They say the last day in the Register's Annual Great Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI) is a sprint for the finish. We didn't want to be among the crazies that burned pace lines down long hills approaching the finish toward the Mississippi River. But Steve was like a horse turned toward the barn and I had to keep up.

We broke from the camp we'd shared with about 60 strangers by 5:50 a.m. this morning, the last of seven straight days of riding across Iowa. Turns out we were in the first wave and drew closer to the front as we rode, with a quick stop for fruit and cookies at Eldridge, which had rolled out a short red carpet for us. No one knows on the last day how many riders will stop in for refreshment, as the ride is the second shortest of the week, just 53 miles, and most are anxious to get home.

BR photo by Steve Moorhouse

After a break, time to rejoin the steady line of riders
that rolled for at least six hours past any single point.

Some regular vendors who had provided food services along the route didn't even set up on the last day, knowing from experience that too few riders in the the six-hour stream would pull over to relax and eat.  

My riding buddy and old friend from Army days, Steve, and I paused just two miles from the Mississippi to savor the moment.  We ate a horrible energy bar of some kind and sipped Gatorade laced water. Steve said the reason the bars must be good for us is that they require so much water to wash them down and it is from the water we derive the most benefit.

We watched a steady stream of riders turn toward town and observed what a remarkable week it had been. Over the course of 500 miles in seven days Steve had seven flats and hit the deck hard, cracking his helmet. We'd struggled up or attacked countless hills; caught pace lines for a vigorous, fast ride that vacuumed miles; seen all manner of crazy outfits and bike styles we didn't know existed; been rained on and warned to seek shelter at 2 a.m. by the civil patrol; raced a storm toward shelter at the end of a 110 mile day; enjoyed vistas over vast miles of the world's most fertile farm land, blanketed ear to ear in corn or soybeans; rode over the Cedar River which flooded so badly this spring and saw it still flowing full, strong and defiant; covered the entire state of Iowa west to east and created memories we'll share the rest of our lives.  

We threw our legs over the saddle for the last couple miles into LeClaire and I was unprepared for the reception, or the feelings it would raise in me. Residents lined the streets applauding us as if we'd just won the marathon at the Olympics. Children carried large signs telling us how far it was to the finish line. Women and children held out free water bottles to grab as we rode past.

When we crested the last hill in the little town and the mighty Mississippi spread out before us, I couldn't help it. Tears welled in my eyes, dripped there from a deep emotional reservoir bubbling over from a personal sense of accompolishment 30 years in the making.

I was here. It was over. I was glad to be done riding, and glad to be heading home. But I was not glad the experience was drawing to an end.

A community develops during this week-long event. We're strangers, but we have something big in common - the bike. And we're camping out in a honeycomb of tents made from material thin enough that you hear the person in the tent next to you shift on a squeaky air mattress during the night; the first zipper that releases the first tent flap in the morning is the alarm clock for the entire group; one person's cough is everyone's pain and no one complains standing in line at the Kybo or for a shower consisting of a water bag, warmed in the sun, dripping over you in a 4x4 stand up tent.

RAGBRAI doesn't make the world go round. In fact, I realized as I stopped in Cincinnati on my way home, from where I'm writing this, that I had no idea what was happening in the world this week. For 10 days my concern was the weather, not the price of gas or level of the DOW or how low consumer confidence has sunk. That's a pretty liberating way to spend a vacation.