The early mornings didn’t stop there and, in fact, got worse over the course of the week. Every day we were up and dressed before the birds had even thought to start their songs. While the dawn was beautiful, I personally find the back of my eyelids to be even more so, and a meager breakfast of a half a blue Gatorade and a peanut butter Clif Bar didn’t do much to help. Still, day after day I somehow found myself seated shivering on the front of the semi-recumbent tandem I rode with my dad, my feet clipped into the pedals, legs resting on the slightly orange sunscreen-stained boom of the bike, striped sleeves pulled up to my shoulders, and a white and blue helmet resting on my head before the sun crested the horizon. Even with the ungodly hours, made even worse by the sound of the constant parties and ear-splittingly loud music all night long, once we hit the road the day took an upward turn-- not just because the glaciers didn’t make it to the parts of Iowa RAGBRAI goes through. The days consist of waking much too early, eating everything from gourmet pastas to grilled pork chops, and being taunted by signs promising, “this is the last hill”. As we pedaled past cornfields and soybeans and white farmhouses we were approached by people from all around the globe who came to take part in the ride. With the diversity, food, and mixing pot of nationalities RAGBRAI is a 7 day between two rivers in the Midwest.
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