A few months ago, I stumbled across a YouTube video about a seven-day bicycle ride across Iowa. It was called RAGBRAI—short for The Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa—and I was instantly hooked.
Now in its 52nd year, RAGBRAI was born in 1973 when two writers from The Des Moines Register, John Karras and Donald Kaul, dared each other to cycle across the state and document the experience.
What started as a quirky experiment has grown into the largest, longest, and oldest recreational bicycle touring event in the world.
Each summer, RAGBRAI attracts between 30,000 and 60,000 cyclists from all 50 states and countries around the globe. Riders range from seasoned athletes to first-timers like me—war veterans, hippies, families, teams with hilarious jerseys, and the occasional daredevil in costume. A few ride e-bikes, which sparked lively debate among the traditionalists. My take? If it gets you outside and into the ride, more power to you—literally.
I was looking for something that pushed me out of my comfort zone, and this checked every box. I hadn’t slept in a tent since I was twelve. My only experience with porta-potties was at questionable music festivals. And the furthest I’d ever ridden in a day? Thirty-five miles. What could possibly go wrong?
I reached out to friends and family across the country, and to my surprise, seven brave souls signed on. Five of them are seasoned marathon runners and Ironman competitors. My two family members? Like me, blissfully inexperienced.
On July 17th, we converged in Iowa from Florida, North Carolina, Georgia, Colorado, and California to begin what would be a 406-mile journey from Orange City to Guttenberg. The route was considered one of the shorter, flatter ones—though any veteran will tell you that this year’s headwinds and heat made it anything but easy.
Longtime RAGBRAI rider and retired columnist Chuck Offenburger, who co-hosted the ride from 1983 to 1998, rode the first 15 miles and told us, “I cannot remember a RAGBRAI so beaten up by headwinds as this one.” He wasn’t exaggerating.
To keep logistics manageable, we opted for a charter service—and it was one of the best decisions we made. Our charter, Pork Belly Ventures, handled everything from campsite setup to showers, meals, and even cold beer at the end of each day. Their crew runs a tight, cheerful ship, transforming a convoy of tractor-trailers into a mobile village complete with 76 shower stalls, spotless portapotties, live music, and more camaraderie than I ever expected. We left our bags in our tents each morning, only to find them waiting for us, neatly placed, at our destination every evening.
Our routine settled in fast: lights out by 9 p.m., up by 5 a.m., and pedaling by 6:30 to beat the afternoon heat. Every 10 to 15 miles, we rolled into another small Iowa town—many with populations under 1,000—that had gone all out to welcome us. Locals sold homemade pies, cold drinks, breakfast burritos, and offered everything from bike repairs to impromptu sprinkler showers. Music blared—sometimes live, sometimes from a DJ—and the atmosphere felt more like a festival than a cycling event.
State troopers, many of them playing party tunes from their squad cars, kept intersections safe. Ambulances and support vehicles shadowed us all week, thankfully there when needed, including for overheated riders on the toughest days.
As one of our group, Julie, put it, “It wasn’t about the miles—it was about the people. The small-town kindness, the cold drinks handed out by local kids, church ladies serving pie, fire departments with sprinklers. Turning acquaintances into teammates and friends into family.”
I couldn’t agree more. One unexpected perk? With so many riders in remote towns, cell service was unreliable at best. And you know what? I didn’t miss it. I’m an avid news consumer at home, but being disconnected gave me a much-needed mental break. It’s something I want to carry forward, even now that I’m back.
RAGBRAI wasn’t just a ride—it was a full-body experience, a test of endurance, community, and joy. It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever. And maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of a new yearly tradition.
