jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 36 - follow the yellow brick road?

The next morning, Jack chatted with Mahk over breakfast and got Kelby’s address. At first, Vegas was going to drive Jack up to Fort Collins, but at the last minute they found that the truck wouldn’t start. It would take a day or more to get the truck repaired yet again, and Jack wasn’t willing to wait, so he decided to ride his bike for the sixty-mile journey from Boulder to Fort Collins.
Mahk was very good about providing Jack with directions and information about which roads would be the best. [click each strip to enlarge and to learn the pathway to happiness here on earth]






Then, Jack spent some time rearranging his duffle bag so that he could carry everything comfortably during the ride. His magic beans were still tucked safely in the SIDI cleat bag in his pocket.
With a wave and a thank you, Jack set out on what he hoped was the last leg of his journey to find Kelby in the great mountains of the west. The ride to Fort Collins was very flat compared to the mountains looming to Jack’s left. He passed easily through Longmont, Berthoud, and Loveland, taking time to stop and buy food and drinks when he needed to. The money Jack had earned over the long winter months made life so much easier now.
Not everything was easier, however. Jack had to deal with the awkward duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and he had to keep shifting its position on his back as he rode along. The strap was cutting into his shoulder, and the bag left a huge sweaty spot on his back. Jack also found that he missed his old bicycle, which he had lost in Iowa City months ago. Jack’s old bike was a nice, lightweight racing bike that fit him perfectly, but it was long gone. The heavy clunker he was riding now probably weighed three times as much.
By mid afternoon, Jack had reached Fort Collins, and after some brief confusion, he managed to figure out Mahk’s directions, which led him to
Kelby’s doorstep. At least Jack hoped it was Kelby’s doorstep. The address matched the one Mahk had given him, but no one was home.
Rather than attract attention by waiting on the driveway, Jack decided to ride around a little bit and find a nice park where he could relax. Then he could come back in a few hours and hopefully find Kelby at home. But just as Jack turned to leave, a cyclist coasted up the driveway and stopped right in front of Jack.
“I’m looking for Kelby,” Jack said tentatively
“You’ve found him,” said the cyclist. “What can I do for you?”
Jack let out a sigh of relief. His quest was at an end. “I’ve brought you the magic beans from Sister Kim,” explained Jack as he pulled the SIDI cleat bag from his pocket.
Kelby hesitated. “The wha?”
Jack looked at the bag and then at Kelby and realized how ridiculous he must have seemed, riding a clunker bike and just showing up in Kelby’s driveway, announcing that he had brought magic beans from Sister Kim. Then he looked back at the bag again and saw how beat up it was. Jack had been traveling with it in his pocket for almost eight months, through all sorts of weather and adventures. Today’s ride provided just one more set of foul conditions for the beans, soaking in Jack’s sweat from the bicycle ride.
Kelby smiled and shook his head. “You know what? Keep the beans. Sister Kim sent me a letter last fall saying that you would arrive sooner or later with coffee beans, but I think you should just keep those.”
Then Kelby continued, “Look, I just finished a training ride and I have to get cleaned up to go see someone about buying a school bus. Come on in and I’ll show you where you can put your stuff."

to be continued...
[a serial by little orphan dbax]

snake alley 2008

"the spit hits the fan"

when we last visited beautiful snake alley, in late may, 2007,

fans were dispersing after another fun-filled day of racing and race spectating. the cooler was emptied and getting dragged up the hill, farewells were being biddened, and payouts were being received.

our hero--the devil--had received his due, and he was happy.

may 24, 2008, was another race day, overcast, a little on the chilly side, but a dry day, filled with hope and anticipation. but little did our hero know what danger lurked inside the hearts of evil men.

our hero's alter-ego, kim west,

mild-mannered radio reporter for a major metropolitan sports radio station, the daily blabber, walked the route, greeting old friends, renewing acquaintances, making new friends and contacts in the seemy netherworld of race promotion and officiation. i tell you, kim's met a lot of strange people in his life, but these race officials and promotion types are the lowest of the low. there's just something about them--never smiling, never a kind word for anyone: just clipboards this, and obscure rule that.

little did mild-mannered mister west suspect that his view of these "people" would change FOREVER in just a few short hours...nor did he suspect that

precious bodily fluids would, once again, play such a critical role in the course of world history!!

kim west sat and observed the morning's races: the juniors [did the bus carrying all the juniors from des moines get lost--AGAIN???], the cat 4 women, the masters [gee, you mean we DON'T take that first right turn?]. throughout the morning, countless spectators asked west if the devil would make his annual appearance? one fellow even said, "you kinda look like him, but not really, not when you get up-close. he's much better looking."

i wanted to scream. but i am a mild-mannered traditionalist; and the devil never works before 100 pm. kim DID have a 1000 am fat tire, though. thanks, fryguy.

so the afternoon races begin, the devil has appeared, kim west has disappeared, as he always does ["gotta file a race report"].

the media swarmed, anxious for this year's sound bite from hell. the devil reportedly told media that he was from hades, nebraska, a small town just outside beaumont, and near carhenge.

as advertised,

a devilette appeared. two, actually [thanks, caitlyn--who managed to annoy her father earlier in his race].

ever the hang-out for the rich and fabulously wealthy, the stars came to the snake, to "hang" with the devil. just one of the many [dogbait, mr and mrs rat and family, the ruddicks of boulder, mr kellogg, and many many more], but the cream of the crop of this year's tifosi was long-time race fan, and a favorite of all,

flava dav

showed, sans posse of flavettes.

dav was more animated than usual, due in large part, the devil suspects, to two things: his new corporate partner, amgen/epo, and his cunning ability to keep his hand out of the cookie jar.

during the 30+ race, the action got hot, and the verbal barbs from devil's bend were flying. apparently, one such barb found its target.

this sorry sap, in the 30+ race, must have taken offense at something the devil said . . . lap after lap after lap. always a master at finding one's weak spot, this barb festered quickly, and erupted [after a couple laps of evil looks], HE SPIT ON THE DEVIL! i, er, the devil, could tell that he was about to break. his ego wouldn't allow him to smile or joke, but he knew he was hurting. so on one particular lap, after AGAIN befing offered an ice cold frosty barley malt, he turned back and SPAT at me, er, the devil.

immediately the OOOOOOOOOOOssss broke out, as others had watched with much amusement as this drama unfolded, lap after lap after lap.

one of those who watched, although not in amusement, was former iowa district rep, noted videographer of one of the most exciting solo victories in iowa state criterium championship history in pella, 2006, and brother of the cloth, the downright reverend rick paulos, proving once again the hydrophobic qualities of "the cloth" in which we both enrap ourselves. click on and study closely the photo of the devil and devilette: you'll notice not only lowell kellogg, friend and former teammate of the spitter, but also the downright reverend himself. yup, a couple laps after the spit flew [it fell short of its target, by the way], the spitter rode by and, pointing at lowell, shouted out "lowell!"

mm hmm. just as i suspected: another damned cheesehead conspiracy. lowell tried to play it down, but WE know the truth.

oh yes, we KNOW the truth.

post script: the spitter was DQ'd, came up and took the beer that i'd, er, the devil, had tried so hard, risking all, to offer during the race, and, after talking with lowell for some time, offered an apology to the devil.

like THAT will undo what has been done.
MWAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!!!!!!

HA HA HA HA HA-

COUGH! COUGH! ACCCCKKKK....

in it until the convention?

gurney!

an alarming post you should read before your next trail ride

or, "there are shitheads EVERYwhere."

i received an email from a listener at my radio show address, and posted it on my radio show blog. it's rather disturbing, and you can read it here.

bottom line: be careful no matter WHERE you ride.

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 35 - the birth of the bus

Vegas and Jack pulled into Boulder just after sunset, and although Vegas seemed slightly lost the entire time they drove around the city, he eventually pulled into a parking spot and announced, “We’re here.”
They got out of the truck and Vegas motioned for Jack to follow as they cut across the street, down an alley, and emerged

in a big pedestrian mall called Pearl Street.
As they made their way through the crowd, someone rapped on the window from inside a deli and started waving and pointing at Jack but then did a double take and acted embarrassed about something.
A little farther down the street, someone shouted, “Hey!” but when Vegas and Jack turned, the person apologized and walked away.

Vegas eventually found the pub he was looking for and ducked inside, with Jack right behind him. While Vegas scanned the tables looking for familiar faces, a waitress touched Jack lightly on the arm and thanked him for the massage the other day. Jack turned in surprise, and the waitress nearly dropped her tray while trying to explain that she had mistaken Jack for someone else.
Jack had been on the run since the previous September, but he hadn’t been chased for months while he stayed in Vail. He had almost forgotten what it was like to constantly be looking over his shoulder, but the strange reactions of so many people around him were really starting to set Jack’s nerves on edge again. It was as if everyone knew Jack, or at least thought they did at first.
Eventually, Vegas spotted the people he was looking for and led Jack over to a side table

where they pulled up chairs and sat down. A waitress brought two more mugs and another pitcher of beer, and after everyone had greeted Vegas, their eyes shifted to Jack and stayed there.
One after another, they introduced themselves. “Hullo,

my name is Mahk. I mistook you for Vong at first. Are you a relative of his?”
“He sure looks the part,” said the second person, with a slightly different English accent. He added,

“I’m Nick. Glad to meet you.”

“And I’m Martin.” added the third person in a phony Australian accent.
Jack was already a bit rattled and seconds later, he let out a yelp when a young lady snuck up behind him and covered his eyes shouting, “Guess who?” Jack spilled his beer while trying to escape under the table before Vegas caught hold of him and convinced Jack that everything was okay. The young lady turned out to be another friend,

named Maria, who later explained that thought she was sneaking up on Vong.
As is typical when an outsider joins a group of old friends, Jack was on the fringe of the conversation for much of the evening as the others caught up on this and that, but Jack’s ears perked up when they began talking about Ragbrai.
Mahk mentioned that Kelby was in the process of purchasing a suitable vehicle, and Jack moved from the fringe of the conversation to the center of it while trying not to sound desperate. “Do you have Kelby’s address?” Jack asked Mahk.
“Not on me, but back at the house I do,” Mahk answered. “You guys are welcome to stay there if you need a place.”
“Yeah,” said Vegas, “That would be great.”
This was too good to be true, Jack thought. He relaxed for the rest of the night and actually enjoyed hanging out in the pub, listening to the others tell stories on each other. When it came time to leave, Vegas got some directions from Mahk, and he and Jack brought the truck over to

Mahk’s house for the night.

to be continued...

[a serial by little orphan dbax]

des moines ride of silence

the des moines ride was well-attended, estimates were over 100, i think. we were led by sergey motorny, who somehow survived what could have been fatal injuries nearly a year ago inflicted by a motorist who, to my knowledge, has thus far faced no legal consequences.
i had my little video camera with me and have posted on mytube five little pieces. if the shaky, hand-held results make you queasy, close your eyes and listen. some of the comments of other riders, and the silence, is pretty good.

links are:

part 1: here

part 2: here

part 3: here

part 4: here

part 5: here

.....

[i apologize in advance that i spoke too much in some places in these videos]

she'll reveal her ass, but...

...not her assets?

in straight talk land, this is straight [above],

but this is crooked [below]

i guess this is the same standard that the GOP applied to theresa heinz kerry, right?

i didn't see THIS one coming

man, i thought that shit really worked.

now what am i gonna do with all THIS crap?

.....

speaking of all this crap, i failed to notice that my last post was #1000 in a series of dog knows how many daily sermonettes. well, let me be the first to congratulate me on such perseverance. i am one damned formidable blogger, let me tell you that. and i intend to keep on blogging until the lady in the pant suit tells me to stop.

ted kennedy

Sen. Kennedy Has Brain Tumor
Associated PressMay 20, 2008 1:13 p.m.
BOSTON -- Sen. Edward Kennedy has a brain tumor.
Doctors for the Massachusetts Democrat said tests conducted after Sen. Kennedy suffered a seizure this weekend show a tumor in his left parietal-lobe. The usual course of treatment includes combinations of radiation and chemotherapy, but Sen. Kennedy's treatment will be decided after more tests.
The 76-year-old senator has been hospitalized in Boston since Saturday, when he was airlifted from Cape Cod after a seizure at his home.
His wife and children have been with him each day but have made no public statements.
His doctors said in a statement released to the Associated Press that he has had no further seizures, is in good spirits and resting comfortably.
Copyright © 2008 Associated Press
.....
i first met ted kennedy in iowa city in 1980, when he was running for president and i was a grad student/photographer with political connections, and had the task of covering all the many candidates who came to town. ted came to town with son patrick and niece caroline, and the marathon day began. it was crazy, and yet his heart-felt words never seemed veneered or false. when i finally posed with the senator at the end of the day for my photo, as i put my arm around his back, i felt the massive back brace that helped him stand erect all his days. as my more recent bout of back pain showed me, maintaining such a happy public demeanor is no easy task, and i'm a recluse, not a member of camelot.
the senator has a tough row ahead of him. i dread the sick shit that rush and lesser pinheads will spew forth at this time.
my thoughts are with him, and his family.

fence straddlers, listen up!

Warren Buffett endorses Obama for president: "I will be very happy if he is elected president."

Sen. Robert Byrd, longest serving senator ever (in office since 1959) endorses Barack Obama 5/20

in a perfect world . . .

...television really WOULD be better.

god, i HATE the register's website

they told me they'd improved it, but i refused to believe them.

i was right...

.....

i learned last tuesday or wednesday that kyle munson had posted a couple videos pertaining to bicycles. one was related to an interview conducted by brian duffy about the kollective, and the other was kyle's own harrowing experience riding his bike to work from slater last week. i tried--spent over 15 minutes--to find the damned things on their new and improved website, but gave up. a friend sent me the links. i tried just NOW to play them before posting them, but IT WAS TAKING TOO DAMNED LONG!!! so here they are, without my prior screening.

1--the video about the kollective

2--kyle's bike to work ride

thanks to both kyle and brian for their work and the coverage. i certainly don't hold you guys responsible for the register's website. unless you ARE responsible for it!!!

.....

--tip of the chewed-off fingernail to st. robro

--the balance of the finger to the register's "webmaster"

[i don't know if it's significant, but check the length of the url for these things--they're longer than kyle's ride!]

hold your swerve: here comes the straight talk express!!

it's monday; that means another week of mccain lies are headed your way.

DUCK!!!!

by the way, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's most likely a republican. but don't take MY word for it.

monday night kollective rides

just a gentle reminder that beginning tonight at 530 pm, a group ride will be leaving from the des moines bike kollective at 617 grand avenue in downtown des moines.
it will be for everyone, as it is by my definition a "recovery ride" as all monday rides should be. that means a less than 20 mph [32 k/h] pace.
we'll ride through town, most likely on actual city streets, and perhaps continue on into the actual country. the actual route won't be announced until i get down there and figure out wind directions and all that, but right now, my desktop weather tells me the wind will be shifting from sse to sw from 500 to 700 pm, so it's a safe bet we'll be going somewhere south.
this will be loosely organized, if at all, so i don't want to hear any bitching about it. that being said, it will be an enjoyable ride.
and it won't be held NEXT monday, because we'll all be in rock island watching or racing in the pro 1,2 quad cities crit; the rides will resume monday, june 2.
spread the word...

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 34 – backwards into the future!

Jack heard the camera shutter clicking again,
closer to his face this time. Just fifteen minutes before, Jack had been standing in the garage of the Karras home, looking at an old bootleg Ragbrai tee shirt. Now, he was at the bottom of the mountain, totally frozen and partially buried by a miniature avalanche, with someone taking pictures of him in the moonlight.
Click, click, click went the camera again. Jack cautiously opened an eye. “Whoa!” said a voice. “You’re still alive. Hmm.”Jack opened his other eye and brought the photographer into focus. The person behind the camera seemed a few years younger, a few inches taller, and a few pounds slimmer than Jack. “Don’t just stand there,” gasped Jack, “help me out of this snow pile. I’m freezing to death.”
“I thought you were dead,” said the photographer. “Are you sure you’re not dying?”
“What are you talking about?” sputtered Jack as he tried to scramble to his feet but slipped and immediately started shivering. “Why are you taking my picture?”
The photographer looked a bit disappointed but shrugged his shoulders and gave Jack a hand up. “I’m a photographer, and I was out getting some stock photos of moonlit forest scenery when I heard the snow bank crash down behind me. I came over and found your corpse in the snow and saw some good shots.”
“Well I’m not dead!” shouted Jack, shivering more than ever. “Not yet at least.”
The photographer paused for a moment and seemed to come to grips with the fact that Jack was not dead and was probably not going to die any time soon. He sighed and said, “I’m Kenny Vegas. My truck is parked on the highway just through those trees. Where’s your coat, anyway?”
“It-t-t-s a long st-st-story,” said Jack through chattering teeth as he followed Vegas out of the woods.
Yeah, it is a long story, way longer than I thought it would be. Okay, this is the author, Dave, breaking into the story line for a moment. At first, I thought I could cram Jack and the Magic Bean Bus into twenty chapters, tops. Well, here we are at Chapter 34 and we haven’t even met Kelby yet. I’m just going to hit the fast forward button for a while. I hope you don’t mind.
Basically, Vegas rescues Jack that night.
Jack ends up staying in a basement apartment with Vegas in the ski-resort town of Vail.
Vegas’ truck breaks down, and Jack realizes he is going to be stuck there for quite a while, so he gets a job at a fancy-schmantzy restaurant called La Souris and learns the trade from a chef named
James.
Jack spends the entire ski season there in Vail and makes enough money to help Vegas get his
truck repaired. Jack also buys some
warm clothes and a
clunker bike to replace the bike he lost in Iowa City with
Bart and the
raccoons back in Chapter 15.
The ski season draws to a close in
late May but Jack stays on at the restaurant until a month later when Vegas decides to take a trip to
Boulder to see some friends. Jack’s mission to deliver the magic beans to
Kelby in Fort Collins has been on hold all winter, but now this trip to Boulder will move Jack closer to his goal.
Whew! That’s enough fast forwarding. We rejoin our hero Jack, at regular speed, as he and Vegas drive into Boulder in the repaired pick up, with their bikes in the back...
“Who do you know here in Boulder?” asked Jack as they drove past the city limits sign on a beautiful summer evening.
“Oh, a bunch of people,” said Vegas. “We’ll find somebody’s floor to sleep on tonight.”

to be continued... [a serial by little orphan dbax]

a recent clinton strategy meeting

FLASH!! chris matthews gets SOMETHING right!!

chris matthews, left, and keith olbermann

let me know if i ever begin to sound like this kevin james idiot.

bike to work week in LA

i was away from the orphanage, doing the grandpa thing today. upon my return, i had received links to this from all over the country. i LOVE that you folks send me this stuff. read this, and watch this video. crazy shit, kiddies.

forty years ago today in chucktown

not surprisingly, i remember this. it's not EVERYday an F5 strikes. [i remember well the monster F5 that wiped out jordan, too]
me and the missus--and the mistress and her dog--just barely got into the cellar before that killer took away the family farm.

we rebuilt in a different part of the state.

that, my friends, was the birth of the orphanage.

and now you know the rest of the story...

modern math

okay, so gas prices are inching up; are you following me so far? it's gone from maybe 35 cents a gallon to what, nearly four bucks for a damned gallon of gas? alright then, get this: my volvo wagon gets maybe 25 miles per gallon, with a 12 or 13 gallon tank. i don't let it get completely empty, so it usually takes--lately--forty bucks to fill 'er up. so i get maybe [without thinking too much] 250 to 300 miles per tank. then, boom, another $40 to refill. that shit pisses me off.
so i have this old scooter, got it from my dad when he died. it's a little honda elite, nearly 25 years old, a 125 cc, goes nearly 45 to 55 miles per hour, and gets maybe 68 to 70 miles per gallon. 2.2 gallon tank: 150 miles later, another 6 bucks or less [i never let THIS one run out, either].

so, the solution? simple. get one of THESE!

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 33 - late night escape

Jack stood in the cold garage and stared at the Late Night on Ragbrai tee shirt. Memories were pushing their way back into his consciousness. He turned to the back of the shirt and read:
Memories came pressing in on Jack from all sides. There were visions of crowds and bikes, and Jack was selling tee shirts in small towns across Iowa many years before. There were memories of beer gardens, sales pitches, and the pressure to close the deal and move on. There was also the constant sense of danger, of being tracked and chased through the crowds and campgrounds.
Officials from the Des Moines Register newspaper tried to catch him all that week but Jack was too quick. He would make a sale and then vanish into the crowds like a guerrilla soldier in the jungle, only to reappear a block away to make another sale. The hit and run war lasted all week until Jack had finally gotten rid of his inventory, but he had been driven underground in the process and ended up on the doorstep of Sister Kim’s orphanage.
And now, years later, the big computer program used to audit the Des Moines Register had detected a tiny bit of missing Ragbrai profit, $120 to be exact, and somehow linked it all the way back to Jack’s tee shirt sales from long ago. Curiously enough, Jack remembered that his profit was indeed about $120 after figuring in supplies, printing, gas, and labor. The much-maligned computer auditing system was surprisingly accurate.
Jack also understood that the brewing companies Miller and Anheuser Busch were attempting to take over Ragbrai and its profits using the computer, a bunch of thugs in the Special Collections Branch of the paper, and an army of raccoons addicted to barley, hops, and newspaper ink. They were searching for Jack in order to recapture Ragbrai profits. No missing revenue would be tolerated.
Jack’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t stay with Mr. and Mrs. Karras any longer. They had taken good care of him but Jack was putting them in danger just by being here. He tucked the Late Night on Ragbrai tee shirt in his pocket and checked for the magic beans
to be sure that they were safe. Then, Jack quietly crept out of the side door of the garage and into the deep snow and cold moonlight.
He was wearing the very same clothes and shoes he had arrived with, and they were no match for the cold, but that wasn’t enough to stop Jack. He chose to avoid the road he had used to get to town with snowshoes over the past four days and, instead, plunged over a snow bank and down the steep slope of the mountain without a clear plan of what he was doing.
The initial shock of the cold weather gave way to warmth brought about by a mixture of fear and the physical exertion of running, sliding, dodging, and jumping as Jack descended through the boulders and trees at break-neck speeds. Jack was soon far away from the Karras home and still moving quickly.
Suddenly, a ravine opened up right in front of Jack, but he was moving too fast to stop in time. He jumped and flew through the cold night air in what felt like slow motion before finally landing in an icy snowdrift on the other side with an impact that knocked the wind out of him.
Too stunned to move, Jack lay helplessly as the entire drift gave way and rumbled down the far side of the ravine in a miniature avalanche, tossing Jack around like a rag doll until he finally came to a stop in a clearing at the bottom of the mountain.
Jack closed his eyes. He was tired, he was cold, he was bruised, he was losing consciousness, and he thought he could hear the familiar sound of a camera shutter clicking over and over again nearby.

to be continued... [a serial by little orphan dbax]

andy's sunday bike ride

our european correspondent andy cornelison tells us that he is going to ride with some of his friends. do you recognize any of his friends? he tells us that he hopes he finishes.

bike to work week SALUTE!

ANKENY POLICE DEPARTMENT

chad shares this story:

Today a guy I work with was riding into work and got buzzed by a car. It was witnessed by an Ankeny police officer. The police officer chased the car down and when my friend got up to them the police officer told him the driver was being charged with speeding, illegal pass and reckless driving. This is great news. Hats off to the Ankeny police. --Chad Vande Lune, Des Moines

.....

orphans EVERYWHERE salute this officer,

and recognize the entire ankeny police department

for the positive bicycle-supportive image this creates.

this IS great news, and is practically unheard of!!

giro update

zabriskie has crashed out.

[perhaps he'll be available a little sooner for my radio show, eh?]

i am sorry to learn of your crash, man, after riding so well yesterday.

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 32-dedicated to bobby lewis

[play this while reading this chapter]
Wednesday morning began with yoga, breakfast, and vegetable juice, just as the other mornings at the Karras’ home had. After breakfast, Jack made the long trek down to the car wash and back with the latest copy of the Des Moines Register. Both he and Mr. Karras were disappointed not to find any news stories or clues to help them unravel the Ragbrai conspiracy.
Mr. Karras and Jack spent that afternoon in the garage, where Mr. Karras began cleaning his bicycle. “You wouldn’t think a bicycle could get so dirty in just a week, but Ragbray really puts wear and tear on everything pretty quickly,” he explained while shifting to the smallest cog and dropping the rear wheel out of the frame. “Filthy. Of course, it didn’t help matters for the bike to be lost in a warehouse for months. Look at this rust!”
Jack was sitting on a milk crate and Mr. Karras handed him the wheel, saying, “Here, clean this up. I’ve got some shop rags around here somewhere.” After rummaging around under the workbench for a moment, Mr. Karras said, “Ah-ha! Here they are,” and he tossed an old tee shirt to Jack to use as a shop rag.
Jack went to work on the rear wheel while Mr. Karras wiped down the frame and started pulling the cables. As they worked, Mr. Karras began telling Jack stories about how he first got started in journalism and what the early days were like. Jack paid attention at first, but the box of shop rags under the workbench kept pushing its way into Jack’s thoughts.

The tee shirt that Jack was using was covered in grease and grime within a few minutes after beginning to clean the rear wheel, but the next tee shirt in the box of shop rags hadn’t been used yet, and there was something very familiar about it.
Out of caution, Jack had not told Mr. Karras about the magic beans in his pocket, and it was out of this same caution that Jack kept quiet about the curious nagging thoughts he had about the tee shirt. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t trust Mr. Karras. Jack was just worried that the Ragbrai conspiracy might swallow him up if he didn’t stay a few steps ahead of everyone else.
Jack waited for a break in the story telling and then asked casually, “Where did you get these shop rags? They’re really good.”

[a sample from the orphanage collection of contraband ragby tees]

“Contraband tee shirts,” muttered Mr. Karras, absent-mindedly. “Confiscated bootleg Ragbray merchandise produced by people who didn’t get the Register’s permission to use the name. I got a box load several years ago, and I use them in the workshop.”
Jack shuddered. There was something oddly familiar about it all.
For the rest of the afternoon, Mr. Karras and Jack worked on the bicycle, tearing it down to the frame in order to clean everything thoroughly before re-greasing and reassembling it all. They finished by supper, and Mr. Karras hung the bicycle on a hook next to the workbench before turning off the lights and closing the door behind them.
Jack had been sleeping well every night since he had arrived at the Karras’ mountain home, but this night proved to be different as Jack tossed and turned. He couldn’t take his mind off of the box of contraband tee shirts in the garage. It seemed that an old, long forgotten memory was pushing up from his subconscious.

Finally, around midnight, Jack climbed out of bed and carefully crept to the door leading to the garage. He slowly turned the handle and passed through the door without a sound. Once the door was closed again, Jack felt along the wall for the light switch and clicked it on.
Like a moth drawn to a flame, Jack approached the workbench. He reached into the shop rag box, pulled out the tee shirt that had caught his eye earlier, and held it up to the light.
The front of the tee shirt had fancy lettering that followed the style used by the Late Night with David Letterman show, but instead of naming the TV show, it said,

“Late Night on Ragbrai”
to be continued... [a serial by little orphan dbax]

watch for the parrot on mccain's shoulder