As with the previous night in Missouri Valley, the early morning storms stayed north of Harlan and left only some minor wind damage in and around town. Our day began much the same as the previous morning, with a heavy concentration of riders leaving town around 7:00 a.m. At 83 miles, Monday's ride would be the longest of the week. The route could be made even longer by riding an extra 17 mile loop that would bring total mileage to 100 for the day. Roadies call this a "Century Ride." However, this extra loop came just 4 miles into the ride. Surely, legs would feel fresh then, but what about 75 miles later? Larry and Matt and most of the rest of the team were determined that Monday would be a Century day. I wasn't so sure. My right knee had been bothering me off and on since my final 50-mile training ride back home. When the "Karras Loop" cutoff came, Larry and Matt awaited my decision. "Not gonna happen," I said. Guess I'm too old to sacrifice my body for glory, and in the end I was glad.
From there I rode by myself to Kimballton, where I stopped for biscuits and gravy like the kind my Aunt Arlene serves at the Stockland Cafe. Three miles later was Elk Horn, a Danish settlement famous for its windmill imported from Denmark and reconstructed in the center of town. Authentic Vikings in full-on battle gear were posing for pictures with the RAGBRAI'ers and high-fiving anyone with a free hand. While I waited for Matt and Larry to catch up from their extra miles, the Vikings decided to demonstrate how a typical charge would begin on the battlefield, which consisted of aggressively smacking their large sword/spear things against thick wooden shields. The Vikings suddenly turned from harmless to bowel-lightening scary. Then the shield-banging ended, high-fives from the Vikings resumed, and all was RAGBRAI-ish again.
After meeting up with me in Elk Horn, Larry and Matt set another aggressive pace and slowly disappeared out of sight. In Coon Rapids, they had a delicious ribeye sandwich waiting for me. Climbing out of the Raccoon River (middle branch) valley, the two sprinted up a long climb and were quickly out of sight once again. The previous night's wind gusts were obvious, with trees down along the roadsides. Cutting crews had just barely removed fallen branches in advance of the bike riders. A local gal viewing the biker entourage from her home mentioned that winds gusted to 80 mph. A couple miles later, an empty grain bin had blown off its foundation and was lying in a ditch on the left side of the road. Its drying fans settled in the opposite ditch. Many acres of corn were blown over, leaving what will surely be a challenging harvest. Once again, we'd dodged serious storms.
Scranton was the last town before Jefferson, 71 miles into my ride. The final 10-mile stretch was typical of most of the riding up to that point: straight into a headwind. My theory that westerly tailwinds would push us all the way to the Mississippi was proving to be about as reliable as a corn futures price projection. I lumbered into Jefferson, thankful I'd taken a pass on the Karras Loop. The rest of the team could have their glory and their sore knees.
Had I ridden those extra 17 miles, it's likely I would have been caught in the same heavy thunderstorm near Scranton that drenched several team members, including our elder statesman Ted Frank. Ted is a 67-year-old grandfather of three and a semi-retired attorney at the law firm of Arnold & Porter in Washington D.C. His riding pace was as steady as his determination to complete every mile of his first RAGBRAI. When he arrived at the county road just south of Scranton, law enforcement were directing riders to the main road to Jefferson, rather than the meandering RAGBRAI route through Scranton. When Ted and other Joyriders arrived in Jefferson, they brought reports of riders struck by lightning. Turns out those riders had only felt an indirect jolt from a nearby strike, but it was scary nonetheless.
Bob Mahoney, our host in Harlan, had done us a huge favor by arranging for a spot to park our RV and pitch tents in Jefferson. The Jefferson housing committee was unable to find us a host family that night, so we were prepared to park out in the fairgrounds on the east side of town. The address was the home of the owner of Wet Goods Bar & Grill in downtown Jefferson, who had some connection to the Mahoney's neighbors in Harlan. Our driver, Marlene, had done an excellent job of scaring off another team's bus which attempted to stake out our spot on the street next to the house. She had the RV all set up for us with cold Gatorade and beer. We didn't have access to the inside of the house, but a community center with showers was two blocks away.
That night, we ate more spaghetti at a local church and checked out the town square. One of the better cover bands I've heard in a long time was playing that night - the Johnny Holm Band. As was fairly typical of most evenings at RAGBRAI, the locals made up about half of the crowd, while many of the bike riders retired early to get a good night's sleep. Longest day I've ever done on a bicycle, in the books.
