The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Cyclist: What 409.6 Miles Across Iowa Taught Me About Life
There’s something about pushing your body to its limits that forces you to confront the parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. For me, that confrontation came on a bike, 409.6 miles across Iowa, during RAGBRAI—the Des Moines Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa. On the surface, it’s a week-long cycling event. But dig deeper, and it’s a masterclass in human resilience, family bonds, and the unexpected ways we find meaning in suffering.
Why Iowa? Why Bikes?
Iowa isn’t exactly the first place that comes to mind when you think of epic adventures. But for me, it’s always been a place of constancy. My family roots run deep there, and in a life marked by upheaval—divorce, loss, mental health struggles—Iowa has been my anchor. So when I heard about RAGBRAI, it felt like more than a cycling challenge; it was a chance to reconnect with something solid.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Iowa uses something as simple as a bike ride to bring people together. RAGBRAI isn’t just about pedaling; it’s a rolling festival of 40,000 riders, each with their own story. Personally, I think this is where the magic lies. It’s not the miles that matter—it’s the moments in between.
The Suffering That Surprised Me
Here’s the thing: I’m not a cyclist. My training was laughable—400 miles total, with a longest ride of 30 miles. I showed up with hubris and a cheap road bike, convinced I could muscle through it. Spoiler alert: I was wrong.
But what broke me wasn’t the physical pain. It was the loneliness. Cycling is often romanticized as a communal activity, but during RAGBRAI, riders spread out like an accordion. For hours, I was alone in a 15-foot bubble, battling heat, humidity, and my own restless mind. No headphones allowed for safety reasons, so there was nowhere to hide from my thoughts.
One thing that immediately stands out is how solitude can be both a curse and a gift. In those desolate hours, I was forced to confront my own resilience. It wasn’t pretty, but it was necessary. What many people don’t realize is that endurance sports are as much a mental game as a physical one. The body can often go farther than the mind allows.
The Unexpected Moments of Connection
Amid the suffering, there were moments of pure, unfiltered humanity. Like the evening I stumbled into a church-turned-dining-hall, where strangers shared plates of pasta and stories of their rides. I met a man on his 43rd RAGBRAI, another on his 16th, and first-timers like me. We were all united by exhaustion and a shared sense of purpose.
What this really suggests is that community isn’t something you plan—it’s something you stumble into. The blowers cooling us off were so powerful that food flew off our plates, but no one cared. We were too busy laughing, comparing blisters, and swapping tips for the next day’s ride.
Then there was my dad. He met me in Dyersville, at the Field of Dreams set, and we played catch in the cornfield. It sounds cliché, but in that moment, I felt like a kid again. If you take a step back and think about it, these are the moments that define us—not the miles we log, but the connections we make.
The Deeper Meaning of the Ride
By the end of the ride, I was surprised by my lack of elation. I’d done it—409.6 miles—but something felt unfinished. It wasn’t until I accidentally drove past my grandparents’ gravesite that it all clicked. Sitting there, in the quiet of the cemetery, the weight of the week hit me.
RAGBRAI isn’t just about cycling. It’s about honoring the past, cherishing the present, and building toward the future. The mile of silence at the start of the ride, dedicated to those who’ve died on past rides, is a powerful reminder of this. It’s a ride that connects you to something bigger than yourself.
What This Means for the Rest of Us
Here’s the broader perspective: RAGBRAI is a microcosm of life. It’s messy, it’s lonely at times, but it’s also filled with unexpected beauty. The lessons I learned—about resilience, connection, and the importance of slowing down—aren’t just for cyclists.
From my perspective, this is why events like RAGBRAI matter. They force us to confront our limits, yes, but they also remind us of our capacity for joy, for connection, and for growth. And in a world that often feels fragmented, that’s no small thing.
Looking Ahead
My dad wants to ride RAGBRAI with me next year. I can’t wait. There’s something deeply symbolic about sharing that experience with him—a passing of the torch, of sorts. But more than that, it’s a chance to create new memories, to strengthen the bonds that already exist.
As for me, I’m still icing my aches and pains, but my mind is already on the next adventure. Because here’s the truth: once you’ve tasted that kind of raw, unfiltered experience, it’s hard to go back to the ordinary.
So, if you’re ever in Iowa in July, grab a bike and join the ride. Just remember—it’s not about the miles. It’s about the moments in between.
