw him start to wobble and I slowed down. He lost control of his bike and veered sharply to the left and then fishtailed back to the right and then he went down in front of me. I knew I was going to ride over him.

I braced myself and twisted my handlebars to the right. My rear tire fishtailed and somehow, I missed him. I emerged from the skid and regained control of my bike. I heard crashing and screaming behind me.  Someone yelled, “Don’t stop" I realized that if I tried to stop and help him, I could cause another accident.  I rode slowly, waiting for Cam to pass me or yell to me that she was behind me. But I didn’t hear anything.  I figured she might have been able to stop in time to offer assistance. That’s the kind of thing she would do.

That downhill was followed by another rolling hill. When I got to the crest, I stopped and got off my bike. There was a large swath of riders where the guy had crashed. Traffic was backed up as riders slowly made their way past the accident.  I spotted a rider making her way up the hill. Blue shirt, black bike. I sighed with relief.

But it wasn't Cam.

After about five minutes I decided to walk back to the accident. I left my bike and headed down the road on the far side. Two ambulances had arrived from the other direction.  When I was about twenty yards from the ambulance, I saw a stretcher on the ground. It’s the kind of board they bring out at football games when a player has been injured and they want to stabilize his neck and spine. There was a woman on the board. She was wearing a blue jersey.

I am a writer. I should be able to describe what I felt. But I can’t.

Numb.

Scared.

The EMTs were strapping her to the board. I knelt next to her and put my hand on her shoulder. Her face was bloody. “Cam, are you okay?”

She looked at me. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

The EMTs were cool and professional. They joked with her about the driver and then told her to hold on to the “Jesus handles” as they carried her to the ambulance. I helped them lift the stretcher into the ambulance. The EMT told me I could ride with her. He explained that the Ragbrai SAG wagon would retrieve her bike and take it to Red Oak. They were taking her to the hospital in Council Bluffs.  I told them I had to go back and get my bike and gear. By the time I returned her ambulance had left.

One of the remaining EMTs told me I might be able to find a deputy in Silver City who could drive me to Council Bluffs.  There had been a few folks riding against the traffic – locals trying to get some place – so I knew it could be done. I started riding – riders would see me coming and would shout, “Rider up!”  I shouted, “On your left, sorry!” over and over and over again.  Traffic got worse and some riders naturally weren’t looking for someone going in the wrong direction. I had a couple of close shaves and then a trio riding a three-seater bike barreled down the hill on the far left side. They were going over forty heading straight for me. I drove onto the shoulder and they missed me by inches.  I got off and walked the bike. I was shaking.

When I got to the top of the hill I spotted a guy named Cliff wearing an Air Force support crew shirt. Cam had told me that those guys were out on the road to help riders who have a problem like a flat tire. I told Cliff what happened. He explained that a SAG wagon would eventually come by and could take me and my bike to Red Oak, but it might be hours before the wagon arrived.

I didn’t want to wait for hours, and I didn’t want to go Red Oak, I wanted to go to Council Bluffs. He told me if I left the bike there the SAG wagon would pick it up and bring it to Red Oak.

I had brought lightweight Vivofit shoes that I had strapped to my aerobars. I put them on and left my bike by the side of the road. I was about to start walking back to Silver City when I spotted a car slowly making its way up the road – going against traffic too. I flagged down the driver.

A teenager named Berkley was driving her little sister and two of her sister’s friends to summer camp. I asked her if she could give me a ride to Silver City. 

“I don’t know how to get there,” she said. “But when I drop these girls off, my mom will know. She can help you.”

Her mom was giving out water at the beer spot we had left an hour ago. Berkley walked me over to her and explained that I wanted to go to Silver City because my friend had been in an accident and the ambulance had taken her to Council Bluffs.

Every time I try to explain what happened next, I choke up. Even when I am just talking to myself or writing the words down.

Her mom looked at me, her face etched with concern. “Do you know someone in Silver City who can take you to Council Bluffs?”

“No,” I said. I wanted to say more. Explain that maybe there was a deputy who could drive me to Council Bluffs. But I couldn’t talk. My throat was tight, my vision was blurry.

She turned to her daughter. “Drive him to Council Bluffs.”

No hesitation. Just a reminder to Berkley to fill the car with gas. And to buy some pickles on her way back.

She patted my shoulder and handed me a bottle of water. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you to your friend right away.”

I think her kindness (and Berkley’s) were what I will always remember about this trip. We kept hearing about how nice Iowans were.  It’s true.

I made it to the Emergency Room by 10:30. Cam had broken two fingers, her elbow, and several teeth. Possibly a broken upper jaw. Her bike helmet had cracked, and she had a slight concussion.  In typical Cam fashion, she was joking with the doctors when I walked in. She would need several surgeries and she needed to get back to Evanston, so she could arrange things with her doctors.

Neil was planning to drive down and get her, but that would take at least a day and we would still need to retrieve her gear and bike from the Snoozebox. I talked to Neil, and we decided that the best course of action would be for me to rent an SUV and drive her and all our gear back to Evanston.

I called Enterprise. They couldn’t rent to me because the contract for the car we had dropped off on Saturday hadn’t been closed out yet as that location was not opened on Sunday. The system does not allow them to have two open contracts to the same driver. No way around it. I tried Hertz and Avis, but I couldn’t reach a human to explain what I wanted. I called Alamo. They were happy to help until I explained that I wanted to drop the car off in Chicago. The only place that would accept the drop off was the Quad Cities airport near Moline, Illinois.

I didn’t know where Moline was, and I didn’t care. I made the reservation. While Cam was getting an EKG, I took an Uber to the Omaha airport. The Uber driver dropped me off at the south end of the airport. That was a mistake. The rental car center was at the north end. It was now 1 p.m. the sun was melting me and I was about a mile away with no good place to walk.

I flagged down a shuttle bus driver, but he told me couldn’t pick up a sweaty old man in bike shorts and a helmet. Okay, he didn’t say that, but he wouldn’t pick me up.  I guess Nebraskans aren’t as nice as Iowans. 

I got to the parking garage, still no clue where I was supposed to go. A security guard asked me where my bike was. It was a joke, but when I told hm my story, he was concerned and helpful. Told me where to go and how to get there safely (airports aren’t very pedestrian friendly.)

My luck had changed.

There was no one waiting at the Alamo counter. I got a 2024 GMC Terrain and made it back to the hospital by 3 p.m. They had discharged Cam, and she was waiting for me. She looked like hell, but they had given her enough pain killers that she was in a loopy good mood, joking about all the free stuff they had given her at the gift shop. I told her that they had done that so she would leave and not scare all the customers.

We drove to our Snoozebox in Red Oak. They had retrieved our bikes, so with help from our Snoozebox buddies, Gary and Pat, I loaded up the car while Cam supervised, offering her usual smart-ass comments.  Eventually her painkillers were going to wear off, and I wanted to get her home before that happened.

We left for home at 5:15. I made great time until the sun went down. I am not so great driving in the dark, but I80 is well marked, and I just followed any big rig I could keep up with.

Cam was great – I know she was hurting – especially the last hour after the meds wore off, but she didn’t start swearing until we were twenty miles from home, stuck in a 1 a.m. traffic jam on the Dan Ryan.

I made it to her house at 1:30. It was a long, long awful day and now she will need months to rehab. I know she might not come up with another of her crazy endurance adventures.  I’m sad thinking about that, but I remember what the ER doctor told her, “Hey, you survived. You could have died or been paralyzed, so that’s good news.” 

He’s right.