Trestles and Trails

This past Sunday Mother Nature finally remembered that it is Spring and turned the outdoor thermostat up a few degrees, as well as giving us a break from the rain that never seemed to end last week. We jumped at the chance to get back out on our bicycles and put in a solid day of RAGBRAI training.

While we have been able to squeeze in some 15 mile rides after dinner every once in awhile, we have been feeling the pressure to get in some longer rides (a typical day on RAGBRAI is 60-80 miles). After eating a late breakfast we decided we had enough time to head out of Ames on South Dakota Ave and try out the new highway bike lanes completed this spring that go the entire nine miles south to Slater (a town made infamous in this post).

There is nothing quite like the feeling of riding smooth-tire bicycles on fresh asphalt (and by fresh I mean having been laid within the past year; asphalt laid earlier that same day would provide an entirely different and likely less enjoyable cycling experience). On the reasonably flat grade we felt as if we were gliding over the surface, propelled by the pollen spores bursting from the drainage ditch grass along the entire route. At various points Amy checked her speedometer and found that we were going 20+ MPH with our normal effort! This was a nice boost over our experience on RAGBRAI last year, when we could only get close to 20 MPH if we really pushed ourselves for short bursts on the flatter stretches. Apparently turning off the suspension in the front forks of our bikes really does make a difference--thanks to the fellow Bike World RAGBRAI charter member who gave us that tip last year after we returned. We're looking forward to putting it into action this year.

We reached Slater in what felt like no time at all, and as we turned onto the two-block long main street I was wondering if we'd have any luck finding a place to eat in the small town. Fortunately we saw some fellow cyclists who looked refreshed and ready to ride leaving the Take Down Bar & Grill. Clearly we had found the right spot for lunch.


We grabbed seats at the empty bar, ordered some sodas and burgers with fries, and watched NASCAR which happened to be on at that moment. Since racing isn't exactly my favorite spectator sport, I was elated when the bartender handed me the remote! I quickly found game seven of the NBA Playoffs game featuring the Oklahoma City Thunder vs. the Memphis Grizzlies, which we both found to be much more entertaining. Amy and I discussed the intricacies of the game, including how challenging and irritating it must be to play basketball with a big bushy beard like this guy.


Alas, our basketball watching was not for long, as an old timer named John soon came in, greeted the bartender by first name, then grabbed a seat near us and said, "I wonder if there's any NASCAR on... you ain't watching this are ya?"

Of course I didn't want to come across as the city slicker down from Ames who thinks he runs the place, so I obligingly bent the truth a little with my response.

"Nope."

The food was great, and as we ate our meal some more of the locals showed up, all of whom knew John. It was fun listening in on their conversations, including the story about a girl at the bar the previous night who had just moved there from Jacksonville, FL and though she would like it, but wasn't happy with the small town feel or the fact that, according to her, everyone who lived there was "creepy." I'm not sure how someone from Florida decides that Slater, IA would be a great relocation destination if they're not into the small-town thing, but perhaps she'll try relocating again a little further south to West Des Moines for the Jordan Creek Mall and more of a big city feel.

As for us, Slater and its Take Down Bar & Grill will definitely become a favorite bicycle destination of ours.

With our bellies full of energy-stoking calories, we headed out again, and jumped on the 25 mile long High Trestle Trail which forms a sort of boomerang shape with its tips pointing to the south and west, and the midsection "elbow" (that's a boomerang term, right?) pointing at Slater. Having heard a lot about the just-opened High Trestle Bridge, a 13-story tall, half-mile long pedestrian bridge over the Des Moines River, we were really interested in checking it out and riding over it.

Thirteen miles later, we came upon the bridge, and it did not disappoint! The following pictures don't do it justice, but they provide an idea of its awesomeness. For all those East or West Coasters who think Iowa is completely flat, I invite you to visit this bridge and gaze upon the impressive hills of the Des Moines River Valley. We may not have the Rockies or the Grand Canyon, but I would still pay money to see some crazy daredevil with a jetpack fly across this valley.


I cannot fathom how the concrete was poured for the path surface. The columns rising out of the river were already there from an older railroad bridge, but the surface was completely replaced, and apparently some brave concrete truck drivers had to back down the completed portion of the path to deliver the material needed to complete the next section. Wow.

The artistic touches on the bridge are interesting as well. The spiraling frame structures are intended to evoke the feeling of looking down a mine shaft, which were numerous in the area a few centuries ago and mined by immigrant Italians.


After continuing on a few more miles to the western endpoint of the trail at Woodward, we turned around and rode back, crossing the bridge again and stopping in nearby Madrid for a quick calorie boost with some ice cream at the Filling Station, which appropriately enough looks like (and probably once was) an old-timey filling station.


Finally we were ready for the thirteen mile trek back to Slater, followed by the last nine miles to Ames. Well, one of was ready at least. The other one (who may or may not be me, but if you could see me now let's just say I would be giving you my "shifty eyes") should probably have spent more time on the stationary bike at the rec center and less time perfecting their free-throw stroke over the past winter. More on that in a bit.

While the wind was relatively friendly to us during the first half of our journey, it seemed to have shifted when we turned around in Woodward, and from that point forward we would have constant headwind coming out the north east, which wasn't so great since our remaining directions of travel were east and north. After slogging through some grueling miles we finally arrived back at Slater, and found the oasis that is a Casey's General Store. Known for their gas, pizza, and sandwiches, we stopped in and consumed two out of those three (determining which two is left to the reader as a guessing game).

Amy's superior training regimen left her in pretty good shape, but I was feeling a bit run down from all the wind we rode through on the way back to Slater. After sitting on the curb for a while, soaking up some sun and consuming our dinner, I figured I was good to go for the last nine miles to the edge of Ames.

Turns out "good to go" was an overly optimistic opinion. "Ambivalent about lower limb amputation" would have been more apt after riding through a few miles on the highway bike lane with nothing but empty corn fields between us and the wind. My legs were becoming less and less functional with each passing farmhouse, and by the time we had inched back to Ames at an average speed of 8 MPH, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk down the stairs to my home office the next morning. We totaled 55 miles for the entire trip, which was a great accomplishment (last year we didn't get a 50+ mile ride in until July), but afterwards I realized I should have worked my distance up a bit more gradually and put in as much winter training as Amy.

Happily, I am writing this post a few days later, having stayed off the bike all of Monday and most of Tuesday, and at this point the consistency of my legs has improved from jelly to cookie dough. Hopefully another few days and they'll be back to a solid state.

As has happened more times than I'd like to admit in the past six months, I am once again learning the lesson that my doctor has explained quite well in layman's terms during my previous couple of visits.

"You aren't nineteen any more."