FIELD OF DREAMS : Savoring the Heartland in Iowa’s Great American Bike Ride

A hot, muggy day in late July, pedaling with 7,500 other bicyclists, is not the best time to come face to face with one of the little-known facts about the Hawkeye State: Iowa is not flat.

Portions of it are decidedly hilly--a roller coaster endlessly undulating eastward from the Missouri River, 50 to 100 feet up and down. Over and over again.

As if the topography isn’t bumpy enough, the people who built the roads undoubtedly had cyclist torture in mind when they carved a path in straight lines across every bounce and wrinkle.

From each hilltop, all that is visible is more hills, with the next town sitting atop the highest one in sight, a beacon shimmering in a mid-afternoon field of dreams.

So why would any reasonably well-adjusted adult want to go on such an excursion? For the honor of taking part in the annual bicycling pilgrimage across Iowa: an exercise in pain, heat exhaustion and camaraderie known affectionately as “RAGBRAI.”

The journey runs for seven days during the last full week in July, beginning on Sunday with a ceremonial dunking of rear wheels in the Missouri River, and ending a week later with another ceremonial dunking, this time of front wheels in the Mississippi River. It is so wildly popular that admission is by lottery and the entry cut-off date is set months ahead at April 1.

The not particularly poetic term RAGBRAI (pronounced rag-bry) stands for (The Des Moines) Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa.

Now in its 18th year, the ride is an Iowa institution that has put the state on the map for cyclists throughout the nation, and has spawned dozens of imitations from Oregon to Georgia.

It began unpretentiously when one columnist for the Register challenged another to get back in touch with the “real” Iowa by bicycling across the state. The challenge was accepted, and the two writers invited their readers to join in.

Much to their surprise, 300 people showed up. The next year the number was more than 2,500. Within a few years, participation was limited to 7,500.

The concept is simple. For a nominal fee--this year it’s $50--riders get maps, emergency services, traffic control, free camping and baggage trucks. Because the goal is to see the “real” Iowa, overnight stops are generally in towns so small that the arrival of the army-size caravan of cyclists, armed with accompanying support personnel, often doubles or triples their populations.

Motels become scarce, but there are bumper crops of county fairgrounds, high school lawns and front yards of courageous residents that spring into mammoth tent cities overnight, then melt away with the dawn.

Some cyclists even have family or friends accompany them in RVs, so that they can rough it by day without having to suffer the indignities of camping by night.

Each day, dozens of vans carrying spare parts and bike mechanics comb the course, ready to perform bicycle surgery ranging from fixing flats to rebuilding bearings.

Padded seat covers sell like bottled water after an earthquake. Corn fields double as restrooms. A comedian farmer marks one side of the road “His,” the other side “Hers.” On occasion, a truly generous community will offer free beer to everybody.

The entire state loves RAGBRAI. The route changes each year, so many towns get to share in the fun. Farmers quit work to sit on their lawns, watching the endless stream of cyclists flow by on the quiet county roads that make Iowa perfect for this event.

The route for each year’s RAGBRAI is a closely guarded secret until it is announced in February. This year, cyclists are lucky. The 495-mile route is relatively flat.

At the overnight stops, community groups and churches compete to offer the most tasty dinners, which average about $5, while other groups turn each day’s route into a succession of food stops, from bake sales to homemade ice cream to pork burgers to watermelon.

It is no surprise that RAGBRAI has been referred to as “The Thing That Ate Iowa.” Hungry riders can easily eat up $10 to $20 a day, munching their way across the state.

Many participants have noted that it is difficult to lose weight on an outing that by all logic should leave them Jane Fonda fit.

Still, it is more than mere money that motivates such fanfare, although there is enough monetary reward that small towns begin competing a year ahead for the privilege of being overnight stops.

More than that, the statewide interest in RAGBRAI seems to stem from a desire to be part of a spectacle of thousands of people in motion.

For cyclists, the drawing card is likewise being part of the event. It doesn’t matter where they are heading, but simply that they are going.

In many respects, RAGBRAI is a reflection of our mobile society. Fifteen miles into a day, for example, you might meet someone you like.

You chat for five miles, then, by conscious choice or an eddy in the pack, you separate. You are alone again. You put down new roots, talking to the next rider of suitably matched ability.

Again, you separate. As in life, people who meet on the road seldom ride a dozen miles together.

Put that way, it sounds a bit depressing. But RAGBRAI is, for a short time, a small universe. Even with 7,500 participants, after a few days you begin to repeat people.

Someone you haven’t seen for three days will shout your name with enthusiasm. Another will invite you to join him for dinner. “Small-world” stories abound.

This is RAGBRAI at its best: a free-form existence with friendships that ebb and flow in surprising patterns until eventually you develop a kinship with the entire group that may be nearly as strong as your kinship with specific individuals.

It is also a refreshingly simple life. All you need to worry about is keeping the body and the machine running.

There is no need for route planning, no need to worry about food or water. There are few cars. (The Register publishes the route each day and warns drivers away. A contingent of state troopers polices the route to aid in traffic control.)

If your body is up to it, it is relaxing and simple--life from the road shoulder rather than life in the fast lane.

Admittedly, there can be a tendency toward rowdiness, though ride organizers have done much to control this in recent years.

But if you want a quiet night’s sleep, the best bet is to pack your gear into a small bag--something you can carry on your bicycle--so that without unnecessary sweat you can put distance between your campsite and the densest crowd, which tends to huddle timidly within a few hundred yards of the baggage trucks.

Eating also can be a challenge. Restaurants and cafes are usually packed with cyclists who line up out the door. Food lines for church and service-club dinners can mean one-hour waits. Some try to beat the lines by assembling for dinner absurdly early; others wait until nearly dark, hoping that there will be at least a few crumbs left to nibble.

But the greatest test may be to gain a place among the cyclists. It is highly competitive.

To obtain an application, call Lois Peterson, the Register’s special-events coordinator, at (515) 284-8282 or send a business-size, self-addressed, stamped envelope to RAGBRAI, P.O. Box 622, Des Moines, Iowa 50303. Applications must be returned postmarked no later than April 1 to be eligible for the lottery that will select the 7,500 people for this year’s ride.

Riders wishing to be accompanied by personal support vehicles, such as RVs, must obtain vehicle passes. The application package will explain the procedure for obtaining them. In previous treks, passes have been limited to 500 vehicles.

So if you picture Iowa as nothing but boring flatland and cornfields--no place to take a vacation--here’s your opportunity to discover the truth of the state in those fields of dreams.