RAGBRAI "Baggers" 2025

Summary: Gary Reinking and I did RAGBRAI again this summer, as "baggers" no less, carrying all our gear on our bikes and we drove from California to Iowa and back for the pleasure. I held off posting about the experience for four months, thinking I'd have some revelation about my reasons for doing it a second time, but no epiphany came so I share this now to remove it from my to-do list. Suffice to say I relished the experience while Gary remains certain he's seen the last of both RAGBRAI and Iowa, though he, too, enjoyed many aspects of the trip this year. See the accompanying photos for a vague idea what the ride entails, keeping in mind they don't convey the myriad social interactions available for those so inclined, and read on only if you are interested in a few more details about my experience.

So, one or two of you may recall that I rode RAGBRAI in late July of 2023 with my college friend and roommate, Gary Reinking. This is the yearly ride across the length of Iowa, west to east, over seven days and 2023 was one of the longest, hottest, hilliest routes in the 52 year history of the event (the route changes every year). That year saw several days of ~90 miles with temperatures between 90-100 degrees and very high humidity, weather made all the more oppressive by an Iowa phenomenon known as corn sweat (look it up). 2023 was also the most crowded ride on record, by far, given it was the 50th anniversary year and there was some vague idea that a world record was in the offing, with perhaps fifty thousand cyclists partaking on the shorter day into Des Moines (an effort later abandoned for safety and other logistical reasons).

In any case, Gary and I completed every mile of that ride and were of one mind at the end of it: only a hapless fool would do this thing twice, especially given all the travel hassle involved for left coasters like ourselves. While the struggle and suffering were real, then, RAGBRAI isn't so easily forsaken and, for reasons I still don't completely understand, I began plotting a return trip a scant few weeks after recovering from the 2023 event.

Fast forward to 2025 and Gary and I had not only decided to do RAGBRAI again, hapless fools that we clearly are, but we also opted to ride as "baggers," carrying all our gear on our bikes in panniers and other bags (see the attached photos). Most people avail themselves of various services to carry their gear during the ride, from the bare-bones RAGBRAI truck to more "luxurious" charter services which will set up and break down one's tent each day, to friends or family members following along in RVs or team buses—there are as many different ways to do RABRAI as there are participants.

Baggers are a very small percentage of the overall rider pool (the few, the proud) and have the freedom to camp anywhere they wish, take any route they like, arrive and depart on their own schedule and basically do their own thing, which may or may not coincide with the proclivities of the masses. True baggers, I've since learned, eschew the crowds and are known to intentionally leave the official route to find and close down little out-of-the-way bars in rural backwaters, and thence make their way east, inebriated, in the early morning hours while others are sleeping.

Gary and I were not true baggers and generally followed the official route, completely sober, but did avail ourselves of the best campsites in most overnight towns and this freedom, alone, made the trip so much more enjoyable for me. The only drawback with this year's ride was the first four days all saw strong headwinds, with temperatures between 90-100F, which made progress with our full panniers and heavier bikes slow and difficult though still manageable.

Wednesday's ~72 miles, in particular, were very hot with an unrelenting 15-20mph headwind, and if the day's ride wasn't sufficiently difficult a massive thunderstorm rolled into the overnight town round 10pm, pummeling the campground with ceaseless rain, thunder, lightning and strong wind gusts until 3am the following morning. I'd forgotten how much more severe a good midwestern thunderstorm can be compared to the relatively mild storms we see in California, weather made all the more intimidating when one is "sleeping" in a small tent in a large open field. Numerous tents failed during the night, events marked with screams and shouts as people abandoned everything and ran for the cover of a high school gym a quarter mile away.

Thursday dawned beautiful if wet and the final three days of the ride included mostly tailwinds and slightly cooler weather. It rained on us for 2-3 hours on the final morning but that didn't bother me in the least, while the last 20-30 miles through Amish Country leading to Guttenberg, Iowa, and the Mississippi River were spectacular. I lost count of the number of plainly-dressed children adorned in bonnets and straw hats we saw, sitting on fence posts, on the backs of wagons or horses, on front porches and the like, all turned out to see the rumored mass of bike riders move past their homes and farms. They looked like hobbits in a part of Iowa which could be mistaken for the shire and were universally quick with a wave and a smile.

Gary and I both regret not stopping to take photos, as other riders did, perhaps offering a donation for the privilege, but it just seemed a little odd in the moment. I was able to stop at a roadside lemonade stand staffed by four Amish siblings, however, I their only patron for several minutes, and purchased two glasses of their delicious if not altogether cold beverage. Asked in a near whisper by the oldest girl of perhaps ten where I was from, the answer "California" elicited bulging eyes from two or three of the children (the youngest couldn't have been four).

And perhaps that, in chief, is why one does RAGBRAI—simply and obviously for the people. I'm sometimes an introvert but during the seven days of the ride I spoke with well more than 100 different people from all over the world, both on and off the bike, conversations which lasted perhaps 30 seconds to 30 minutes or more and it seems universally understood that when one party has had enough one simply parts ways, with or without a word or salutation.

In camp the third or fourth night of the ride Gary and I met a gentleman bagger who had camped near us the previous evening and recognized us, which emboldened him sufficiently to offer the following introduction, replete with manic hand gestures: "Hello, I'm Jim, I'm socially awkward and have anxiety issues but RAGBRAI is the one time of the year when I can be around other people and it's generally okay." We peppered him with questions about his bicycle and trailer, having learned the one sure topic everyone warms to is their bike, and ended up chatting with him for 20 or 30 minutes. Moments like that are everywhere available on RAGBRAI—one need only welcome them.

So, will I do this ride again? A fool and his RAGBRAI are not easily parted so I almost certainly will, especially if the route ever travels through Ainsworth and Washington, Iowa, the southern part of the state where my mother was born and raised. If you enjoy cycling and can tolerate heat, humidity, kybos and other people midst a sea of spandex perhaps you, too, should consider it.

The Cult of Trump

Whatever the Republican Party once was; whatever Republicans still imagine themselves to be—the party of Lincoln, the party of Reagan, stalwarts of free markets, the rule of law or fiscal and social conservatism—it is clear to this observer, who is neither a Republican nor a Democrat, that today's GOP leadership has become the single gravest danger to the American Union since this country's Civil War.

No external or internal calamity in the intervening 160 years has divided us in a manner remotely similar to that now caused by the slavish devotion of some to one unworthy man, while you, dear friend, if you remain in the Cult of Trump, have utterly forgotten or forsaken what it means to be American.

RAGBRAI 2023

So, I did this thing called RAGBRAI L (https://ragbrai.com/) with Gary Reinking last week, where "L" connotes the 50th anniversary of the famed bike ride across the length of Iowa, west to east. This year's incarnation included about 527 miles over seven days of riding, several of those days in considerable heat (mid-90s with sufficient humidity to reach a "feels like" index of 108F). We were joined by 30,000+ other registered riders and a large number of "bandits," those who refuse to register for various reasons yet ride some or all of the route alongside those of us who (meekly) follow the rules.

I remain at a loss to describe how I feel about this experience, given it alternated between the single dumbest thing I've ever undertaken, voluntarily, on those longer, hotter days while trundling through endless vistas of monotonous corn and soy beans, to something like sublime in the early morning, when the sun rose over those same corn fields shrouded in fog and I was moving along a two-lane highway with thousands of other cyclists, all seemingly happy and excited for the day ahead, never mind the many deprivations the ride all but requires.

A typical RAGBRAI day involved waking between 4:30-5:00am, given you're surrounded by thousands of other campers who choose to rise at that time, breaking camp, packing and hitting the road as quickly as possible. The RAGBRAI-savvy were riding by 5:00am, when the state troopers closed the route to vehicular traffic and the earlier start allowed them to beat more of the afternoon heat. Gary and I were slower in the morning and couldn't seem to get on the road until 6:30-7:00am most days.

People frequently ate breakfast round mile 10 or 20, followed by myriad other stops throughout the day for RAGBRAI's vaunted culinary and other roadside attractions (beer, vodka lemonade, pork chops, ice cream, petting zoos, water features and every flavor of nice person and eccentric may be chief among them). We then arrived in the overnight town sometime between 4:00-6:00pm depending upon the day's mileage and number of stops, when we'd set up camp again and wait in long lines to use the restrooms ("kybos" in RAGBRAI parlance), shower and acquire food, which took until 9pm some nights. But the tents didn't cool down sufficiently for sleep until 10:30-11:00pm (for me, at least), so I never got what I would term a good night's sleep—perhaps 4-5 hours if I was lucky.

Compounding the sleep issue was the fact that everything we brought with us was moist after the first night—there's so much humidity and dew that nothing we had in the way of clothing or camping gear was even remotely dry during the week, no matter the material. One might assume that donning wet cycling clothing in a moist tent at 5:00am became almost routine by week's end yet, no, I will never learn to enjoy this particular facet of RAGBRAI.

The one advantage Gary and I did have over most other campers was Joe Carpenter, seen on the left in the photos attached to this post. We met Joe on the flight from Denver to Omaha and we set up our shipped bikes together in Sioux City the day before the ride began. Joe was a former racer for a team in Portland and I don't know that he broke a sweat on any given day during the week. He was typically one of the first people to arrive in an overnight town and would secure a campsite with the best (or some modicum of) shade, as well as two spots on either side of his tent for Gary and I, and this small luxury was worth more than I can tell you on at least 2-3 evenings.

One of the photos below shows Joe, Gary and I dipping our rear wheels in the Missouri River before the start of the ride in Sioux City, IA (the day before, actually, so we're still in our street clothing), a tradition which also calls for one to dip the front wheel of one's bike in the Mississippi River after the ride is over (we opted against this given the wait was more than an hour). The second photo shows Joe, Gary and I in front of the RAGBRAI sign, also in Sioux City the day before the ride started, while the third photo is of me after having just crossed Iowa's famed High Trestle Trail Bridge, an amazing rail trail which is a major attraction in its own right (the trail was not on the official route but was a worthy six-mile detour).

So, should you do RAGBRAI? Will I ever do RAGBRAI again?! No idea, honestly, though with each passing day my memories of the event grow more positive and I now know how I could make the ride both easier and more enjoyable were I to return. Were I to return ...

"It's just a flesh wound!"

This could very well be a melancholy iPad first, and not one I am particularly proud of. I arrived home this evening to find my son Tyler enjoying his reward for completing homework, reading, and a bath well before bedtime: a few minutes with his favorite game du jour, Glu Games Dragon Slayer. But he was doing furious on-screen battle with … his pinkies. And losing handily, it must be said.

I asked if this pinkie assault were some new cheat or feint to befuddle the dragons or the game mechanics and he looked at me solemnly, held up both index fingers, and I was shocked to see a layer or two of skin missing from the tip of each.

Now, the iPad screen remains a fairly frictionless surface until heated to a couple hundred degrees by the frenzied jabbing, swiping, slashing, and tapping of two small, unsuspecting fingertips, a device defect which, significantly -- dangerously -- is not disclosed in the product documentation, as my newly-retained legal counsel will make clear should Apple decide against settling out of court for a few more iPads, MacBook Pros, software packages, etc.

On behalf of your Windows computer

For the second time in as many years I added our phone numbers to the National Do Not Call Registry, in response to the frequency with with which we've been barraged by spam callers of late, but our experience suggests that this "registry" restricts only those individuals who wish to peddle Guatemalan hardwood flutes, Canadian pharmaceuticals, and Swedish sphincter relaxants all on the same call.

Any number of opinion polls, suspect charities, political interests, and purveyors of window glazing remain free, clearly, to harass the shit out of us each and every evening, and the most frustrating thing is that 90% of the time when we do trouble ourselves to answer the phone there's naught but a few clicks and a disconnect on the other end, denying us (me, really) the satisfaction of belching a sonnet into the receiver, an admittedly childish gesture but one which is rarely construed as "yes," or "please let me send you money!"

Things reached a new low this morning, however, when I took the following call from my old friend "Unavailable" while working from home, alone. Less a spammer and more a criminal, the caller likely hailed from India, with a pronounced accent and prim phone manner -- he was exceedingly earnest at the beginning of the call:

Me: Hello?

Caller: Sir, I am calling on behalf of your Windows computer. You are in trouble, sir.

Me: [Speechless -- I do not own a Windows computer, nor any computer which reaches out in time of need -- but am swallowing air as fast as I can to level Shakespeare at him when the time is ripe]

Caller: Sir, are you there? It is imperative that we check your computer for viruses and worms immediately.

Me: [Still trying to decide whether I simply hang up or play along, but a somewhat slow day at work, from home, urges the latter] Uh, wouldn't you be calling on behalf of Microsoft, and not Windows?

Caller: Sir, this is a serious situation. Your Windows computer contacted our department to let us know that you are in trouble. Please take a seat at your computer. Are you at your computer now?

Me: One second. [I decide to play along until such time as he knows that I know that we both know that he's an a-hole]

Caller: Sooo many computers are infected, sir. We have been very busy.

Me: Golly, I am no longer AFK, I am at my computer. [At this point I affect my best Gomer Pyle, thinking we would quickly reach the a-hole revelation together and get on with our separate days, but he doesn't notice the ridiculous impersonation or doesn't care]

Caller: Now, sir, in the lower left corner do you see the Start menu? Do you see it, sir? Click that menu, please.

Me: Shazam! I have that ol' Start menu up now.

Caller: Very good, sir. Now, can you right-click on the Computer item in that menu. C-O-M-P-U-T-E-R, sir. What do you see when you right-click on Computer, sir?

Me: [Still Gomer Pyling away] Surprise, surprise, surprise, that there menu just says, 'Please inform the caller that a chicken is pecking corn from his rectum.'

Caller: [Pauses] Sir, do you think this is a joke? Do you think that I am playing with you? [His voice breaks with a little laughter and we are nigh on the a-hole revelation]

Me: [Respectful at first but crescendoing to anger with hints of indignant nerd] Well, the problem you're up against, sir, is that I work with computers, have for the past 25 years, and I'm running Linux, so F*CK YOU!

I ended the call with those words and pecked out this angry missive, but just as I was about to get back to work I got another call from Unavailable, this time a recorded message from State Senator Joe Simitian, one I've heard two dozen times already, informing me in a chipper voice that he would be holding sidewalk office hours soon....

Is ridding ourselves of the landline the only remedy?

Rest In Peace, Richard Drury (1936 - 2012)

I lost one of my very best friends New Years Day and, as it happens, the one I've known the longest. He and I didn't always get along when I was in my teens and early twenties but, thankfully, our mutual interests pulled us together over the many years since, and our love and respect for one another only grew with each game of chess, round of golf, layover in Menlo Park, and visit with other friends and family.

Rest in peace, Richard Drury. You died as bravely and serenely as you lived. Few people leave this world with so many wishing you hadn't. I may never be half the man or friend you were to so many but I hope to be every bit as good a father and husband.

Richard Drury with granddaughter Katrina, Ukiah, CA, 2004