Gobians (those who ride GOBA) reside in a traveling tent city, population 2,500, called Gobaville. The town is never in the same place for more than two days in a row and it only exists eight days of the year, but it’s residents are fiercely loyal none the less.
Gobaville has communal transportation, food, showers, healthcare, shops, and even massage therapy. It’s no small undertaking to create and recreate over and over.
The logistics require a tight schedule for the GOBA staff and volunteers, but the town residents rarely see the city take shape.
Riders have to load their gear on one of three semi trucks by 8:45 a.m. daily, and while they ride fifty miles their gear is driven to the next city.
When I first learned I’d be showering in a shower truck my expectations were pretty low. Not sure if it’s the fifty miles of grime, sweat, bugs and grease, but this wonderful contraption is nothing short of heavenly. Amazingly, the showers are sparkling clean, have warm water, and even caddies for your toiletries. Like many aspects of Gobaville there is frequently a line, but it’s well worth the wait.
The medical tent is provided by doctors who volunteer their time, and also happen to ride the route typically. Since they took such great care of me when I got sick I can attest that they are a godsend.
Bike shops set up at each location. They can do onsite repairs and of course sell gear and accessories. They’re such an invaluable resource for riders.
On Tuesday’s route several riders crashed and were either injured, and/or damaged their bikes. They were able to replace bent wheels a little more easily than the flesh left behind on the patch of pavement that had been stripped and caused the crashes.
Fortunately for most riders they don’t get sick, hurt, or mangle their bike. They drop their gear in the morning, ride a grueling, or maybe relaxing, fifty miles, and arrive at Gobaville on their bike. They ride up to the truck carrying their gear. When the gear is unloaded the truck inches forward and the bags are laid out in a swath about twelve feet wide by fifty yards. Smart riders (like me) mark their gear distinctively to ease in the retrieval process.
Then the Gobian seeks out their homestead. Some take this so seriously that they depart on the route before sunrise (a violation of the rules) to ensure they are early to the next camp to get the best spot.
In Coshocton that strategy might have proven fruitful since the campground had lots of trees, you know, nature’s air conditioning. In Mt. Vernon the campsite is the fairgrounds and there is nary a tree (other than five foot tall ornamental conifers) to be found. No matter when you arrive your tent will be equally baked in the sun.
Homestead choice includes other critical factors such as proximity to the luggage truck, showers and port-a-toilets. For example, one doesn’t want a long hike to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, but being too close or downwind is equally problematic.
(Click to see an image gallery of Gobaville)
It seems as though most people ride GOBA with a friend or family member, which really comes in handy for the homesteading process. It takes me twice as long to set up and tear down, and if I ever did this alone again I’d spend whatever it costs to get one of those fancy pole-less tents that magically pops up fully assembled.
After shower truck bliss there is the opportunity to change into normal, non-spandex clothing, but interestingly not everyone takes it. Then you can hop on a shuttle to eat some dinner before returning to camp.
At lights out one of the riders plays Taps, and in theory the city sleeps. Often your neighbor’s tents are just a few inches from yours on at least three sides, and as best I can tell everyone in Gobaville, excluding me, snores. Still, after a long day I’ve yet to have trouble sleeping.
Around five the whirr of tent zippers commences and the process begins again.
