My time at Iowa was as the bus was wrapping up, so I only made it a couple of times. But I figured some of you guys probably have some memories (lack of?)
GRINNELL, Iowa — Parked in a harvested cornfield sits a 39-year-old bus with more stories, half-truths, debauchery and outright lies than an unlocked Wikipedia page.
Here sits the Magic Bus, which earned the moniker of the nation’s top tailgating spot by Sports Illustrated in 1997. Surrounded by rusting farm machinery and newer models still working the fields, the 1984 International S-1800 bus with an unofficial capacity of “Naked 69” moved around Poweshiek County for a few miles just to get the juices flowing on a Sunday afternoon.
It’s a five-speed with a two-speed axle that goes from zero to 60 “in about 5-10 minutes,” said heavy machinery mechanic Shane Carnahan, who has fixed the ultimate party pad on wheels numerous times in recent years. For now, Carnahan’s border collie Duke watches over the Magic Bus, which coincidentally is located 69 miles from its former home at 817 Melrose Ave. — across the street from Kinnick Stadium.
For 20 years, the Magic Bus was Iowa City’s ultimate tailgate party, averaging around 50 kegs and 1,500 people on game day. For $5, patrons paid to see live music and drink all the beer they wanted. At least those were the rules. City and university leaders didn’t always interpret the Magic Bus as a concert first and twice arrested the organizers for bootlegging.
It was put to pasture 13 years ago figuratively by Iowa City’s hierarchy and literally by the Iowa City Ducks rugby club, which owns it. But the anecdotes, oh man.
“Some of these stories might be part of the reason I don’t have a degree,” original Magic Bus owner Brian DeCoster said.
Good mysteries don’t usually start with the conclusion in the first paragraph. But when you’re talking about the Magic Bus, where scantily clad performances before thousands of tailgaters equaled the number of kegs stacked alongside of it, the legend begins with fuzzy memories.
Known for holding some of Iowa City’s best tailgate parties in the mid-1980s, DeCoster wanted to add kegs of beer to his tailgate spot on university property. The University of Iowa shot down his request, so he moved his spot to private property, and the parties took off.
Then in 1990, DeCoster and a few friends were shooting pool at The Vine and one asked him where he planned to watch the Iowa game. DeCoster said the same party spot. Then his friend reminded him Iowa was playing at Miami.
“So I said, ‘Maybe I’ll buy a bus and we’ll all go,’” DeCoster said. “That’s what happened. I bought a bus, I think it was the next day.”
The black-and-gold bus cost DeCoster $1,000. DeCoster and 12 other people piled into what he christened “The Magic Bus” after The Who’s song and left for Florida almost immediately. Back in Iowa City, people held a pool for where they would abandon it. Yes, the bus broke down, but it was quickly fixed.
Along the way, DeCoster and friends hit a bar in St. Louis and picked up some girls, who joined the travel party. They were ridiculously behind schedule and DeCoster told everyone he wasn’t stopping except to fuel up. Considering all of the beer drinking, it was a rough experience for his new passengers.
“I said you can pee in the bucket like everybody else,” DeCoster said. “We are not pulling over. And they’re like, ‘OK.’ They shrugged their shoulders, and we’d all hold up a sheet and they’d pee in the bucket like everybody else.”
The Magic Bus added more people in Atlanta and went to the game, which Miami won 48-21. The party didn’t end there, however. They kept going to the Florida Keys. Nobody won the pool because the Magic Bus returned to Iowa City in one piece.
But nothing defined the Magic Bus like tailgating. Over the years, Iowa has developed a reputation as one of America’s ultimate party campuses. Even after the Magic Bus’ heyday, Iowa City ranked either No. 1 or No. 2 in Princeton Review’s annual party school rankings from 2012 through 2016. In reality, it was down a notch or two from the 1990s, especially during tailgating.
DeCoster built a platform atop the Magic Bus, which later featured live music during game days. Radio station KRNA-FM aired outside the Magic Bus, and tons of bands built their followings with pregame, halftime and postgame sets. There were other — ahem — acts on top of the bus that often resulted in nudity. We’ll stop a little short of explaining everything that went on inside and on top of the Magic Bus.
But there are other memories for those who experienced it in person. Kim Winslow, a 1994 Iowa graduate, moved to Raleigh, N.C., and brought her then-fiancé (now husband) to an Iowa-Penn State game in 1999. She introduced him to the Magic Bus that day.
“Everyone was in full-on party mode,” Winslow said. “Music was playing, beer was flowing and there were happy Hawkeye fans everywhere. Finally made our way into the stadium for the game. The excitement soon faded as Iowa trailed No. 2 PSU 21-7 after the third quarter. My dad and I stayed until the end, but my husband exited after the third quarter to go back to the Magic Bus with my cousin. Let’s just say by the time I met up with him after the game, he was a whole lot happier at the Magic Bus than I was after the game.”
A home game with decent weather started with anywhere from 30 to 50 kegs of beer. When it ran low, DeCoster called a taxi to pick up another 10 or 20. Beer distributors, bars and other establishments became sponsors. Beer executive Jake Leinenkugel sponsored the tailgate and provided about 50 kegs. DeCoster and Leinenkugel went to take a picture, and Leinenkugel noticed the kegs weren’t of his beer. They already had run out and had approached 100 kegs that day when ’70s rock star Rick Derringer played at the 1997 tailgate.
“It was really, really crowded. There was literally nowhere to stand up,” DeCoster said. “And after that, we’re sitting on the roof of the bus with our legs hanging over, and I end up falling asleep. I wake up about 10 at night, it’s dark out. I get down from the roof of the bus and go down the stairs and fall asleep on the couch.
“I hear this big grunt and a thump and some scuffling. I go outside and my buddy Eric is laying on the beer swill right underneath the faucets for the bus in a fetal position. And it looks like he fell off the roof of the bus.”
DeCoster’s buddy was bloody, not because of his fall from the bus, but from a previous tumble off the garage because there was no room in the yard around the bus.
Another wild tailgate convinced DeCoster to sell the bus. He left the Magic Bus for more beer and returned to the crowd cheering a naked man clutched to a rusty antenna atop a two-story colonial house.
“It had three layers of rotted shingles,” DeCoster said. “I got up on the roof of the house trying to get him down and encouraging the crowd just to stop encouraging him. And, of course, that’s not going to happen. I don’t remember how I got him down safely. But I decided that’s it.”
GRINNELL, Iowa — Parked in a harvested cornfield sits a 39-year-old bus with more stories, half-truths, debauchery and outright lies than an unlocked Wikipedia page.
Here sits the Magic Bus, which earned the moniker of the nation’s top tailgating spot by Sports Illustrated in 1997. Surrounded by rusting farm machinery and newer models still working the fields, the 1984 International S-1800 bus with an unofficial capacity of “Naked 69” moved around Poweshiek County for a few miles just to get the juices flowing on a Sunday afternoon.
It’s a five-speed with a two-speed axle that goes from zero to 60 “in about 5-10 minutes,” said heavy machinery mechanic Shane Carnahan, who has fixed the ultimate party pad on wheels numerous times in recent years. For now, Carnahan’s border collie Duke watches over the Magic Bus, which coincidentally is located 69 miles from its former home at 817 Melrose Ave. — across the street from Kinnick Stadium.
For 20 years, the Magic Bus was Iowa City’s ultimate tailgate party, averaging around 50 kegs and 1,500 people on game day. For $5, patrons paid to see live music and drink all the beer they wanted. At least those were the rules. City and university leaders didn’t always interpret the Magic Bus as a concert first and twice arrested the organizers for bootlegging.
It was put to pasture 13 years ago figuratively by Iowa City’s hierarchy and literally by the Iowa City Ducks rugby club, which owns it. But the anecdotes, oh man.
“Some of these stories might be part of the reason I don’t have a degree,” original Magic Bus owner Brian DeCoster said.
Good mysteries don’t usually start with the conclusion in the first paragraph. But when you’re talking about the Magic Bus, where scantily clad performances before thousands of tailgaters equaled the number of kegs stacked alongside of it, the legend begins with fuzzy memories.
Birth of the Bus
DeCoster and Iowa City party life became synonymous when he was a student at Iowa in the early 1980s. He bought and rented refrigerators each year on campus before quitting school and entering the rental business full time in his fourth year. He has owned Big Ten Rentals for more than three decades. Any story about the Magic Bus begins with DeCoster.Known for holding some of Iowa City’s best tailgate parties in the mid-1980s, DeCoster wanted to add kegs of beer to his tailgate spot on university property. The University of Iowa shot down his request, so he moved his spot to private property, and the parties took off.
Then in 1990, DeCoster and a few friends were shooting pool at The Vine and one asked him where he planned to watch the Iowa game. DeCoster said the same party spot. Then his friend reminded him Iowa was playing at Miami.
“So I said, ‘Maybe I’ll buy a bus and we’ll all go,’” DeCoster said. “That’s what happened. I bought a bus, I think it was the next day.”
The black-and-gold bus cost DeCoster $1,000. DeCoster and 12 other people piled into what he christened “The Magic Bus” after The Who’s song and left for Florida almost immediately. Back in Iowa City, people held a pool for where they would abandon it. Yes, the bus broke down, but it was quickly fixed.
Along the way, DeCoster and friends hit a bar in St. Louis and picked up some girls, who joined the travel party. They were ridiculously behind schedule and DeCoster told everyone he wasn’t stopping except to fuel up. Considering all of the beer drinking, it was a rough experience for his new passengers.
“I said you can pee in the bucket like everybody else,” DeCoster said. “We are not pulling over. And they’re like, ‘OK.’ They shrugged their shoulders, and we’d all hold up a sheet and they’d pee in the bucket like everybody else.”
The Magic Bus added more people in Atlanta and went to the game, which Miami won 48-21. The party didn’t end there, however. They kept going to the Florida Keys. Nobody won the pool because the Magic Bus returned to Iowa City in one piece.
A party machine
Over the six years DeCoster owned it, the Magic Bus made its way to the Kentucky Derby, the Indy 500, Mardi Gras, bowl games, concerts and numerous bachelor/bachelorette parties. It once hosted the world’s largest Tupperware party. DeCoster estimated he put 176,000 miles on the bus.But nothing defined the Magic Bus like tailgating. Over the years, Iowa has developed a reputation as one of America’s ultimate party campuses. Even after the Magic Bus’ heyday, Iowa City ranked either No. 1 or No. 2 in Princeton Review’s annual party school rankings from 2012 through 2016. In reality, it was down a notch or two from the 1990s, especially during tailgating.
DeCoster built a platform atop the Magic Bus, which later featured live music during game days. Radio station KRNA-FM aired outside the Magic Bus, and tons of bands built their followings with pregame, halftime and postgame sets. There were other — ahem — acts on top of the bus that often resulted in nudity. We’ll stop a little short of explaining everything that went on inside and on top of the Magic Bus.
But there are other memories for those who experienced it in person. Kim Winslow, a 1994 Iowa graduate, moved to Raleigh, N.C., and brought her then-fiancé (now husband) to an Iowa-Penn State game in 1999. She introduced him to the Magic Bus that day.
“Everyone was in full-on party mode,” Winslow said. “Music was playing, beer was flowing and there were happy Hawkeye fans everywhere. Finally made our way into the stadium for the game. The excitement soon faded as Iowa trailed No. 2 PSU 21-7 after the third quarter. My dad and I stayed until the end, but my husband exited after the third quarter to go back to the Magic Bus with my cousin. Let’s just say by the time I met up with him after the game, he was a whole lot happier at the Magic Bus than I was after the game.”
A home game with decent weather started with anywhere from 30 to 50 kegs of beer. When it ran low, DeCoster called a taxi to pick up another 10 or 20. Beer distributors, bars and other establishments became sponsors. Beer executive Jake Leinenkugel sponsored the tailgate and provided about 50 kegs. DeCoster and Leinenkugel went to take a picture, and Leinenkugel noticed the kegs weren’t of his beer. They already had run out and had approached 100 kegs that day when ’70s rock star Rick Derringer played at the 1997 tailgate.
“It was really, really crowded. There was literally nowhere to stand up,” DeCoster said. “And after that, we’re sitting on the roof of the bus with our legs hanging over, and I end up falling asleep. I wake up about 10 at night, it’s dark out. I get down from the roof of the bus and go down the stairs and fall asleep on the couch.
“I hear this big grunt and a thump and some scuffling. I go outside and my buddy Eric is laying on the beer swill right underneath the faucets for the bus in a fetal position. And it looks like he fell off the roof of the bus.”
DeCoster’s buddy was bloody, not because of his fall from the bus, but from a previous tumble off the garage because there was no room in the yard around the bus.
Another wild tailgate convinced DeCoster to sell the bus. He left the Magic Bus for more beer and returned to the crowd cheering a naked man clutched to a rusty antenna atop a two-story colonial house.
“It had three layers of rotted shingles,” DeCoster said. “I got up on the roof of the house trying to get him down and encouraging the crowd just to stop encouraging him. And, of course, that’s not going to happen. I don’t remember how I got him down safely. But I decided that’s it.”
