The Dirt Burger is officially underway here in Decorah - sort of.
Last night the first installment of yay-hoo behavior commenced with the early arrival of the pre-planning committee, T-Rock, B-Pauer, Pre-Nate-al, and R Dead-to-my-Hart (who wore his best Iowa camoflage - wife beater and no shoes). They showed up to put a scare into some local trout streams before the bike things happen. Although, after seeing the lights come on at the Corner Bar last night, I can't imagine that the local fish are in any great peril - at least not before noon.
Things got off to a proper midwest start with a terrifying display of lightning and bucket-style downpours. Fortunately, growlers of IPA from the Town Hall were smuggled across the Iowa line and that made the "huddling under Rich's hammock" feel less unseemly.
Bikes were assembled and the arduous 1.3 mile (how many kilometers is that Dave?) grind to T-Bock's was made under suddenly clearing skies. We LaBronned Peanuts into one another's Schmitty's ($5.50 a pitcher thank you) and the salty goodness didn't seem to adversely affect the "taste" one bit. Hell Bent for Trevor DJed in a fashion that will likely not soon be forgotten in this quiet town. Neil Diamond went straight into a Judas Priest set that shook the very foundations.
Then it was on to the Haymarket (1.9 blocks) for some true local flavor. In true local style it was already closed. The Corner Bar (an additional 1.3 blocks) had to do and we had fun watching the oh-so-nearly-Amish T-slice get recruited for a game of tippy cup. We concurred that it's been a long time since any of us have needed some sort of challenge to increase the velocity of our drinking.
I headed up the hill shortly after the air horn sounded its second blast and the lights revealed what we had truly stumbled upon. I'm pretty sure I gave the fellers the right directions back to the campground.
Look for more updates as the weekend progresses. Or don't.