RAGBRAI riders never forgot the ‘magic’ of this small-town waitress. 36 years later, they reunited

Linda Riddle was in church when she found out a picture of two men kissing her was floating around the internet.

She’d been a waitress at Ruth’s Sweet Shop in 1987 on the “wild” day RAGBRAI came through Ute in rural western Iowa. And, for a few hours, she and her little shop were the center of the RAGBRAI universe. The counters were overtaken by lycra instead of seed caps; the stools were laden with out-of-towners with questions instead of regulars with usuals.

The chaos was all-encompassing, but the riders were so, well, just plain happy that all she could do was throw her hands up and laugh. You’ll eat when you eat became the mantra of the day.

Just before leaving, a trio of riders asked to take a photo, surprising her with kisses on both cheeks when the shutter went click.

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Her eyes closed and her smile wide ― the men wearing mischievousness as thick as sunscreen ― the photo oozes joy. It’s a time capsule of a simpler summer, before cell phones and GPS and Wi-Fi. A Norman Rockwell ― but with more spandex.

Turns out the trio was looking for the waitress some 36 years later. But they had no information, no name or hometown. So one of the men, Richard Core, posted the photo on Facebook in an attempt to find answers.

Rich’s been checking things off lately, filling in the questions of life while he still can.

The three best friends treasured that moment ― and the photo that marked it ― as their favorite RAGBRAI story of all time, Rich wrote. And in a group where one of the members, Glenn Ackeberg, has done 43 cross-state treks, that’s saying something.

Together, they’d recount over and over how the waitress had told riders they’d have to fill out their own gosh darn meal tickets that morning. How the cook nearly lost his lunch at the thought of all those orders. How riders had hopped on the grill and started flipping pancakes and cracking eggs.

And how the waitress had refused their tip.

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Oh, you don’t want to break that bill, honey, she said. Once you do, they just go so fast.

She’d become legend to the group, "RAGBRAI magic" personified: What was her story? What ever happened to her?

When RAGBRAI came back through that part of the state a few years ago, Glenn considered using precious saddle bag space to bring the photo with him and ask people in the area: Do you know her?

“That’s how much she stayed with me,” Glenn said. “Of all the people we met over the years, we’d always talk about the waitress at that diner in western Iowa.”

Time has worn away some of the sharpness of the moment, but when the trio walks down this particularly well-worn path of memory lane, the feelings ― that joy ― oozes.

And, like Rich said, time is something he’s found himself thinking about.

So he posted the story to Facebook. And then someone replied.

Hunger pains: Three best friends ― in need of breakfast

Back when RAGBRAI was a smaller production, Rich, Glenn and Virgil Kemp could ride every mile three abreast and not cause too much problem.

They were good riders so they stayed left, passing everybody but the professional racers. They’d knock on doors for showers and hitchhike for rides. And they’d ask their Good Samaritans where they went to church, then go there for a spaghetti or pork chop supper and say such-and-such told them to come.

Word of mouth, they knew, was another form of currency in a small town.

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“We had more fun sharing ourselves with those strangers that welcomed us into their houses,” Glenn said. “They wanted to be part of RAGBRAI. They wanted to tell their neighbors about the RAGBRAI riders who knocked on their door. So as much as they gave to us, we gave to them.”

The trio all met on RAGBRAI. Glenn and Virgil, a Chicago-area real estate agent, became friends on RAGBRAI 1984. They took Rich under their wing the next year.

“It's been that way ever since,” Rich said.

Glenn had a rule that the group always ate breakfast before putting in a single mile. But for some reason on that morning in 1987, they had left Onawa without a meal.

By the time they were into Ute, they’d racked up 20 miles and acute hunger pangs.

The only café in town had bikes lined up around the building and cyclists packed in like sardines. But in a stroke of luck, the friends squeezed into a booth.

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A waitress came over and tried to take their order. She was distracted. Overwhelmed.

But in good spirits ― the sort of mood where laughing and crying both seem like perfectly reasonable responses.

Before food trucks, RAGBRAI diner takeovers ruled

Linda Riddle, a lifelong server, started waiting tables at 14.

She worked for Ruth Leisinger at her sweet shop in Ute for years, slinging hash and malts and blue-plate specials. And when Linda wasn’t there, she was cleaning houses for a little extra income.

Linda was one of eight kids in a big farm family. Every morning, the kids rolled out of bed to bail hay or walk beans or milk 26 head of cows before school. Hard work was as bone-deep for Linda as calcium.

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Ruthie, as Linda called her, ran her café from 5 a.m. to past 8 p.m. The cook, Marion Straight, was short, a bit stocky, and perpetually cranky ― known for spending more time on the counter’s stools than in the kitchen.

He was Ruthie’s “live in,” Linda said. He’d bought her a ring, but it’d worn in two over the years and, so the story goes, eventually fell off in someone’s breakfast.

Ruthie had planned for RAGBRAI as much as one did then: scheduled both her waitresses for the same shift and bought a few more eggs. But this was back before food trucks and pickle juice and IV hydration.

Back when café and diner takeovers were the way of RAGBRAI.

When Linda arrived at 6 a.m. the diner was already crawling with cyclists.

“I thought, Oh, my God, how can they be here already?” Linda said.

Now a few hours in, she tried to take the order of three best friends in a booth but kept getting distracted by the insanity around her. They was no controlling this chaos.

Hey! she shouted at the top of her lungs. You want something to eat? Fill out the tickets yourselves.

RAGBRAI riders hop behind the grill, become kitchen staff

Riders laughed at first. Linda hadn’t snapped ― or at least not in an angry way.

“It was just hilarious. The way she said it was so sweet,” Rich said. “And, I don't know, it might be a stretch to say joyful. But there was just a great atmosphere in the place.”

But Marion’s face when Linda made her announcement was enough to tell the gathered what he felt about the declaration. And a collective RAGBRAI spirit animated them into cooks and waiters and hostesses ― whatever was needed.

A few hopped behind the grill. A couple more started new pots of coffee. Still more ran food.

Just pancakes, one of the riders-turned-chefs yelled from the back. Let's keep it simple, everybody.

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I’m not waiting, Linda remembered one guy saying in a huff.

Listen, you're gonna get awful hungry for the next seven days, a diner replied.

“Then I said, ‘Who wants his breakfast.’ I was gonna auction off the breakfast,” she remembered.

When they finished eating, Glenn asked Linda to break his $20. They wanted to leave her a big tip ― for the food, sure, but mostly for the fun.

Oh, you don’t want to break that bill, honey, she said. Once you do, they just go so fast.

“I thought this woman was an Iowa treasure,” Glenn said. “I just remember she was just so innocent. Just so genuine. Where else can you find that but small, rural Iowa.”

They all felt the RAGBAI magic as they walked out of the diner. That something really special had just happened back there, something that they’d remember for the rest of their lives.

And when Rich got the photo from the lab a month or so after the ride, there they were ― all those feelings of joy and good-naturedness and friendship and being together ― caught by a shutter click.

RAGBRAI magic ― four decades later

Rich has kept a print of that photo in his house ever since, and people who see it always have some form of the same response: She looks like a good person.

He’d immediately sent copies to Virgil and Glenn and had always wanted to get one to the waitress.

So in April, right around the time anyone in the Midwest is itching to get outside after a long winter, Rich scrolled the RAGBRAI page on Facebook and the story started coming back to him.

“I do a lot just by gut; it’s how I operate,” he said. “I just felt like I am going to write this up and post it.”

He’d been diagnosed with MS in 2004, and started looking closely at time, what he had left and what he wanted it to mean. He took a solo cross-country bicycle trip across America last year just to test his physical limits.

Finding their favorite RAGBRAI waitress felt like the cherry on top of one of his most treasured life stories.

“Having MS, you do a lot of checking off because you realize you only have so much time,” he said. “I just feel like if there’s anything you need to settle in your life or try to finish or revisit or whatever, do it now.”

Somehow, the waitress’ daughter found the post and responded. She asked if they could all meet along the RAGBRAI 50 route. More than anything, the daughter said, she’d really like to redo that picture.

A lot has changed in the decades since that day in Ute. They’re older, obviously. Virgil doesn’t come on RAGBRAI anymore, retired from the ride now like he’s retired from real estate.

Linda worked at Ruthie’s until 2:30 that “wild” day and then pulled a second shift at the community’s beer garden until after dark. She ran the drunks out of town, she said. Go on your bikes! Get out of here!

She works at a senior center in Ute now. Never left town.

Ruthie died a while ago. Marion, too. The shop closed in the early 2000s, Linda thinks. Building’s gone now, torn down to just a grassy knoll.

But Rich and Glenn still ride.

“He's a farmer from northern Illinois. I am a journalist now living in L.A. Do we have any real similarities? No,” Rich said. “But RAGBRAI brings the two of us together.”

And this year, it brought the three of them together ― Glenn, Rich and the waitress, who they now know as Linda.

They talked for more than an hour, like old friends even though they’d really just met.

RAGBRAI has a way of making strangers into friends ― even just for a morning.

“That’s RAGBRAI magic. You can't get that anywhere else in the world except RAGBRAI,” Glenn said. “That’s why I keep doing RAGBRAI.”

As they parted, Rich got Linda’s address. He’s checking one more thing off ― he’s sending her the picture.

COURTNEY CROWDER, the Register's Iowa Columnist, traverses the state's 99 counties telling Iowans' stories. She co-directed, "Shift: The RAGBRAI Documentary," which is currently playing in movie theaters across Iowa. You can reach her at (515) 284-8360 or ccrowder@dmreg.com. Follow her on Twitter @courtneycare.

This article originally appeared on Des Moines Register: RAGBRAI riders find waitress from Ute they helped 36 years later