How To Be A Hill

Unfortunately, the battery on the FlipCam died on me the morning of the last day. Bummer. As usual I didn’t know what to expect on the day’s ride but whatever came our way on the last day I wanted to get on it on tape. I guess the last day of RAGBRAI can only be experienced and not be told in any format (video or type.)

But when did that stop me . . .

Usually the last day is quicker then the rest of them. It does not depend on the bike miles but more on the car miles that need to get accomplished later that evening. So, we (my bro and I) hurried along the 40-something mile day. No nap, no lolly-gagging. The most time we spent off the bike was for my brother to get some home-made ice cream. Soon after the ice cream was the most talked about piece of terrian of the whole RAGBRAI route, Potter’s Hill. The chatter about this “hill” had satsuratted the day with fears, stories, facts, and frustation. My brother and I caught on to the trend and started to add ghost stories and myths to the tall-tale of Potter’s Hill.

“Other hills all over the world come to study Potter’s Hill to learn how to be a hill.”

“One dot on the King of The Mountians jersey is named after Potter’s Hill.”

“If you walk up Potter’s Hill your soul will come to rest there at the bottom when you die.”

“You can break the sound barrier going down the front side of Potter’s Hill.”

And on and on it went . . .

Hills in Iowa are different then hills in Tennessee. Iowa hills you can see all the way to the top, they are long and straight. When you ride these hills you see the progress you have made and just have to keep yours eyes on the top. Tennessee hills are not visible. What I mean is that when you start at the bottom you can’t see the top, it curls arounds not letting you know where it ends until you come right up on it.

Potter’s Hill was a Tennessee hill. I laughed. Then switched my mind (and gears) over to a Tennessee riding pace.

This is Potter’s Hill.

It is was fun. My brother and I rode the whole thing. We have the tattoo to prove it.

Riding into the last town, Dubuque was a piece of cake after that “hill.”

Once I got off the saddle at our meeting place, it hit me that RAGBRAI 2010 was over and that I would not be returning until next year. Tear. What got me even more was the brief thought of I would not be on my bike until that same time next year. WHAT?!

But more on that tomorrow. (Last post, promise)

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