| American Lung Association
Great River Ride, 1992
When I look back at the Great River Ride of 1992 I recall a series of
snapshots. Mostly of people. They stand out more than the rides, the
towns through which we passed, the food, even the hills we climbed.
This was my first time on a bike trek and I found it an amazing
experience.
The Facts (as I know them): May 29-31, the American Lung Association
(ALA) held a fundraising bike trek. 125+ riders raised funds by
bicycling between 110 and 170 miles from Hastings to Winona, MN over
three days. Friday morning we traveled from St. Paul to Hastings on a
riverboat with entertainment by a jazz band, and on Sunday night went
back to St. Paul from Winona on Amtrak.
In between, you pedaled... from Hastings to Red Wing, Red Wing to
Wabasha, and Wabasha to Winona. There were showers at the end of each
day, massages for those who needed to loosen up, breakfast and dinner
were provided, and at night we stayed in hotels or camped (I can
heartily endorse the camping). On the road there were sag wagons, rest
stops, first aid people, and one of the local bike shops provided a
full, mobile repair facility complete with mechanics, tools, work
stands, etc. They accompanied us for the whole weekend and kept all the
equipment going. But the facts don't begin to tell the story...
Friday:
The brochure had set high expectations for this event, and I hoped it
would live up to them. I had my first clue at the Check-in, which was
as efficient as any I've ever seen (and a WHOLE lot better than some).
Within 10 minutes I was registered, had the event information packet,
turned in my pledge sheets, and had my bike and gear loaded. My
bicycle was padded and packed onto one truck, gear loaded onto another.
I must admit, however, that I stood in the doorway of the truck until I
saw my baby (bike) safely into its slot and properly packed and
padded...
One of the other Digital people (and her daughter) that was on the ride
brought a tent with a door big enough to get their huge air mattress
inside. When I teased her about this extravagance she just gave me the
evil eye and said "I may sleep in a tent but I'm gonna be COMFORTABLE!"
End of subject.
We played games on the riverboat to break the ice, and there was a quiz
to fill out to be eligible for the BIG, PRIZE DRAWING Friday night. I
figured out the answers didn't matter when one of the winning quizzes,
in response to the question "Who is the captain of the Riverboat?" had
"Captain Nemo" as an answer. And one of the ride leaders signed in as
"George Herbert Walker Bush!" You could see people gradually dropping
the constraints of "adulthood" and loosening up. Soon we weren't a
boatload of strangers, we were a group out to have a great experience.
As one of the other riders said "Its NEVER too late to have a happy
childhood."
We met our bikes at noon in Hastings, and had boxed deli lunches, which
people appeared to devour with gusto (the lunches, not the bikes).
After eating and locating the right bicycles, we eagerly headed out for
the 30 miles to Red Wing, an old Minnesota town on the Mississippi
River. The weather was just about perfect for biking, warm, sunny, low
humidity, light breezes; the roads had little or no traffic, and riders
were eager to get on the road.
We headed out into a slight headwind (you gotta have something to whine
about) for the first part of the trip, finishing with the long downhill
into the tiny town of Welch where we picked up the Cannon Valley Trail,
a paved bike trail on an old railroad grade along the Cannon River, to
Red Wing for the last 10 miles. Along the way sag wagons passed
frequently; there were rest stops with fruit, food, water, first aid,
and a chance to rest and regroup; and in Welch the rest stop had Great
River Ride rain ponchos (which thankfully we never needed) provided by
a retailer in Red Wing.
One of my favorite images is Jon Ridge, the ALA trek director, riding
in a sag wagon honking a bicycle horn, hanging his head out the
passenger window (someone else was driving I THINK) shouting
encouragement to us as he passed.
In Red Wing's Bay Point Park I set up my tent under a tree right on the
bank of the Mississippi. At night I could look out over the water and
see the lights of the barge tows go past. Occasionally, in the
distance, one of the push boats would sound his horn in the dark.
A word on food - THESE FOLKS BELIEVE IN EATING! Ain't no tofu loving,
carrot juice drinking, quiche eating, wimps here. Breakfast each day
was all-you- can-eat with pancakes or french toast, eggs, sausage,
juice, etc. Plenty of those all important carbohydrates or something!
Dinner Friday was all-you-can-eat spaghetti, rolls, salad... good grub.
After dinner they had the big drawing for the "really, good stuff"
which as it turned out was composed primarily of old helmet covers,
water bottles, and something called a "RAK SACK" - which you put on
your bike and (I swear) claimed to be something that "HAULS BALLS".
After the drawing they showed video tape of some of the past events
including some slides set to music from the Pacific Coast Trek in 1989
- 26 days, 1700 miles from Seattle to San Diego. Two of the people on
this ride were on the Pacific Coast Trek and talked about it - really
made me want to do it - now I just need $5000 in pledges,
transportation to the west coast, 4 weeks off work, and the ability to
ride 80+ miles/day while carrying enough film to shoot the scenery!
Some of us topped off the evening with an ice cream run into Red Wing.
Saturday
The morning dawned bright, clear, and cool. I stood in the dawn and
looked at the tent city we'd erected, each tent or clump of tents with
its nearby bicycle(s). Early morning walkers and joggers went by on the
path, most with a wave and greeting, then broke camp and wandered up
for breakfast.
Everyone, however bleary eyed, seemed in good spirits, even those who I
suspect rarely see the light of morning on weekends (they're the ones
holding their hands over their eyes and asking what that horrible light
is).
After a couple solid breakfasts (they said "Eat Up" so I did - now I
know why people were saying they never lose weight on these treks) it
was time to head out of Red Wing and up the first big hill behind a
couple who were pulling their small daughter in a bike trailer. This
child has a budding career as a pickpocket considering the dexterity
with which she removes items from any bag left on the floor...
I settled into a nice rhythm as the route traveled through some
pleasant, rolling, Minnesota countryside. At one turn I was intercepted
by a ride leader who informed me that "the farmer ahead has requested
that we not wave or moo at his cows." There was some confusion about
this instruction sinc some riders thought they had been told not to
"moo" at the cows and didn't, but hadn't been told not to "MOON" the
cows while others disagreed, thinking we had been told not to "moon"
the cows... so, some of us mooed, and others mooned, and the cows just
stood there!
I rode for a while with a woman who wants to do the Transamerica Trek
next year (46 days, 3200 miles from west to east coast). At the east
coast terminus she'll catch a ride with a friend who is sailing his
boat up to Nova Scotia (she wants to learn to sail too). Then they'll
come up the St. Lawrence, through the great lakes, and into Duluth.
Sounds like a great way to spend the summer to me!
Decision point. I've arrived at the checkpoint where you have to decide
whether to do the 38 or 70 mile ride for the day. I opt to be a slug,
continue the no-stress feel of the weekend, and pick the short route.
Some of the views along the Mississippi are very scenic, especially
from the small roads we're traveling.
In Lake City we stop for lunch at a deli with ice cream, frozen yogurt,
and good deli sandwiches. I don't know what's in a "phosphate", but
the deli has 'em and they're good! So was the deli sandwich AND the ice
cream. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a less-than-brilliant idea
(yeah, I knew better but what-the-heck) to eat ice cream BEFORE the
"significant, CHARACTER-BUILDING hill" we encountered just outside Lake
City. Now personally, I think I have all the character I need, but
apparently this hill was added by the ride organizers for those who
needed some additional character building... but, we all made it over
and were treated to several miles of rolling upland farm country before
the long descent back to the river valley into Wabasha.
A word on logistics: Each day mountains of gear seemed to magically
disappear in the morning and reappear in the afternoon at the right
place and time. On Saturday I got into Wabasha early enough to help
unload the gear truck and found out the magic is actually a bunch of
volunteers doing a lot of work to load and unload all this stuff.
By the time I set up camp under a handy tree the Wabasha volunteer fire
department was in place, getting the grills going, bringing in food,
and preparing their famous barbequed chicken dinner. These folks come
every year and feed the trekkers, serving all of us chicken, baked
potatoes, beans, etc. They take great pride in watching massive
quantities of food disappearing into hungry people. Excellent chow.
At dinner the conversation ranged from past treks to the scenery,
hills, and people; comments about the relative merits of one bicycle
over another, one tent over another, even which ice cream parlour had
the best butter brickle. People told jokes and stories, and talked
about hobbies. It didn't matter what we did in "real" life, whether you
wear a suit and drive a BMW or jeans and take the bus - it wasn't
important - what was IMPORTANT was which route they did today and how
was it? How were the hills? The scenery? We were just Dan and Robyn
and Russ and Karen, Adam and Sherry and Lisa and Tom... There was lots
of wandering around, socializing, talking about the events of the day.
The riding and food, and in some cases one of Kimber's massages (right
in the campground you could get your aching muscles soothed), combined
to cause a comfortable feeling of tiredness that had many of us sound
asleep by dark. Those with more energy had the option of going to a
dance in Wabasha. They say you can't polka in riding shoes, but you can
clog!
Ice cream never tastes better than when eaten with friends at the end
of a day of cycling.
Sunday
After a huge pancake breakfast we rolled out of Wabasha and into the
Weaver Valley for a very pleasantly flat 18 miles before we started
climbing. This was the flattest cycling we did all weekend and we made
the most of it, cruising along the flat roads through small towns.
Just out of the valley we hit the decision point again. I decided on
the 40-mile route again and headed off to climb another of those
character building hills. On the climb I caught up with a rider who was
singing "High Hopes" (once there was a silly old ant, thought he'd move
a rubber tree plant...) so I rode part way uphill singing along with
her as we struggled in our granny gears. I crested the hill and rolled
into the checkpoint to the sounds of clapping and cheering from the
people already there. It is unbelievable how GOOD an orange tastes
after building character by climbing an ugly hill...
Arriving at the final checkpoint feels great - and sad at the same
time. Great because its over and you've done it, sad because its over.
At the supper Jon Ridge complimented all the people who helped with the
event, and told us that 90% of the ride leaders have been the same
since the inaugural event in 1985. I can see why. There are many rides
where they say they pamper the riders, but on this one they really do.
Afterwards, a group of us walked over to the local ice cream shop for a
final indulgence before catching the Amtrak back to St. Paul. Others
headed for a local tavern to celebrate the completion.
Once again, just so you won't think EVERYTHING went perfectly... the
Amtrak was 20 minutes late! But, I guess we can't blame the ALA for
that...
I see I've forgotten so many things - like the rides...
Country roads and busy highways. Down through river valleys and up to
overlooks. Climbs up long hills that leave you breathless and rubber
legged, and down the other side that leave you exhilarated... farms and
small towns.
And everywhere we passed people they smiled and waved to us and we to
them - from yards and cars and houses, people at work and play, young
and old alike - communication without words.
Signs welcoming us into town.
Bright sun, blue skies, new people to ride with for a while.
The road stretching away in front of your bike, taking you somewhere
you haven't been before.
Strangers, who walk up and ask where you've ridden from, and where
you're going.
And especially the people...
Matt and John who are going to do the International Trek from Canada to
Mexico this fall. They each have to raise $5000 so they're seeking
contributions and pledges from people. I saw the video from the 1989
trek and I envy them so much I donated my last $20.00.
Adam, a mass transit advocate, rode 70 mile days in blue jeans and a
shirt - and isn't quite sure why all these folks need funny padded,
lycra shorts!
Wally - who is retiring but still plans to continue doing bike treks. I
hope I have his energy when I retire (I wish I had it now!)
A group of four counselors and two residents of the Victoria Road house
in Mendota, MN. Paul and Diane are severely developmentally disabled
adult residents who have attended many past Great River Rides. The
counselors pulled them in modified bike trailers on the rides, camped
together in a large tent, and cared for them all weekend. I can only
imagine the work and effort involved in their undertaking and applaud
them wholeheartedly - as did everyone else when this group arrived at
the dinner Sunday night. The applause was long and heartfelt, and they
were clearly moved. They certainly inspired all of us.
Maggie, who has ridden the Pacific Coast Trek with her husband Tom, is
one of those people who has such enthusiasm that when she talks it
makes you believe you can do it too. She made me laugh when she talked
about the process of re-entry into society after 26 days of traveling
on a bicycle.
Bill (an adult) and Brent (who appeared to be around 10) on a tandem
passing me on Friday - Brent gave me a "thumbs-up" and a "later dude"!
The EMTs, who watched over all of us and were there to offer first aid
whether for scrapes and bruises on a fallen rider, or just a blister.
And especially the workers and volunteers. In vans honking and giving
encouragement; at rest stops telling everyone to DRINK, DRINK, DRINK;
at end points cheering you on; getting bikes and gear on and off
trucks; shepherding us around on buses; and many jobs I probably don't
even know about.
The coordination of this event have to be a nightmare, and yet for the
entire duration of this ride you would never know it. Equipment was
where it was needed, food appeared on time, camping areas were ready,
routes were marked, rest stops were staffed, etc. The difference
between a professional and an amateur is that although they do the same
thing, the professional does it better and still makes it LOOK easy.
These people made this LOOK easy.
The people make this ride. Without exception they were friendly,
sociable, and usually ready to go for ice cream at a moments notice.
Their spirit is infectious, and it makes for a really nice experience!
I have done a poor job of capturing the feeling of this event. You'll
just have to do it. I intend to do it again.
A final note: When my wife, who did not attend the event, read the
draft of this story she said it made her want to go so much that she is
ready to start raising pledges NOW to be ready for next year.
|
| Any of You Notice We're Having a Flood
or
Days of Pedaling, Nights of Ice Cream
The American Lung Association of Hennepin County
Great River Ride, 1993
by David Perez
What do you call an event that combines a riverboat ride in St.
Paul, a water fight in Wabasha, a train ride in Winona, and
three days of bicycling? Well, if it's June in Minnesota you
call it the Great River Ride of 1993, an event that combines the
above with good food, great scenery, and incredible people.
This year 165 riders participated in the event, and once again
Jon Ridge, Susan Stehling, and all the other people from the
American Lung Association of Hennepin County (ALAHC) put on an
incomparable event to raise funds for the Lung Association.
Don't confuse this event with other bike rides where a horde of
cars descend on a parking lot, and thousands of riders jump on
their bikes and hammer for a destination. On this ride the journey
is only half the fun - the rest is the daily destinations and
activities, meeting friends from last year and making new ones,
telling and listening to stories of other rides, the group
feeding frenzies, and of course - EATING ICE CREAM!
We've had a little rain in the upper Midwest this year, and the
Mississippi River overflowed its banks. Since this IS the Great
River Ride we normally ride and camp near the river, but this
year we had to camp in other locations because of the water and
routes had to be changed to accommodate the flooding. Amtrak
wasn't sure they'd even be running by Sunday since the water was
still rising toward the tracks. With all the mediocre weather
we've been enduring this spring I was concerned that we'd have
three days of rain. Instead we had three days of perfect
weather, mild temperatures, and TAILWINDS every day!
There are few things in life better than a long stretch of
smooth pavement and a 20 mph wind at your back. And if you
combine this with perfect weather, great scenery, and
interesting people to talk with while you ride - well, "it just
DOESN'T get any better than this!"
Friday
Actually, my ride started at 8 o'clock Thursday evening when a
couple miles from the end of a ride I found myself with a back
wheel that ground when coasting. I beat a hasty path to the
three nearest bike shops (Penn Cycle on Lake, Flanders, and
Cycle Goods). All agreed that the bearings in the cassette were
shot, but noone would or could make the necessary repairs before
Friday. Finally, while heading for home to shove some grease in
the disintegrating part and hope it stayed together for the
weekend I decided to try one more place and continued on to Now
Sports in Burnsville.
Scott, the manager, listened to the grinding (and my sad tale of
woe about needing the bike at 07:00 Friday morning), told me I'd
have to replace the freehub assembly, and admitted he didn't
have one in stock. Then he walked into the back of the shop,
pulled the rear wheel off his own bike, and loaned me the use of
shop and tools to switch the freehub assembly from his bike to
mine. Twenty minutes later I was ready to roll again, Scott was
on foot, and a new freehub was on order. Major thanks for
keeping me on the road Scott!
Friday morning I arrived at the Amtrak station in St. Paul at
07:00, turned my bike over to Pete (who came all the way from
Green Bay with wife and daughter for this ride) at the bike
transport truck, threw my bag up into the gear truck, and headed
for the check-in table.
None of these people will ever make it as luggage handlers -
they were far too careful with everyone's bags and bicycles,
each of which was packed between cardboard sheets for protection
during the trip (this worked perfectly, my bike came through
both trips in the truck without a scratch, ding, dent, abrasion,
nick, or mar - I wish my body had been so lucky).
Barbara and Maggie were at check-in and moved us through the
process of turning in pledges and paperwork quickly and
smoothly. Except that the registration table had the alphabet
reversed with the "R - Z" section on the left and the "A - E" on
the far right. This caused no end of confusion for the
Minnesotans who all wound up in the wrong lines and aimlessly
milling around searching for their section of alphabet!
Maggie wasn't dressed for riding and I found that she wouldn't
be with us (something about fiscal year-end that had to be
worked) although her husband Tom would be there. Actually,
three of my favorite ladies weren't there: Barbara also had to
work and Susan Stehling abandoned us for a trip to Montana!
Once through the paperwork, with ride packet containing
itinerary, maps, route information, and coupons in hand (along
with the quiz which we'll speak more of later), I stopped at the
next table to pick up my T-shirt, made a quick stop at the rest
area for a breakfast of fruit, bread, and granola bars, and I
was ready to roll.
Going on this event is like being a kid again and playing hooky
from school. I had the same tingle of anticipation as I walked
around in the bright sunshine surrounded by other riders, all
filled with energy and eager for the day to begin. The adult in
me (work, home, bills) receded (it never has far to go) and I
knew this was going to be a GREAT weekend.
We boarded the buses for the riverboat at Harriet Island. I, of
course, chose the "Good Attitude" bus with Earl as tour guide
and commentator. On our way to the boat, Earl and Dr. Jeff
(both ride leaders) filled us in on necessary information and
asked for questions or concerns. From the back of the bus a
group of female voices requested "more single guys in the back
of the bus", a request Earl said he was powerless to satisfy.
In an effort to be helpful I offered "married guys who aren't
fanatics" as a reasonable substitute but was rejected.
Friday evening after supper they have a drawing for "GREAT"
prizes, and to be eligible you had to fill out your quiz.
Actually, it was a way to get people to meet and break the ice
- you had to get riders whose first names began with certain
letters (T,R,E,K) to sign your quiz and to find four ride
leaders and get them to sign their names too. You also had to
find out the name of the riverboat captain and learn the type of
cows we'd be passing on the ride. I'm sure my answers were
correct because at one point I overheard someone yell "Ahoy, the
white whale" from the pilot house, so the captain just HAD to be
Ahab! And everyone in Minnesota knows those black and white
spotted cattle are cheerleaders from a neighboring state.
After driving through some floodwater on Harriet Island, we
arrived at the riverboat landing and were greeted by the sound
of the Moldy Figs Dixieland band as we got on board. Because of
the flooding the locks weren't usable so instead of floating
downstream to Hastings we went up under the High Bridge toward
the old railroad bridge. The current was fast and our progress
slow, giving everyone time to enjoy the sight of downtown St.
Paul from the river. Earl led a few games including the "Worlds
Smartest Computer" to break the ice and get people loosened up.
The Worlds Smartest Computer was composed of 6 ride leaders, who
answered questions by each giving a single word of the answer in
rotation. It did quite well, however Earl was forced to reboot
after one particularly vexing question (I think he used his left
foot).
Like last year, I was impressed to see people drop their normal
reserve and the constraints of "adulthood". I found myself
laughing and talking to people I'd just met including "Team
Road Kill" - Jan, Diane, and Nancy, a group of three of the
cutest accountants you'll ever meet. Now we've all met
accountants and know they're stuffy people with pocket
protectors and calculators, and no sense of humor (except Buck,
our own "wild financial dude" of course). They were very good
sports about the teasing they got (we did lawyer jokes and
substituted the word accountant), and I didn't see a pocket
protector once all weekend! Of course, once they dragged out of
me that I work with computers the response from Jan was "Jeez,
you guys are an even bigger bunch of nerds than us!"
Back at Harriet Island after a fast trip downstream (an hour and
15 minutes going upstream, 15 minutes to get back) we said
goodbye to the Moldy Figs and re-boarded the buses for the ride
to Hastings where lunch and the ride start awaited us. Earl
told us Baypoint Park (our normal camping area) in Red Wing was
under water so we'd be spending the night in a grassy area next
to a cemetery. I attempted to convince the accountants that the
first-time rider initiation was to run naked through the
graveyard at midnight. Nancy asked how we'd see anything in the
dark and I explained that I had brought a flashlight for just
such an occasion! Being a pervert is not a spur-of-the-moment
thing; properly done, it requires care and planning!
Again this year a group of counselors (biking animals!) and two
residents of the Victoria Road house in Mendota Heights were on
the ride. Paul and Diane are developmentally disabled residents
who have attended several past Great River Rides. The counselors
camped in tents with them, and pulled them in modified bike
trailers on the daily rides. They did a tremendous job.
After the catered box lunch in Hastings it was time to get on
the bike for the 30 miles to Red Wing. The normal route
includes a 10-mile stretch of Cannon Valley Trail from Welch to
Red Wing, but this year, because of damage to the trail we
stayed on the road for the entire trip. From Hastings to
Miesville we had strong sidewinds and I hooked up with a couple
other riders, but once we left the rest stop in Miesville and
turned East on Highway 61 the wind was at our backs, the
shoulder wide, and the riding easy. Near Red Wing we passed
over the Cannon Valley Trail and I could see some of the water
damage. The road looked better!
I arrived and checked in (if you don't check in they'll send out
the cavalry to find you out on the course) in time to help
unload the gear truck, joining in the human chain passing
baggage down the line and spreading it in neat rows for pickup
by arriving riders. Once that was done I set up camp, finishing
the tent just in time to grab the school bus to the shower.
About every 15 minutes a bus pulled into camp, delivered clean
people, loaded up with less-clean ones, and took them to the
YMCA where there were hot showers (no long lines, HOT water).
Later, the same busses provided transportation to Nybo's where
we carbo-loaded on the all-you-can-eat spaghetti. Those who
preferred having a bathroom and shower in their room could stay
at one of the motels or inns and the ALA even delivered and
picked up the luggage from the inn.
At dinner, I sat with Leo and his wife Cathy (also known as Mrs.
Cleaver for reasons noone would explain), a woman of boundless
energy who Jon deputized to make sure that everyone signed a
huge card to be presented to Nybo of Nybo's. She did, ranging
throughout the dining room to round people up. After dinner Jon
made a few announcements, presented the signed thank-you card,
and then turned things over to Earl for the prize drawing.
Brent, the young stoker of the tandem team of Brent and Bill
(his dad), pulled the winning quizzes from the hopper. There
were T-shirts, caps, chocolate bars, and even helmet covers, but
the prize I most regretted not winning was the coveted "Salsa
Bizarro" bib, an indispensable, high-fashion accessory for
anyone with my inability to eat without making a mess of
themselves! There may have to be an investigation of this
process though, because Brent pulled his own quiz and there were
mumblings that the "fix" may have been in!
Of course, no evening on a GRR is complete without a trip to the
local ice cream dispensary (in this case the DQ in downtown Red
Wing) where I encountered several other riders. Cookie dough
blizzards seemed to be the big seller of the evening and a
sizable group of us stood on the street in front of the DQ
watching the locals drive back and forth down main street while
the conversation turned to descriptions of various people's
favorite Far Side cartoons. What a bunch of party animals!
Once the excitement died down we headed back to camp for a night
of sleep, hopefully to be broken by the sounds of midnight
runners prancing through the nearby graveyard. Unfortunately,
no sounds of gaiety disturbed my slumber.
Saturday
Saturday dawned clear, bright, and warm. Everyone was up and
moving early - actually they had no choice since Jon got on the
bullhorn at 06:30 and rousted the laggards out of bed. Once
packed I rode to Nybo's for a tasty all-you-can-eat breakfast of
eggs, pancakes, sausage, and muffins. I saw some of the "I'm
not a morning person" people at breakfast - they were the ones
with the two-fisted grip on their coffee!
After a few announcements, including an exhortation to use a
good sunscreen (something I usually forget) we headed out onto
the route. I decided I'd wait until the the checkpoint at 11
miles (where you have to state the route you'll be taking)
before deciding whether to take the 40-mile or 70-mile route.
On the climb just outside Red Wing I passed Melissa pulling a
trailer with Michael inside (he even had his own nametag on the
trailer). As I passed them I greeted Michael and Melissa said
"Wave to everyone as they pass us, you'll be seeing the same
people go past today as yesterday".
Near the checkpoint we coasted down a long sweeping hill.
Toward the bottom there was a pasture where a white horse, with
head high and mane flying in the breeze, ran along with the
bicycles.
At the checkpoint I got some input from Dan, who has done the
long route. He said there were between five and seven
"character building" climbs on the course, which convinced me
that Sunday would be the better day for the long route. Dr.
Jeff arrived, followed shortly by Diane, Jan, and Nancy. Jeff
was acting as a ride marshal on the short route and suggested we
add a slight detour up to the overlook in Frontenac State Park.
Wimp that I am, I decided to limit the abuse to which I'd
subject my body and chose the short route with side trip. Also,
the short route traveled primarily East, so we had the benefit
of a tailwind most of the day.
The herd moved off through the rolling hills and backroads, and
a few miles later came to Frontenac where we climbed up to the
overlook. Personally, I think this was the hardest hill on the
route, but eventually we all made it to the top. The view
across the Mississippi and Lake Pepin was terrific, which
probably explained why there was such a profusion of orange
jerseyed ride leaders at the overlook. A few photographs,
followed by a screaming descent back down the hill, and we
continued toward Lake City and lunch, passing some of the
beautiful old houses along the river in Frontenac.
As we neared Lake City I was surprised that so few sailboats
were out on the lake on such a beautiful day. Although the
marina was filled with sailboats, many with people on-board, everyone
appeared to be staying off the rain-swollen lake.
We found the repair van in the parking lot next to the Lake City
DQ. There were some chairs in the shade with a view of the
water so we all sat down for a rest. Other riders pulled in and
stopped, and shortly we had a dozen people lounging in the
shade. Then Judy, Jon Ridge's wife, came in with Olivia in
their trailer, and I got to watch a baby captivate a group
without ever saying a word. Jeff, a pediatrician, grabbed
Olivia and they entertained each other while Judy went in search
of a milk shake to sustain her through the remainder of the
ride.
Eventually hunger propelled us onward to the deli in Lake City
for lunch. Knowing about the "significant character building"
hill outside of town I passed on the ice cream for dessert. It
must have worked - I climbed the hill that forced me to get off
the bike last year. On the way up I encountered a trio getting
a ride up the hill in the back of a van, but rejected their
offer of a tow. At the top was a van with water and the
knowledge that the climbing was over for the day. From there on
it was all downhill WITH the wind for the remainder of the 39
miles. This was the best riding of the day (smooth, flat, big
tailwind) and we made the most of it, effortlessly flying along
at 25 mph, talking and laughing, past the farms and views of the
river valley, down the long hill and into Wabasha.
We stayed on the grounds of the Wabasha City Hall since our
normal camping area in Malone Park was under several feet of
water. I arrived late enough to miss the gear truck unloading,
got set up and walked next door to the pool for a shower (I
decided to be clean when I got soaked in the water fight).
The Wabasha Fire Department was already on the scene, roasting
chicken on a huge concrete block barbecue they built for this
purpose. But before we ate, we played!
If you have never been in a water fight you don't know what
you're missing. It's the perfect excuse for adults to slop in
the water like children. Except that instead of a sprinkler you
get a high-pressure fire hose to squirt with.
The fire department strung a cable across a parking lot and
suspended an empty beer keg from a sliding pulley. The object
was for your 2-person team to squirt the keg with your hose and
push it down the cable past the opposing team while they
attempted to do the same. The only rule was that you couldn't
DELIBERATELY squirt the opposing team. One of the firemen blew
a siren to start the contest, you pulled on the lever on the
nozzle to start the flow, and instantly you and your partner
were blind and drenched by spray from the opposing team as you
attempted to control a giant snake and accurately keep the water
hitting the keg lost in the torrents of water raining down on
you. It was fabulous fun!
In our first match we soundly thrashed the team of Dr. Jeff,
Nancy, and Diane. Afterward I noticed that although my partner
Mike, Jeff, and I were totally drenched, the two women were
virtually dry. This seemed unfair so I got Jon to agree (over
LOUD protests from the possible victims) that should Mike and I
win we could thoroughly soak the accountants!
There was one incident during the contest. A combatant was
attacked during one contest when the previously mentioned band
of enraged accountants, aided and abetted by a renegade pediatrician,
attempted to remove de-pants me while I was concentrating on the
task at hand - keeping a steady stream of water on the keg.
(Question: Knowing me as you do, would any of you come near me
and attempt to remove my pants while I was holding a pressurized
firehose?) Clothed or not I was not dissuaded although I did
take a moment to turn the hose on my assailants, and part of the
crowd just for good measure!
Mike and I were later beaten by the team that eventually became
the champions, but we've issued a challenge for next year. I'm
looking for small towns where we can hone our skills in the
meantime!
After the exercise we sat down to a huge dinner - roasted
chicken, baked potatoes, salad, baked beans, etc. Everyone ate
heartily, carbo-loading for the tomorrow's exertion. Talk at
the dinner table centered around the routes of the day, and
those to come on Sunday. Steve told us how his wife accompanied
him in their van to provide personal service during his rides -
fresh water bottles, ready snacks, rubdowns for sore muscles,
etc. Envious, several of us asked if we could pay a nominal fee
and receive similar service. Up until this point, the lady in
question had been sitting quietly and nodding during her
husband's recitation. Now she laughingly admitted that she
NEVER saw her husband ride, she'd been in the small towns along
the route spending money at garage sales!
After letting dinner settle a group of us walked downtown to
look at the river and, of course, hit the ice cream parlor. The
river was high, the ice cream was excellent (mint chocolate
chip, chocolate monster, cookie dough, hot fudge), and many
other riders stopped to partake of the frozen delights and talk.
Eventually, we headed back to camp for the night.
Sunday
Sunday was clear, bright, and warm - making this the only decent
3-day weekend we've had all year. Once again Jon's bullhorn had
the late sleepers moving by 06:30. I intended to do the 70 mile
route so I quickly broke camp and got over to St. Felix's church
to stoke up on eggs, pancakes, and sausage. Jon announced at
breakfast that we would be returning on Amtrak (they confirmed
late Saturday evening that the water was low enough for the
train to run), and that we wouldn't be able to ride through
Weaver meadows since it was under water. This was unfortunate
because this area is an 18-mile stretch of virtually flat,
lightly traveled roads that stays near the Mississippi and
provides an easy warm-up to the water stop at Weaver.
Instead we stayed on U.S. 61 which isn't quite as scenic but had
the advantage of a significant tailwind from the northwest.
Imagine gliding down the road in the cool morning with bluffs
to your right and the Mississippi on your left, easily rolling
along at 20 mph and listening to the birds singing.
At the Weaver water stop I turned to climb the river bluff on
the long route. About halfway up the 1.5 mile climb Paula and
Laura passed me. As Laura went by I sang "the corn is as high
as an elephant's eye" to her and received a "Damn you, now I'll
have that song running through MY head for the next 20 miles"
from her! Just when I started laboring badly and thought I
couldn't climb any more I found a little pulloff with a sign
stating that this was the Richard J. Dorer Memorial Hardwood
Forest. The view out over the early morning valley gave me the
bit of energy I needed to complete the climb.
Once up on top of the bluffs I rode southwest toward Plainview
and Sarah caught up to me. We rode through the rolling hills
for the next 10 miles admiring the occasional profusions of wildflower
along the road and talking about rides we'd been on and life in
Minneapolis. Sarah had come to the event alone, and expressed
appreciation at how quickly she was welcomed and adopted by the
group.
It is difficult to describe the emotional lift you get when one
of the sag wagons drives past and the people inside give you a
thumbs-up and you return it. Or of exchanging greetings with
people out walking in the early morning. Or of arriving at the
top of a long climb and being greeted by the cheers of other
riders. Makes you feel 10-feet tall!
In Plainview we stopped for a break and several other riders
joined us including Cathy (Mrs. Cleaver) and Leo. Cathy was
just as frenetic as she'd been on Saturday, and Leo just as
quiet. Leo tried a Power Bar which he found virtually inedible
- so he shared it with Cathy. She stated that it tasted like
her brownies... Never have dessert at the Cleaver's.
We left Plainview and turned with the wind toward the lunch
stop. In between we had a long high-speed downhill run into
Elba followed by the second long climb. From the description I
had expected some horrendous hill and I was surprised how easily
I climbed the hill into Altura. I'd been told that the Red
Roost Inn in Altura was where everyone stopped for lunch because
of the great turkey dinner. When I walked into the diner
(easily found by the herd of bicycles parked outside) I was
confronted by dozens of riders chowing down on turkey, dressing,
mashed potatoes, all covered in gravy, salad, and big milk
shakes.
I sat with Earl and Dale, and we joined the feeding frenzy. In
fact, Earl had not one, but two milk shakes. He explained that
people were eating this way because we were through climbing for
the day, and that the last 20 miles were downhill with a
tailwind. Earl said he was badly undertrained for this event
this year. I figured this meant he was short of mileage. I
found out later from Linda that what he meant was that by this
time he was usually trained up to at least three milk shakes a
week! Dale revealed that he started riding late in life and
found that he enjoyed it. He and I will both be going with the
Trailblazers on the Madeline Island trip in July.
A few miles outside Altura I caught up to Myron and we rode
together the rest of the way into Winona. We commented on the
fun of cruising through the open country with a big tailwind and
unexpectedly coming across a scene looking out over the farms
and forests with the river in the distance. At Rollingstone the
long and short routes rejoin for the last ten miles, and Myron
asked me to take his picture under the town sign (he was a big
Rolling Stones fan).
In Winona, after 66 miles, I showered off the dust of the day,
rested in the shade, and enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment
of having ridden 135 miles over the weekend. We walked down to
the Amtrak station for a catered dinner, a couple hours of
resting and conversation while waiting for the train, and a trip
to the local ice cream parlor for a last scrumptious confection
of the weekend.
Later, from my seat on the train, I contemplated the weekend and
found myself even more impressed than last year. Over the
weekend, I talked to many people, veterans and first timers, and
every person with whom I spoke said they were having a fabulous
time. Despite what had to be a logistical nightmare with the
flooding, reroutes, and campgrounds under water, the weekend was
flawlessly executed and a huge success.
I'll close as I did last year because I can't think of a
statement that better summarizes this event:
"The people on this ride are exceptional. They are
friendly, talkative, sociable, and ready to go for
ice cream at a moment's notice. Their spirit is
infectious, their goal is having fun. It makes for an
incredible experience! It is impossible to really
capture the feeling of this event. You just have to do
it. I intend to do it again.
Get out there next year and see how well organized a ride can be!"
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