Written by Susie Petitti Tilton of Sweetie Petitti

I remember that July morning like it was yesterday. Everyone is quiet in the morning, and the ground was cool and damp so as the sun rose there was a fog that blanketed the blacktop road. For as far as the eye could see was a line of cyclists. Most clad in the traditional spandex bike shorts, but very few could be classified as cyclists as we know them. College kids, moms, grandpas and grandmas, dads, every age, every shape, from about every state and many foreign countries, even a few famous faces.
It is probably no later than 7:00 am, and suddenly the smoky smell drifts towards me. From a distance I can see the old converted school bus and can hear the “Pork Chop Man” and his familiar call of poooorrrrk choooops. As we ride nearer there are at least 20 people in line and we pull off as well. Who wouldn’t want a fresh grilled Iowa chop for breakfast?