The final day of RAGBRAI 2025 began not with sunlight, but with silence. At 4:30 a.m., I climbed on my bike at the edge of the Pork Belly Ventures encampment in Oelwein, Iowa and began the 64-mile ride east to the banks of the Mississippi River — the terminus of my weeklong 421-mile cycling adventure across Iowa

RAGBRAI, the Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, began in 1973 as a quirky newspaper promotion. Today, it’s widely considered as the largest, longest-running, and most celebrated multi-day recreational bike ride in the US. Each year, it attracts thousands of cyclists from around the globe who want to test their endurance, unite with others who share a passion for cycling and discover the beauty of middle America and its people.

While thousands of riders slept on that final night — curled in tents across public schoolyards and community parks — I had quietly packed my gear, filled my water bottles and stuffed enough food in my jersey pockets to carry me through the first half of the day. The air was cool, still and cloaked in a heavy darkness that wrapped the world in a velvet hush.

The decision to leave early wasn’t random. I knew on that last day, the crowd of more than 20,000 cyclists would build quickly, dismount and slow the masses to a crawl in the small towns. My plan was to get to Guttenberg and the Mississippi early so I wouldn’t be delayed along the way. I had an afternoon shuttle to catch — a bus that would return me to the town on Iowa’s western border where it all began a week earlier. It was important to make the connection because I had a plane to catch early the next day.

Timing mattered.

So I pedaled along during those pre-dawn hours, my tires rolling almost silently on smooth pavement, guided only by the brightness of my bike light and the quiet confidence of the Ride with GPS app on my phone showing me the route. Not a single cyclist was in sight for those first miles. It was one of the most beautiful, even spiritual, rides of my life.

After seven miles, I reached the small community of Stanley. The town, still cloaked in pre-dawn darkness, was just beginning to stir. Under the dim yellow glow of street lamps, a few volunteers were setting up long folding tables with coffee urns, donuts, muffins and bananas — readying for the surge of cyclists that would begin arriving within an hour. I cruised through the heart of Stanley and continued on, savoring the solitude and gaining confidence in the plan of reaching my destination in time.

Eventually, the skies began to shift — darkness surrendering to hints of dawn. First came the birds: their movement and calls piercing the quiet. Then came the color of the skies: soft grays giving way to streaks of pale blue. The air began to slowly warm, and the eastern horizon began to glow like a promise. It felt as if the road was mine, and for most of that first hour, it was.

This year, RAGBRAI was one of the shortest (406 miles) and flattest (10,487 feet of elevation gain) in its 52-year history. My longest ride during the week was 77 miles, the shortest 40, with a daily average over 60. The route began in Orange City near the Missouri River and included overnight stops in Milford, Estherville, Forest City, Iowa Falls, Cedar Falls and Oelwein before reaching Guttenberg where most of the finishers celebrated with the ritual of dipping their front wheel in the Mississippi.

While relatively short on distance, this year’s route came with its own challenges. Headwinds, an annoyance on every day except one — peaked on Wednesday when they periodically gusted out of the southeast at more than 30 mph — combined with extreme mid-summer heat and humidity. The conditions tested everyone’s hydration strategies and stamina. But that’s part of the RAGBRAI experience — not just the riding, but enduring it as a community.

The most emotionally staggering event for me and many others came straight from the heavens: an intense overnight thunderstorm in Iowa Falls. It began with a few nonthreatening sprinkles and became a relentless hours-long torrent. As dawn broke, I woke to an inch of water inside my tent. All my clothes and the contents of my two duffle bags were completely saturated.

But, I quickly gathered the waterlogged items, wrung out the excess water, returned my still-wet possessions to my bags, took a deep breath and began my day as if nothing had happened. I learned long ago: challenges occur when you’re on tour, and this was going to be just another event that would make RAGBRAI 2025 more memorable.

Most of the days followed a scripted rhythm for me and the other four members of our McLane203 cycling team: wake before sunup, stretch tired legs from the previous day and stand in line for facilities, coffee and a sink to wash our face and brush our teeth. After that ritual, we’d return to our tents where we’d load up the day’s essentials and head to the first town where we’d often stop for real food and drink.

Each Iowa town rolled out its own uniquely creative welcome mat — some offering pancakes hot off the grill, fruit, sandwiches and slices of pies made by local church members and community volunteers. Lemonade stands, operated by children with wide smiles and hopeful glances, were as present as the next cornfield at the edge of town.

Midwestern kindness and gratitude is not a myth.

RAGBRAI isn’t just a ride, it’s a moving village — a celebration of human endurance and hospitality. And for me, this year’s edition was a triumphant reminder of how friendship with those we’ve known for years, grit, and early-morning solitude can combine to create something magical.