Whither RAGBRAI?

I know, I know, you’re all eagerly awaiting the RAGBRAI Chronicles, a recap of a week of cute boys and beer and corn and bikes and DUMP TRUMP conversations across Iowa and Sloth Ann almost coming to blows with someone and, well, all the rest.

But we all know I survived RAGBRAI, so those tales don’t have the immediacy, the here-and-now, the je ne sais quoi (that means “What the hell is Miss Tasha up to NOW?” in French) as do the stories of my current, umm, well-thought-out and completely rational plans okay?? Geez. It’s not like I’m heading off to remote parts of eastern Oregon to go on 100+ mile bike rides in alternating landscapes of desert and dense forest where forest fires might be happening where there’s no water to be found for hundreds of miles or anything.

Oh wait, I am.

So yes, I’ve decided to head back out to my beautiful vast empty stretches of country roads in what some of you call bumblefuck and what I call mecca. Because really, is there anything better than miles and miles of smooth-as-silk roads with no people, few cars, just Rage Cows for company? No. The answer to that is no.

Now, I’m no fool. Or at least not much of one. At least not all the time. ANYWAY. I now know why everyone has a large tub of gas in the back of their pickup trucks, and I will act accordingly, aka stopping for gas at every single gas station even if it’s just a few miles away from the last one. Not catching ME out, no sirree.

I now know that even though a town may be designated as such on a map, that’s a lie and said “towns” are nothing more than an old boarded up shoppe, if that. So when I look at my painstakingly created Garmin map and see that in the middle of my ride through the Malheur forest there’s supposedly a town called “Van,” I know this to be a lie. As I like to say, my mother didn’t raise many stupid children, and so I recall my mom’s words of wisdom at times like these: “Act helpless!” Oh, wait. That was actually what she said when I was setting off on RAGBRAI, so that I could get help from some hunky guy. Never mind.

I’m also going out there to put Plan A into action. Namely, to find a Hot Cowboy. Believe it or not, all appearances to the contrary, Miss Tasha isn’t getting any younger, and Kone has needs that include leaning against and being doted on by as many people as possible. So Plan A is basically this: I plan to ride my bike along the desolate roads of eastern Oregon until I meet Hot Cowboy.

 

I think this plan is sound.

Again, the pearls of wisdom from my mom come to mind: “Don’t look at anyone!” Oh wait, that’s actually what she says when I’m visiting, every time I leave her house to head into Chicago. “They’re shooting everyone!” Never mind.

So, to recap. I’m heading into the desert where temps are in the 90s, they keep warning about forest fires popping up, there are no people much less water stops for many many miles, and I have very long rides planned into areas where all the roads may or may not be paved.

What could possibly go wrong?