Fifteen Thousand Bicycles

Today is the sixth day of Ragbrai.  No, Ragbrai is not some obscure religious holiday--it's the Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa.  This is an event in which 20,000 bicyclists from all over the state, the nation, and the world ride across Iowa from the Missouri River to the Mississippi.  This year, the route chosen is 440 miles long, and happens to go right past my house.  They try to route this traffic away from larger cities and main highways and over the rural black-top roads of the Iowa "back country." And I live along just such a road.  This is the second time in 35 years that the route has gone past my front door.  It's like the annual wildebeest migration in the Serengeti, only with wheels and without the crocodiles.
      Originally, this event was begun as a publicity stunt by the DesMoines Register.  About 40 years ago, two popular columnists challenged each other to a bike ride across the state, and Register readers were invited to tag along.  They assumed they might get a dozen takers. Instead, thousands showed up. And over a few years, it grew to an event which sometimes draws over 20,000 riders.  No one knows the exact number--there's no way to really count them.  The number of participants officially registered is usually over 10,000, but about half never bother to register. The police just cordon off certain roads and turn them loose.  And all small towns welcome the hoard, as it is a wonderful commercial opportunity.
   As I looked out my 2nd floor window at 7 AM this morning, the hoard had already descended, and there was a procession of bikes as far as the eye could see in both directions, and several dozen had gathered to rest on my lawn.  These folks are notoriously polite, genteel, and obsessively careful not to brake anything or leave any trash behind.
   It started to rain and the roof of my portico beckoned, and soon 50 or so people were gathered beneath it.  I went down to talk to them.  They are of all ages, but are mostly educated, professional types, and interesting to talk to.  Internationally, Ragbrai, as a bicycle event, is second only to the Tour De France in name recognition, yet it is not a race.  When teams come here from Europe, it takes them a day or two to wrap their minds around the idea that these bikers are not racing---they don't give a damn who gets to the Mississippi first--they just want to enjoy the ride.  It is a bicycle celebration--not a race.
     The pack has been trouping by for over three hours and it just now shows signs of slacking off. I live on a corner lot, and some enterprising soul has set up a truck with a food stand on the crossroad.  Over a hundred people are now standing on my lawn eating hot dogs, but so far no one has dropped a single wrapper or soda can.   They're nice people, these bikers. Totally insane--but nice.