Dubuque biking and the Field of Dreams

Dubuque biking

One summer during college I planned a solo trip to get several states checked off my list. I would start southbound from La Crosse, WI and do a ride in Iowa. Then Illinois, Missouri, Indiana, Kentucky, maybe some of the southern states. I would end the trip in Cincinnati where I was helping my older brother Morris move to Minneapolis. As they say, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.

I packed my parents Chevy Cobalt with my luggage and loaded my road bike, a blue Cannondale named Shredder, into the trunk. The name was inspired by the name my older sister gave to her road bike, Master Splinter. Shredder is the arch nemesis of the ninja rat and his mutant turtles. I took the scenic Great River Road south from La Crosse to Dubuque, Iowa, my first stop.

I had never visited Dubuque before, despite it being near my hometown of La Crosse. There used to be a local band, “Three Beers Til Dubuque”, whose name was an homage to the duration of the trip between the towns, by riverboat I’m assuming. It was similar to La Crosse, but seemed older and with a distinct “Iowa” feeling. You know, heartland, hawkeyes, corn fields, and caucusing. Or better yet, a warm Sunday afternoon of golfing. Instead of golfing, I would do some Dubuque biking.

RAGRAI aspirations

I planned the exact route from Bicycling Magazine, called the “RAGRAI Warmup”. The real RAGBRAI, or Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, is on my pie-in-the-sky list. I got up early at my Motel 6 and took off. The beginning of the route was amazing. It consisted of lonesome country roads heading out of town and into the bluffs. There were great hill climbs and descents as well as the occasional view of the Muddy Mississippi. Dubuque biking was magical, like so many rides in the Driftless Area, https://jollyroutes.com/drifting-through-the-bluffs/. 

As I headed away from the river and west into farmland the heat of the day crept in. It had been in the 90s the prior afternoon, and was likely going to be a repeat performance. I rode on, slowly getting hotter and more fatigued. To make matters worse, I hit a confusing spot. The route was written on my gloves in sharpie, but lacking sufficient detail. There was a road that separated from itself a mile at a highway intersection. I took what I thought was the correct turn, but half a mile later the pavement turned to loose gravel.

I walked to a house with a man working in the yard and asked for water and directions. He kindly filled up my bottle with hose water and took me in his truck to where I was supposed to be. He was a local farmer and lectured me for a bit about riding alone on hot days. When I planned this adventure I imagined it would be a stress free cruise through scenic terrain. I didn’t envision being carted around as a result of cluelessness.

Field of Dreams

The farmer dropped me off at the intersection I had been looking for and I was on my way again. It was getting hotter, but I was determined to make it to the highlight of the route – The Field of Dreams. This was the actual filming location of the famous movie. I churned on and on until I saw the signs for the destination, made the turn and arrived. It was a surreal place. There were men dressed in baseball uniforms identical to the ones from the movie. Kids were running around everywhere. There was a farmhouse, a barn, and the field. Beyond, rows of cornfields. It is built, and they have come.

My next goal was to make it to Dyersville, the city farthest from Dubuque on the route. I biked on and found the Heritage Trail, which went straight into Dyersville. Then, fatigued to the point of feeling sick, I rolled into town and found a bar where I could order pizza.

If I take a cab, does the ride still count?

While waiting at the counter, I overheard the waitress tell one of the patrons to “keep an eye on him”. I probably looked like I would keel over at any moment. An old man at the bar made a typical old man wisecrack to me (“Boy you sure are quiet!”) but I was too out of it to play along. Ironically, the television was showing news about riders in the real RAGRAI who were suffering from the heat and abandoning their efforts. Who said Dubuque biking would just be a stroll through the corn fields?

I made my own decision to abandon the route and found a phone booth with a directory. I called a cab. About 15 minutes later a chunky man in a van pulled up. Unlike the farmer the taxi driver was very interested in my endeavor. He asked about different places I had biked and about where I planned to go. Also a cyclist, he shared that he had biked across the Florida Keys. “It’s great, you just crank and stare off into the ocean,” he said to me. We also chatted about baseball; Iowa is Cubs territory.

After the brush with heat exhaustion in Iowa I scaled back the trip. I would do only Indiana and Kentucky. The corn stalks had won the battle, but not the war.

An excerpt from “The Field of Dreams: Cycling Edition”

The Voice: If you write it they will read it.

Larry N: What? What was that?

The Voice: If you write it they will read it.

Larry N. A blog! Yes, yes. I’ll write a blog.

The Voice: Go the distance.

Larry N: I must bike in all 50 states, and blog as I go. I understand. I’ll go the distance.

The Voice: Even Iowa…go the distance.

Larry N: Half the distance rounds to a whole. When you’ve seen one corn field, you’ve seen ‘em all.