I woke up early, ready to start my trek down the Mississippi. As I aired up my loaded down rear tire, it began to deflate so I had to pull everything off and replace the tube with my spare. I looked at the old tube and realized that the bike shop in Fargo had replaced my inner tubes with an inferior brand; why would they do that? The fix was easy and I was back in business. A few miles down the road was were the junction between the St. Croix and Mississippi occurred. The town of Prescott marks this location; I stopped long enough to take pictures and do some pushups. The road out of town was very hilly, but I was rewarded with a rare moose sighting and wild turkeys. I made it to Red Wing, where the shoes come from; I also stopped in the store to take a picture of the worlds’ largest boot, size 638 and ½ if I remember correctly. I then stopped for breakfast at the local greasy spoon.
The ride out of town was actually quite nice, with a series of rolling hills and farmland, just a few miles west of the Great River. At around 4pm, I pulled into a gas station at Wabasha. As I enjoyed an ice cream sandwich, I noticed a small boat on a broken trailer on a flatbed tow truck. A barefoot man in his forties who had autism was talking with his mother about what to do with the boat. She approached me and asked if I was riding a racing bike; I told her it was a cycle cross bike and that I was riding across country. They continued to talk about the boat, made a phone call inside the service station, and said something about driving the boat down to La Crosse. I thought to myself, “what a coincidence, I’m going to La Crosse tonight”. So, I jokingly mentioned that I would ride down with the man if he wanted. The mother, Lavern actually thought that was an alright idea but Steve wasn’t sure if he had room. He was on a journey to the mouth of the Mississippi, so the boat was full of food and supplies.
I met them, and the tow truck at the boat ramp and we loaded my bicycle into Lavern’s SUV. We took some pictures and Steve and I were off like a herd of turtles, at about 5 miles per hour. When we left the marina, and crossed into the channel of the Mississippi, we continued at our slugs’ pace. I assumed that we would increase our speed but that didn’t happen; I didn’t want to press him about it so I just sat quietly, absorbing the great views of the surrounding bluffs, bald eagles taking flight, and the sand islands that dotted the river. Steve stammered out that, “I just tuned the m-m-motor, and y-you aren’t supposed to open the throttle m-m-more than half way”. In fact, he only opened the throttle about a third of the way, because I could pick out any tree on a shoreline and watch the squirrels run up and down before we were past it. It was a lesson in patience, and I enjoyed every view, every ripple of water, and the silence that the river afforded us. We didn’t say much for a long time until we reached the first lock-and-dam. I learned how to signal the lock to open for us, and also about what the numbers on the buoy’s meant.
While travelling down river, you are supposed to stay between the green and red buoy’s; they indicate where the depth of water is nine feet or more, which is what is required for the barges’ passage. We did this for hours, and the sun set quickly, we weren’t to La Crosse yet and it dawned on me that we weren’t going to get there by boat tonight. The next dam was approaching, and natural light was fading quick. Steve made a wrong turn at a reedy island, and we got off course. There were large numbers of pelicans roosting and wading in the shallow depths at either side of us. We slowed to a sloths’ pace and Steve finally realized that he needed to turn around. As we pulled around and he opened the throttle up, it sputtered and the clutch slipped. Something was stuck on the blades of the motor, so we limped the boat out of the shallow water, and back into the channel. It was extremely dark and I had no idea where we were going to pull out of the water. Fortunately, we saw another small craft sneak into a dark passage along one edge of the waterfront. I had to put my headlamp on to keep us from getting stuck in the reeds, and we followed the light on the back of their watercraft into a creepy tunnel that seemed to go nowhere. We had to row the boat through the black widow infested tunnel, and finally made it to a small marina with a boat launch. I helped tie the boat up, and promptly called Lavern to come and rescue us.
We were in a little town called Minneaska, where the only thing open was Buck’s Tavern. The locals looked at us like we just landed on Earth from space; I was still wearing my spandex bike shorts and a rain jacket, and he was barefoot and stammering. I actually thought the situation was hilarious and enjoyed every part of the adventure. The bartended got worried when our ride didn’t show up when we said, so she got on the phone with Lavern and directed her on in. I squeezed myself into the vehicle with my bike and all the gear, and we drove the rest of the way to La Crosse. We got into town at around 11:30 pm and I called Stephanie’s father, George. He met us outside of his old mission style house, and I was thankful to have a place to stay.
George made me a sandwich and he let me help myself to salad, grapes, brownies, and Ice cream. I told him a little bit about the day’s craziness and then he showed me my accommodations. He was a very kind man for waiting up for me and having a bed made; I asked him to wake me in the morning. We had cheese omelets, brownies and milk for breakfast and then I gathered my things. George told me a little history and mentioned about the castles and estates that were a product of the timber industry over a century ago. I bought and new inner tube at the local bike shop and then drank three cups of coffee downtown.
It was about 1 pm and I crossed the Mississippi for the second time headed south. The ride was gorgeous, the hills were rolling and I seemed to hold a steady 18 miles per hour for several hours. The easy part was over though, because before Harpers’ Ferry, the road went up and through the steep bluffs, and my pace slowed back to the turtle speed. The only saving grace was the fact that every uphill has a downhill, and I was able to get some video footage of my descents. As the daylight faded, I finally made it into Marquette about an hour before sunset. I found a Bed and Breakfast, knocked on the door and asked if I could set up my tent in their yard or if I could set up in the city park. They weren’t too keen on that idea, but offered to call the mayor’s office. They were in a city council meeting, but then she looked down the road and there were a group of people standing outside. I went and talked to them, and I was introduced to the mayor and city clerk; they said that they couldn’t let me camp in the park, but Mary Sue offered to let me set up in her back yard two blocks away. The mayor told me that I should buy her a beer, that,” we have priorities in this town”. I laughed, and followed Mary Sue to her yard.
After setting up and catching up on a phone call, I headed over to the casino, which was actually a huge old paddle boat. I took a picture with a giant pink elephant in a top hat, and boarded the docked ship. The only thing that they had for dinner this late was goulash, and stale garlic bread, but It filled me up. I wandered the three floors of insanity, the dizzying array of slot machines, and flashing lights and buzzing bells was almost too much for me. I settled at the bar, and talked with the cute bartender along with a group of older, cigar smoking gentlemen, telling stupid jokes. The funny thing about working in a casino is that you have to say, “thank you, good luck” to every person that you talk to; you also have to show your hands to the camera in the typical “jazz hands” motion so that they can see that you aren’t pocketing any money. I left a couple of hours later after drinking three beers and I told Amy, the bartender, “thank you, good luck”.
The next morning, I crossed the river into Wisconsin. The town of Prarie du Chien was named after the natives here, apparently the tribal leaders name was translated as Dog, hence Prarie of the Dog in French. I bought a loaf of bread at a grocery store called Piggly Wiggly, and started a hilly bike ride. There was nothing about the ride that was flat; in fact, I have never ridden up steeper hills other than Seattle. I stopped for my peanut butter and agave sandwich lunch in a small town about 25 miles away from Dubuque when the rain started. I had a host, Sheri, that night in Dubuque so I just decided to gear up for the weather and go for it. However, just before leaving the gas station, a grumpy old man said, “you are going to get wet”, and all I said was, “yup”. It never amazes me the things that people will say to you just because they can’t keep it to themselves. I was able to keep my shoes dry for the first ten miles, but the drops of rain increased in size and intensity, so my feet were swimming in water by the time I reached Dickeyville. I just kept pushing on through and as I finally reached Dubuque, the sky cleared up and I found a café that had black eye coffee and a restroom to change my clothes in.
Sheri met me after about an hour, and we put my bike on the bike rack the she kept in her trunk. There was a tornado warning county wide and the dark clouds were moving fast. We drove to her house across town, and unloaded my things as the rain started to pour again. We were both hungry, so were went to the grocery store and bought the fixings to make BLT’s and also a bottle of wine. When we got back to her place, we made dinner and talked about Sheri’s trip to Japan, including what she learned about Sake and a little about my bike trip thus far. I had two sandwiches and drank most of the white wine, then did a load of laundry and passed out. I dreamt about flying in a helicopter over glaciers and valleys, it was nice to be dreaming again.
I left town early the next morning, because my trip to Davenport was just over seventy miles, and I was told that the trip was hilly. I stopped at a local BBQ place to use the restroom and fill my water, but the owner told me to just grab a bottle out of the cooler. I love the unexpected kindness that all types of strangers have shown me the past six weeks. I left town on Interstate 61, which was a four lane highway that had a disappearing shoulder every few miles. I don’t know if I have ever been on a road that made me nervous the way that this one did. I kept my cool for nearly thirty miles even though I had three semi trucks honk at me and one pass about a foot away from me. I had enough of the high speed, noisy road, and I stopped at a visitors center at Huntsville. It was a nice stop, there were massive restored lime kilns on a historic estate. I ate lunch at the interpretive center, picked up a bike map of Iowa and took country roads the rest of the way to Davenport. It was refreshing to slow my pace once again, watch the corn fields sway in the wind, and daydream as the scattered clouds floated on by. I only had one dog try to silently chase me, and I easily outran him. I pit stopped in Grand Mound , had a Diet Coke in a dark, cavernous bar, and rested for a about an hour. I called my host, Eric and got directions into West Davenport where he lives. The rest of the ride was actually really comfortable, as the hills decreased in size and I was able to average a comfortable 18 mph the fifteen miles into town.
I got on the bike path that meanders all the way through town and arrived at Eric’s place just as he was pulling in. He got tickets to a Minor League baseball game for us, the local team is known as the Quad Cities Bandits. Eric works in insurance so he knows quite a few people around town, so he was able to get us into the private party with free food and beer. He told me that if I wanted to stay another day, there was a river blues festival going on with Blue Oyster Cult headlining. That was all that he had to say, I love music. Eric told me that he was going to be serving beer for three hours at the festival and asked if I wanted to work so I said yes, sounds like another fun experience. The Bandits won the game, and we left the stadium, got home and went to sleep.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Post 7- St. Cloud to somewhere near Stillwater
After getting lost trying to find Holly’s house, I swallowed my pride and called her. She was even waiting for me outside (I had to call several times). I met her sister, her little birdie and she took me to the community garden at St. Cloud that she volunteers at and then I met her friends, Maggie and Paul. We cooked dinner with produce that we gathered from the garden and drank local Minnesota beer (this is a common theme). It got late quickly and before I went to bed, I made plans to meet up with Paul and Maggie in the morning. I met them at the local coffee shop, Meeting Grounds, at around noon and I met another friend, Kelly, who worked there. Holly joined us there for lunch and when Maggie had to leave for an appointment, Paul and I went shopping at local bookstores and vintage shops. I found a bunch of old greeting cards and a handmade journal so that I can write when the computer is not handy. We went over to Paul’s house and listened to old records, of which there were many to choose from (David Bowie included).
Maggie got home and we snacked on bagels topped with cream cheese and Kim chee. I decided that I wanted to make Eggplant Parmesan for dinner for everyone, so I called Holly and asked her to pick four ripe eggplants and a bunch of basil. We went to the grocery store for supplies and high-tailed it back to Holly’s to get started on the preparations. Paul and Maggie were of great help, I don’t think I would have finished it before midnight otherwise. I suggested that we go bowling that night because there was a special that night ($15 for bowling until midnight, and free pizza and beer for a couple of hours). Kay, who was the other couch surfing hostess in town, came over and we began a long night of debauchery. After eating a delicious dinner, we rode our bike posse over to the bowling alley. We drank as fast as we could in order to get our monies’ worth and played three fun-filled games of bowling. There were a lot of pictures, funny moments and some beer spilt. We went back to the casa, and hung out for a little longer, even though Holly had to leave early that morning for work.
I woke up extra early that morning and woke Holly up; it took me hours to get all my things together, probably because I was hung over. I stopped by the coffee shop on the way out of town, said goodbye to Kay and Kelly and was on my way. The countryside was full of corn, and soybeans, but there was a bald eagle munching on a dead raccoon in the middle of the street. I made a song about Amish people, and got lost on one of the millions of country roads, that change names every five miles. At that point I decided to just follow Highway 10 into St. Paul. After heading south for about ten miles, I met up with the freeway and found a salad buffet in a town called Becker. I also mailed off a couple of the postcards that I had previously acquired.
The road was uneventful for a long time and the shoulder disappeared in each town. As I got closer to the Cities, I started to get nervous about the road (there were on-ramps seemingly about every half mile at this point). I passed a sign that said no bikes allowed in a town called Coon Rapids and I had to remove myself from the insanity. There was a White Castle, so I was obliged to get some sliders; I wasn’t sure how I was going to get to St. Paul that night. After my gut bomb, I found a park and ride nearby and waited for a bus to come. Holly was nice and made arrangements for me to stay with her friends, Stephanie and James, so I told them that I was on a bus heading their direction. I was dropped off a few miles away from their house, so I pedaled over there. On the way to their house, I met a man who had a monkey on his shoulder; he had the monkey defanged and it was wearing sport pants, go figure.
Stephanie and James were also waiting on their front stoop for me to arrive, and I was exhausted. They offered me yet another variety of Minnesota beer, and we hung out at the house, and made dinner. They had made up a nice futon on the floor upstairs, and I was very happy to have yet another comfortable bed to sleep in. I was excited for the next day because one of my favorite songwriters, Daniel Johnston was performing at First Avenue that night.
The next morning, I got a ride into Minneapolis from Stephanie and had coffee at Dunn Brothers; there was a nice, upbeat guy working there who gave me directions to some of the local places to check out. I walked across town to Electric Fetus to buy tickets for James, Holly and me. Tickets in hand, I strolled over to the Art Institute (which was free that day) and checked my bag in. The first thing that I saw was the Doryphorus, one of four statues of David of which the others are located in places such as the Vatican. The museum had an extensive collection of art from all over the world, spanning thousands of years of history. My favorite exhibits were a series of hanging scrolls from China depicting mountains, villages and floral motifs. There was also an excellent collection of Buddhist art, sculptures, and artifacts. I left the museum nearly four hours later, ate Vietnamese food, and caught a bus to the Sculpture Park near the Walker Museum. The park was beautiful; it had interactive sculpture including a large kinetic piece that you can climb on and a giant spoon bridge with ten foot cherry on top.
I meditated for about an hour under a row of trees that had hundreds of wind chimes strung up throughout them, the sound was mesmerizing. I talked with my friend Sandra, who lives on Martha‘s Vineyard about doing a little work on the island, and then Stephanie called me to come and pick me up. We went back to the house and met Holly there, who came down from St. Cloud to come to the show that night. We made caprese (open-faced tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwiches) and had a couple of brews before we rode bicycles down to the show.
Daniel Johnston was incredible; he puts on a great show for a disturbed man who’s right arm can’t stop shaking. He was only able to strum about five songs on his guitar before he had a backup guitarist accompany him. Holly introduced a friend of hers to me, who happened to be the guy that I talked to earlier at the coffee shop. James and I reminisced about old Nintendo games throughout the show. We rode our bikes over the stone arch bridge, which overlooks the Guthrie Theater and the old mill that was the backbone of the city back during its’ formative years.
I slept well again on the comfy futon, Holly also stayed at the Stephanie hotel. In the morning, Holly and I hit the town. We went to the local swimming hole, Hidden Lake and enjoyed basking in the sun. There just so happens to be a mud hole that you can jump in and cover your body in the muck. We got completely covered in the grayish colored soupy mess and walked back over to the beach to people watch the pasty Minnesotans. Then we drove over to St. Paul to Degidio’s Italian Restaurant, to try and meet up with a friend of a friend. He wasn’t working, so we had bloody mary’s and a gambled $5 worth of pull tabs. I won back a dollar and decided to save my huge winnings for pin ball later. There was a band called Vampire Hands playing at the Turf Room that night, and this time Stephanie decided to go instead of James, go figure. The opening band hadn’t started yet so Stephanie, Holly, Desiree, Andy and I went to the nearby bar and played pinball and pool.
When we went back to the show, the second band was playing and the venue was packed like a can of sardines. I enjoyed the music, it made me want to stomp around and clap my hands. When Vampire Hands came on, I moved closer to the stage; I was within punching distance of the stage. Holly moved closer to the speakers, which was fine because I was in full stomping swing for the rest of the show. I can’t remember having so much fun dancing around; it was nice to be in a large city again with all the night life surrounding me. We walked the mile back to Stephanie’s house and Holly, Andy and I crashed hard, sharing the same floor space.
The next day was a little harder getting going, and we went down to the Farmer’s Market in St. Paul to get some local produce. I bought jerky, broccoli, and a fresh loaf of bread. It was Saturday, and there were two barbeques going on that night; I joined Holly, and I met a large group of women who had prepared some delicious sausages, veggies, and desserts. I talked with some of them about my adventures and how I my trip had led me there. We then moved on to the second event where Stephanie and James we at; there was Minnesota sweet corn, ribs, and more sausage. I was tired, and had trouble keeping my eyes open the whole evening. We made it safely back to the house and crashed once more, this was starting to become a pattern and I told them earlier that if I didn’t leave the next day then I would never leave.
In the morning, we all went to the NE Minneapolis neighborhood that James and Steph were going to move to and ate breakfast at the local bar (which had bloody mary’s with meat sticks in them). We stopped by Desiree’s house, I got a tour of it, and then they took me back home to get ready to leave town. It took me a while to get ready because James gave me a set of attachable handle bars that you can rest your forearms on (arrow bars?). I had been experiencing severe numbness in both of my hands’ fingertips, so this contraption is supposed to help with that. I left town at around 4 pm and rode the bike path to the beautiful town Stillwater, on the St. Croix River. I was trying to make it to Red Wing before dark, but had to stop a few miles north of Prescott because it was getting dark. I slept under a picnic shelter that evening at the Regional Park, because I didn’t want to pay the $15 to stay at the campground. As I finished setting my tent up, I noticed that there were little glowing lights floating around the area. I had no idea what they were, at first I thought that there were animals looking at me, but when I saw the same, eerie flashes in the trees, I knew that they were some sort of glowing insect. I then remembered that Holly told me to not keep my food with me because there were cougars, and as I was trying to sleep I just remembered that. In fact, I couldn’t sleep because I kept hearing things moving in the nearby bushes, so I moved my tent closer to the middle of the picnic shelter and put my food about thirty feet away behind the trash cans. I then felt safe, and promptly fell asleep.
Maggie got home and we snacked on bagels topped with cream cheese and Kim chee. I decided that I wanted to make Eggplant Parmesan for dinner for everyone, so I called Holly and asked her to pick four ripe eggplants and a bunch of basil. We went to the grocery store for supplies and high-tailed it back to Holly’s to get started on the preparations. Paul and Maggie were of great help, I don’t think I would have finished it before midnight otherwise. I suggested that we go bowling that night because there was a special that night ($15 for bowling until midnight, and free pizza and beer for a couple of hours). Kay, who was the other couch surfing hostess in town, came over and we began a long night of debauchery. After eating a delicious dinner, we rode our bike posse over to the bowling alley. We drank as fast as we could in order to get our monies’ worth and played three fun-filled games of bowling. There were a lot of pictures, funny moments and some beer spilt. We went back to the casa, and hung out for a little longer, even though Holly had to leave early that morning for work.
I woke up extra early that morning and woke Holly up; it took me hours to get all my things together, probably because I was hung over. I stopped by the coffee shop on the way out of town, said goodbye to Kay and Kelly and was on my way. The countryside was full of corn, and soybeans, but there was a bald eagle munching on a dead raccoon in the middle of the street. I made a song about Amish people, and got lost on one of the millions of country roads, that change names every five miles. At that point I decided to just follow Highway 10 into St. Paul. After heading south for about ten miles, I met up with the freeway and found a salad buffet in a town called Becker. I also mailed off a couple of the postcards that I had previously acquired.
The road was uneventful for a long time and the shoulder disappeared in each town. As I got closer to the Cities, I started to get nervous about the road (there were on-ramps seemingly about every half mile at this point). I passed a sign that said no bikes allowed in a town called Coon Rapids and I had to remove myself from the insanity. There was a White Castle, so I was obliged to get some sliders; I wasn’t sure how I was going to get to St. Paul that night. After my gut bomb, I found a park and ride nearby and waited for a bus to come. Holly was nice and made arrangements for me to stay with her friends, Stephanie and James, so I told them that I was on a bus heading their direction. I was dropped off a few miles away from their house, so I pedaled over there. On the way to their house, I met a man who had a monkey on his shoulder; he had the monkey defanged and it was wearing sport pants, go figure.
Stephanie and James were also waiting on their front stoop for me to arrive, and I was exhausted. They offered me yet another variety of Minnesota beer, and we hung out at the house, and made dinner. They had made up a nice futon on the floor upstairs, and I was very happy to have yet another comfortable bed to sleep in. I was excited for the next day because one of my favorite songwriters, Daniel Johnston was performing at First Avenue that night.
The next morning, I got a ride into Minneapolis from Stephanie and had coffee at Dunn Brothers; there was a nice, upbeat guy working there who gave me directions to some of the local places to check out. I walked across town to Electric Fetus to buy tickets for James, Holly and me. Tickets in hand, I strolled over to the Art Institute (which was free that day) and checked my bag in. The first thing that I saw was the Doryphorus, one of four statues of David of which the others are located in places such as the Vatican. The museum had an extensive collection of art from all over the world, spanning thousands of years of history. My favorite exhibits were a series of hanging scrolls from China depicting mountains, villages and floral motifs. There was also an excellent collection of Buddhist art, sculptures, and artifacts. I left the museum nearly four hours later, ate Vietnamese food, and caught a bus to the Sculpture Park near the Walker Museum. The park was beautiful; it had interactive sculpture including a large kinetic piece that you can climb on and a giant spoon bridge with ten foot cherry on top.
I meditated for about an hour under a row of trees that had hundreds of wind chimes strung up throughout them, the sound was mesmerizing. I talked with my friend Sandra, who lives on Martha‘s Vineyard about doing a little work on the island, and then Stephanie called me to come and pick me up. We went back to the house and met Holly there, who came down from St. Cloud to come to the show that night. We made caprese (open-faced tomato, basil and mozzarella sandwiches) and had a couple of brews before we rode bicycles down to the show.
Daniel Johnston was incredible; he puts on a great show for a disturbed man who’s right arm can’t stop shaking. He was only able to strum about five songs on his guitar before he had a backup guitarist accompany him. Holly introduced a friend of hers to me, who happened to be the guy that I talked to earlier at the coffee shop. James and I reminisced about old Nintendo games throughout the show. We rode our bikes over the stone arch bridge, which overlooks the Guthrie Theater and the old mill that was the backbone of the city back during its’ formative years.
I slept well again on the comfy futon, Holly also stayed at the Stephanie hotel. In the morning, Holly and I hit the town. We went to the local swimming hole, Hidden Lake and enjoyed basking in the sun. There just so happens to be a mud hole that you can jump in and cover your body in the muck. We got completely covered in the grayish colored soupy mess and walked back over to the beach to people watch the pasty Minnesotans. Then we drove over to St. Paul to Degidio’s Italian Restaurant, to try and meet up with a friend of a friend. He wasn’t working, so we had bloody mary’s and a gambled $5 worth of pull tabs. I won back a dollar and decided to save my huge winnings for pin ball later. There was a band called Vampire Hands playing at the Turf Room that night, and this time Stephanie decided to go instead of James, go figure. The opening band hadn’t started yet so Stephanie, Holly, Desiree, Andy and I went to the nearby bar and played pinball and pool.
When we went back to the show, the second band was playing and the venue was packed like a can of sardines. I enjoyed the music, it made me want to stomp around and clap my hands. When Vampire Hands came on, I moved closer to the stage; I was within punching distance of the stage. Holly moved closer to the speakers, which was fine because I was in full stomping swing for the rest of the show. I can’t remember having so much fun dancing around; it was nice to be in a large city again with all the night life surrounding me. We walked the mile back to Stephanie’s house and Holly, Andy and I crashed hard, sharing the same floor space.
The next day was a little harder getting going, and we went down to the Farmer’s Market in St. Paul to get some local produce. I bought jerky, broccoli, and a fresh loaf of bread. It was Saturday, and there were two barbeques going on that night; I joined Holly, and I met a large group of women who had prepared some delicious sausages, veggies, and desserts. I talked with some of them about my adventures and how I my trip had led me there. We then moved on to the second event where Stephanie and James we at; there was Minnesota sweet corn, ribs, and more sausage. I was tired, and had trouble keeping my eyes open the whole evening. We made it safely back to the house and crashed once more, this was starting to become a pattern and I told them earlier that if I didn’t leave the next day then I would never leave.
In the morning, we all went to the NE Minneapolis neighborhood that James and Steph were going to move to and ate breakfast at the local bar (which had bloody mary’s with meat sticks in them). We stopped by Desiree’s house, I got a tour of it, and then they took me back home to get ready to leave town. It took me a while to get ready because James gave me a set of attachable handle bars that you can rest your forearms on (arrow bars?). I had been experiencing severe numbness in both of my hands’ fingertips, so this contraption is supposed to help with that. I left town at around 4 pm and rode the bike path to the beautiful town Stillwater, on the St. Croix River. I was trying to make it to Red Wing before dark, but had to stop a few miles north of Prescott because it was getting dark. I slept under a picnic shelter that evening at the Regional Park, because I didn’t want to pay the $15 to stay at the campground. As I finished setting my tent up, I noticed that there were little glowing lights floating around the area. I had no idea what they were, at first I thought that there were animals looking at me, but when I saw the same, eerie flashes in the trees, I knew that they were some sort of glowing insect. I then remembered that Holly told me to not keep my food with me because there were cougars, and as I was trying to sleep I just remembered that. In fact, I couldn’t sleep because I kept hearing things moving in the nearby bushes, so I moved my tent closer to the middle of the picnic shelter and put my food about thirty feet away behind the trash cans. I then felt safe, and promptly fell asleep.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Post 6- Great Falls, ND to St. Cloud, MN
It finally happened, I had that moment that you can’t quite describe in words, that moment where there is nothing but the road before you, the birds chirping, the wind in your face and breathing, in and out, in and out. I had become one with the world for just one second, yet that second seemed to last an eternity; and then I was back again, back aching, legs burning, but I won’t forget that moment, it forms the basis for what we are all striving for in some form, enlightenment, salvation, nirvana, call it what you like.
The 70 miles to Fargo went by in a hurry, and I made it to the University Post Office, where I was supposed to pick up my reading glasses that I left in Diablo. They were closed, in fact they were only open from 10 am to 1 pm Monday-thru-Thursday. I called my friend Ada, in Seattle and found out that the glasses were never sent to Fargo so I breathed a sigh of relief and headed towards the bicycle shop that used to be a train station. Something had come loose on my rear wheel about ten miles outside of town and was sliding up and down the spoke.
The guy who checked it out said that I had cracks all over the place and several of the spokes were completely blown out. Oops, didn’t notice that one! It turns out that both of my tires were worn so thin that he could pinch the material right off, and my chain was stretched out beyond its limit. Hmm, well I guess that it was good that I made it to Fargo, the first serious place to get any real bicycle parts since Seattle (also known as the place where your map folds in half).
My host Tyler called and we made plans to meet, and while I was getting my bike worked on, another cross country biker came in to the shop. His name was Joe and he was on his way to Portland to find whatever it was that he was seeking, that being work, happiness and a possible education in Naturopathy. I asked my host if Joe could also stay, and he did. We all made dinner together and enjoyed the stories that we both had to share with Tyler. We drank local beer (of course) and decided to go to the local Irish Bar/venue. We had beer, scotch, watched a great cover band and I narrowly avoided a fight with a very large, rude, inebriated white guy. I slept on the couch and Tyler’s friend took us to breakfast at the Marriot, which happened to be an extremely delicious buffet (including a wafflemaker, piles of bacon, and sausage, and fruit).
I convinced Joe that he needed to go through Glacier National Park, instead of south through Billings, and we had lunch at Pita Pit. I didn’t leave town until about 2 pm and the rain had just started to dump so I geared up and just kept pedaling towards the Eastern Horizon. The rain turned into lightning and thunder and I pulled off in some small village that had an ice cream shop. The lightning was crashing down all around the building and it was raining so hard that the gutters were overflowing In rows of waterfalls. I talked with a nice lady and her daughter while we all took shelter, and then ordered a huge bowl of ice cream. The storm quickly passed, and I headed out again. The county side turned into rolling hills and small lakes all around me, it was exhilarating to pump up a hill and then come swooshing down the other side, it was almost like flying. I didn’t quite make it to Pelican Rapids, which was unfortunate because I had to buy an RV site at the local campground. The owner of the permanently set up RV had an outdoor canopy set up so I squatted for the night under the cover. I was just waking up when I heard someone outside say, “you up yet? What are you doing here?” I replied, “some of the neighbors said it was alright to set up for just the night”. He wasn’t very happy, as it was the camp host who sold me the RV site next to the one I was at. I told him that I would leave right away and he said, ”you better do that, the owner is usually here on the weekends”. I left quickly and without a shower.
I stopped in at Pelican Rapids and had breakfast, I finished my book and took my time. There was a lot of traffic because WE Fest, a country music festival had just ended. I traveled through more gorgeous countryside and saw bald eagles and other large birds of prey. I came upon a place called Little Swan Lake and went for a swim. A nice lady with three little girls and one friend offered me ham sandwiches and gummy candies. I gladly accepted and went on my way. There were a lot of dogs that came chasing after me that evening and each time, it rose the hair on my arms, I really don’t want to ever get mauled by some farmers attack dog. The sun started to set that evening and after I passed a beautiful sunflower field, I made it into Long Prarie. I couldn’t find any place to set up my tent so I asked a motel owner if I could set up my tent in the back. She was nice, and I had some nice asphalt that was dry to set up on. I was even able to pickup internet and watched a couple of South Park episodes that night. In the morning I picked up some groceries and said hi to an Amish family that came trotting in on horse and buggy. The ride in to St. Cloud went extremely smooth, the wind didn’t seem to slow me down at all. At this point I had ridden about 2000 miles, and I arrived in St. Cloud around 5 pm, Monday the 10th of August. I crossed the Mississippi and called my host, Holly...
The 70 miles to Fargo went by in a hurry, and I made it to the University Post Office, where I was supposed to pick up my reading glasses that I left in Diablo. They were closed, in fact they were only open from 10 am to 1 pm Monday-thru-Thursday. I called my friend Ada, in Seattle and found out that the glasses were never sent to Fargo so I breathed a sigh of relief and headed towards the bicycle shop that used to be a train station. Something had come loose on my rear wheel about ten miles outside of town and was sliding up and down the spoke.
The guy who checked it out said that I had cracks all over the place and several of the spokes were completely blown out. Oops, didn’t notice that one! It turns out that both of my tires were worn so thin that he could pinch the material right off, and my chain was stretched out beyond its limit. Hmm, well I guess that it was good that I made it to Fargo, the first serious place to get any real bicycle parts since Seattle (also known as the place where your map folds in half).
My host Tyler called and we made plans to meet, and while I was getting my bike worked on, another cross country biker came in to the shop. His name was Joe and he was on his way to Portland to find whatever it was that he was seeking, that being work, happiness and a possible education in Naturopathy. I asked my host if Joe could also stay, and he did. We all made dinner together and enjoyed the stories that we both had to share with Tyler. We drank local beer (of course) and decided to go to the local Irish Bar/venue. We had beer, scotch, watched a great cover band and I narrowly avoided a fight with a very large, rude, inebriated white guy. I slept on the couch and Tyler’s friend took us to breakfast at the Marriot, which happened to be an extremely delicious buffet (including a wafflemaker, piles of bacon, and sausage, and fruit).
I convinced Joe that he needed to go through Glacier National Park, instead of south through Billings, and we had lunch at Pita Pit. I didn’t leave town until about 2 pm and the rain had just started to dump so I geared up and just kept pedaling towards the Eastern Horizon. The rain turned into lightning and thunder and I pulled off in some small village that had an ice cream shop. The lightning was crashing down all around the building and it was raining so hard that the gutters were overflowing In rows of waterfalls. I talked with a nice lady and her daughter while we all took shelter, and then ordered a huge bowl of ice cream. The storm quickly passed, and I headed out again. The county side turned into rolling hills and small lakes all around me, it was exhilarating to pump up a hill and then come swooshing down the other side, it was almost like flying. I didn’t quite make it to Pelican Rapids, which was unfortunate because I had to buy an RV site at the local campground. The owner of the permanently set up RV had an outdoor canopy set up so I squatted for the night under the cover. I was just waking up when I heard someone outside say, “you up yet? What are you doing here?” I replied, “some of the neighbors said it was alright to set up for just the night”. He wasn’t very happy, as it was the camp host who sold me the RV site next to the one I was at. I told him that I would leave right away and he said, ”you better do that, the owner is usually here on the weekends”. I left quickly and without a shower.
I stopped in at Pelican Rapids and had breakfast, I finished my book and took my time. There was a lot of traffic because WE Fest, a country music festival had just ended. I traveled through more gorgeous countryside and saw bald eagles and other large birds of prey. I came upon a place called Little Swan Lake and went for a swim. A nice lady with three little girls and one friend offered me ham sandwiches and gummy candies. I gladly accepted and went on my way. There were a lot of dogs that came chasing after me that evening and each time, it rose the hair on my arms, I really don’t want to ever get mauled by some farmers attack dog. The sun started to set that evening and after I passed a beautiful sunflower field, I made it into Long Prarie. I couldn’t find any place to set up my tent so I asked a motel owner if I could set up my tent in the back. She was nice, and I had some nice asphalt that was dry to set up on. I was even able to pickup internet and watched a couple of South Park episodes that night. In the morning I picked up some groceries and said hi to an Amish family that came trotting in on horse and buggy. The ride in to St. Cloud went extremely smooth, the wind didn’t seem to slow me down at all. At this point I had ridden about 2000 miles, and I arrived in St. Cloud around 5 pm, Monday the 10th of August. I crossed the Mississippi and called my host, Holly...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Post 5- Wolf Point, MT to Grand Forks, ND
August 2, 2009
I saw that there was a Pow-Wow going on behind the Sherman Hotel in a vacant lot. There were a large variety of tents and teepees being set up and I thought that I could camp there. As I was about to enter the premises from the adjacent street, a blue Subaru slowed down and a man leaned out of the window and pointed down the road. I thought he was indicating the direction for camping or something, but as I headed in that direction, I realized that he was pointing me out of town. I wasn’t very happy about my situation as I had pushed myself the whole day a distance of 120 miles to get to this town. On the corner there was a casino, so I figured that they would know where to camp. I went in and the first person that I asked about camping was the cash handler standing within the safety of a metal mesh cage. She told me that I should camp at the Pow-Wow. Everyone was welcomed, in fact that was part of the point of the event. So I told her, “I could go, but a man pointed me out of town as I was entering”. She wasn’t very happy about what had happened to me, in fact she was pissed off, so she called her boyfriend to come and pick me up. I was to camp in their backyard.
We pulled up to a house about ten blocks away from the center of town and I was shown the backyard area where I could set up my tent. The yard was infested with green and brown grasshoppers. There were so many of them that as I took each step, hundreds of them would hop away trying not to get splattered. We went inside and he told me to make myself at home, so I got my shower, plugged in my electronics and relaxed. He told me that his girlfriends' brother wanted to talk to me. The fifty something man was wheeled into the house; he introduced himself as an elder of the Bear Cub Tribe, a people placed on the reservation in Eastern Montana. His grandfather was the last Native American to be born in a teepee in this area. He told me that he was deeply dishonored by what had happened to me. The purpose of the Pow-Wow was to celebrate, and to come together and be welcoming. I was given two gifts, and I accepted them. He told me that keep it with me and it will protect me. I have never felt so touched by a person’s actions, as I did with the words that were uttered by him.
That night I was told many stories, with the help of several pints of whiskey and cigarettes; many of them had to do with the proximity of the Missouri river to Wolf Point; about 2000 yards away. They showed me pictures of the log cabins that they grew up in, and older pictures of their grandparents. They had been cooking moose ribs earlier in the day, and I was given a well marinated section. I don’t know if I have ever eaten anything in my life that melted in my mouth as this moose did; the tender meat fell off the bones as I picked up each piece, and each bite was savory and juicy. The one benefit of being native is that you are allowed to hunt year round. One of the cousins was the big hunter in the family and the meat I was eating came from a three year old moose that he spotted at a friends’ ranch. He had to borrow someone else's gun, and he was able to kill it. They asked me to stay for a couple of days, the family wanted me to go and see the Pow-Wow, so I obliged. By the end of the evening, we were all drunk and unfortunately, tempers were starting to flare towards the cousins and family members,so the elder was wheeled home about four blocks away and I retired to my grasshopper haven. I just don’t know why people have to be proud to the point of putting someone down because of blood line or purity. We are all here on this planet together, we are all one, there is no need for senseless hurt.
The following morning, I was up early and they fed me grits; I had two heaping bowls. I was feeling the pain in my legs from the day before and I basically didn’t want to do anything but sleep, eat and write. Throughout the day there were more cousins (such as Gene who lives two blocks away, is paralyzed on his left side and was at the house constantly);more brothers who wanted to meet me, and they brought Black Velvet and Coke. Cigarettes make me sick, so being surrounded by three to six people with a fag in the mouth at all times makes for a stuffed up Gary. There was a big feed the next day at George’s, so I had to stay in town.
I had a late morning because I slept inside; I can’t tell when the sun is coming up when I am in a catatonic state in a house. We went down to the river in the pickup and they told me about how the river runs through this particular section of Montanca. The Missouri is a shallow, dangerous river; there are whirlpools and swift current that can suck you down before you know it and you have to avoid sandbars while floating down the big muddy stream. We later went to the BBQ and I helped carry out the twenty or so pounds of meat. Unfortunately, Gene got to the BV before the food was done and his drunken self was driven home because there were kids there. The food was delicious, from the home made potato salad to the pork loin, moose, and scratch apple pie. I don’t know what happened then, but the couple I was staying with started to get into it and he was cursing. He was told to leave, and it took him a long time. I had to forcibly take my bottle away from him and then I left with one of the cousins to go to the Pow Wow. It was amazing to see all of the beautifully, and colorfully dressed people dancing. I was even pulled out there and learned the basic dance step. This was a traditional Pow Wow, where you come out in full costume for a reason such as honoring a soldier; sometimes there are dance competitions where you can win thousands of dollars, but they don’t do that at a traditional event such as this one. There was too much drama to mention what happened later that night, so I will not write about it out of respect. I left at 4 am that morning in the dark without sleeping much.
The only thing that I focused on that morning was not thinking about what had transpired earlier that day (nothing bad happened to me personally). There was a serious lightning storm rolling in and I took shelter at the Town Pump gas station where I had some stale coffee and a moldy doughnut that I had to exchange for a less moldy one. I talked to a police officer who passed me by earlier and he radioed in my inquiry about when the Sherman Hotel started to serve breakfast. So I hung out in the empty hotel restaurant for about forty five minutes until about six when all the white old men in town came in to get their normal breakfast buffet of fake eggs and sausage, I had three plates.
My bike ride to Williston, North Dakota that day started out great. I made it to the town of Poplar quickly, and then the wild dogs in the neighborhood started chasing me. I don’t like when dogs chase me, so I usually tell them to go away in a deep voice while pedaling away as fast as I can. Most of the rest of the way to the border was flat except for an area called “the Cuts”. This area is sort of a badlands consisting of hills that have been eroded away by nature over eons leaving the underlying sediment exposed. All of the clay, silt and peat from ancient times are visible. It is quite beautiful, but I was nonetheless glad to be out of the hills and into more flat land.
I knew that there was road construction at the border, so I just pedaled as far as I could and when I got to Bainville, I had to get off my bike and stick out my thumb. No luck initially, but then I pulled out Duke, the rubber duck that I started carrying since Cut Bank and held him up as trucks passed me by. Five minutes later, I had a ride and they were willing to take me all the way to Williston. I made the mother and daughter drop me off ten miles out of town and rode the rest of the way in. It wasn’t long before I found the internet café in town and waited for my host, Micah to call. He was a very unique guy, religious for sure, but he had books from about every religion in his apartment. I always enjoy fellow artists, we tend to think alike. He gave me a book entitled Siddhartha, we made up songs on the guitar and drank beer. I slept well that night on his couch.
The next morning, I left around nine and the wind was blowing extremely hard out of the north. It was hard to even go ten miles per hour. My maps showed that there was nothing along the north shore of Lake Sakakawea for seventy miles, so that was as far as I had to ride. I didn’t know that Western North Dakota was so hilly, and the grade was more like eight to ten percent. A storm hit at about mile forty and I had to take shelter under some trees. When it passed, I continued my struggle onward and finally made it into Newtown, on another Indian Reservation. These people were placed here away from their traditional farmlands, and I saw that there was a fort of some sort nearby. I bought a fish sandwich at a local grease hole and overheard a lady talking about a group of bicyclists coming through the area in a week. I asked her about camping in town and she told me that I could camp behind the Lutheran Church in the nice grass. It was the best place I could have possibly have camped, especially since it was free. However, I was awakened by the sprinklers watering my tent at four in the morning, but I just went back to sleep.
That morning I got up early, ate a huge breakfast in town, and finished the rest of the small bottle of tequila that I bought the night before. This area of North Dakota is littered with what the locals call “Potholes” and it was very beautiful to ride through. The hills were rolling and I started to see large fields of volunteer sunflowers. I made it to Minot around three and as I was pulling up to the visitors center, I couldn’t get out of my clipless pedals and gashed me knee. I had placed my first aid kit in an easy to reach place a few days ago, so my wound was bandaged up quickly. Minot had a great Stave church and other beautiful monuments at the heritage park. I ended up checking out the town for a few hours looking for a good place to camp and couldn’t find one so I just left town. I ended up riding in to Surrey, about ten miles East of Minot. I camped at the local high school in the baseball dugout because it was sheltered and at this point I didn’t know what kind of storm would hit next. Some kids kept driving around in a four wheeler close to the baseball field but finally when home when the moon started rising.
As I woke up, I knew that the day would be good as the wind was blowing out of the West. I rode in to a town called Rugby, which is known as the geographical center of the United States. I met another biker, named Francis and he took me picture at the ridiculous monument that the coffee shop had erected. We rode in to town together looking for a bike shop, but it was only open by appointment and when I called the number I got the typical “the number has been disconnected” recording. Oh well, I thought, so I left town after eating some summer sausage and hummus. I made it to Devils Lake at dinner time and considered staying there the night, but I didn’t get the right feeling. Instead, I left town and I decided to just go as far as I could, tailwind still blowing strong. I made it 144 miles that day and found a city park in a town called Lakota. There was a pavilion to set up under and in the morning I found that the lock on the gate to the pool had already been cut, so I took that as I sign that I should go in and take a shower. I hadn’t had a shower for three solid days, so I was extremely pleased. I had about 60 miles to go to get to Great Falls, but I had a strong headwind the next day. It took me until about 4pm to get into town and my host hadn’t called me back for a couple of days. I decided to just go downtown and hook up to the internet to find a new host. As I finished my coffee, my original host finally called me (she was sick for several days) and I went over to her apartment. Linnea and Phil were extremely nice to me, and fed me curry and wine. They even had tons of musical instruments and all of the types of board games that I like to play. I enjoyed meeting people so similar to my best friends from Seattle, it was meant to happen. In fact, my attitude about life had already become so very positive. I only meet people that am supposed to meet, and they always impart some special wisdom upon me.
I saw that there was a Pow-Wow going on behind the Sherman Hotel in a vacant lot. There were a large variety of tents and teepees being set up and I thought that I could camp there. As I was about to enter the premises from the adjacent street, a blue Subaru slowed down and a man leaned out of the window and pointed down the road. I thought he was indicating the direction for camping or something, but as I headed in that direction, I realized that he was pointing me out of town. I wasn’t very happy about my situation as I had pushed myself the whole day a distance of 120 miles to get to this town. On the corner there was a casino, so I figured that they would know where to camp. I went in and the first person that I asked about camping was the cash handler standing within the safety of a metal mesh cage. She told me that I should camp at the Pow-Wow. Everyone was welcomed, in fact that was part of the point of the event. So I told her, “I could go, but a man pointed me out of town as I was entering”. She wasn’t very happy about what had happened to me, in fact she was pissed off, so she called her boyfriend to come and pick me up. I was to camp in their backyard.
We pulled up to a house about ten blocks away from the center of town and I was shown the backyard area where I could set up my tent. The yard was infested with green and brown grasshoppers. There were so many of them that as I took each step, hundreds of them would hop away trying not to get splattered. We went inside and he told me to make myself at home, so I got my shower, plugged in my electronics and relaxed. He told me that his girlfriends' brother wanted to talk to me. The fifty something man was wheeled into the house; he introduced himself as an elder of the Bear Cub Tribe, a people placed on the reservation in Eastern Montana. His grandfather was the last Native American to be born in a teepee in this area. He told me that he was deeply dishonored by what had happened to me. The purpose of the Pow-Wow was to celebrate, and to come together and be welcoming. I was given two gifts, and I accepted them. He told me that keep it with me and it will protect me. I have never felt so touched by a person’s actions, as I did with the words that were uttered by him.
That night I was told many stories, with the help of several pints of whiskey and cigarettes; many of them had to do with the proximity of the Missouri river to Wolf Point; about 2000 yards away. They showed me pictures of the log cabins that they grew up in, and older pictures of their grandparents. They had been cooking moose ribs earlier in the day, and I was given a well marinated section. I don’t know if I have ever eaten anything in my life that melted in my mouth as this moose did; the tender meat fell off the bones as I picked up each piece, and each bite was savory and juicy. The one benefit of being native is that you are allowed to hunt year round. One of the cousins was the big hunter in the family and the meat I was eating came from a three year old moose that he spotted at a friends’ ranch. He had to borrow someone else's gun, and he was able to kill it. They asked me to stay for a couple of days, the family wanted me to go and see the Pow-Wow, so I obliged. By the end of the evening, we were all drunk and unfortunately, tempers were starting to flare towards the cousins and family members,so the elder was wheeled home about four blocks away and I retired to my grasshopper haven. I just don’t know why people have to be proud to the point of putting someone down because of blood line or purity. We are all here on this planet together, we are all one, there is no need for senseless hurt.
The following morning, I was up early and they fed me grits; I had two heaping bowls. I was feeling the pain in my legs from the day before and I basically didn’t want to do anything but sleep, eat and write. Throughout the day there were more cousins (such as Gene who lives two blocks away, is paralyzed on his left side and was at the house constantly);more brothers who wanted to meet me, and they brought Black Velvet and Coke. Cigarettes make me sick, so being surrounded by three to six people with a fag in the mouth at all times makes for a stuffed up Gary. There was a big feed the next day at George’s, so I had to stay in town.
I had a late morning because I slept inside; I can’t tell when the sun is coming up when I am in a catatonic state in a house. We went down to the river in the pickup and they told me about how the river runs through this particular section of Montanca. The Missouri is a shallow, dangerous river; there are whirlpools and swift current that can suck you down before you know it and you have to avoid sandbars while floating down the big muddy stream. We later went to the BBQ and I helped carry out the twenty or so pounds of meat. Unfortunately, Gene got to the BV before the food was done and his drunken self was driven home because there were kids there. The food was delicious, from the home made potato salad to the pork loin, moose, and scratch apple pie. I don’t know what happened then, but the couple I was staying with started to get into it and he was cursing. He was told to leave, and it took him a long time. I had to forcibly take my bottle away from him and then I left with one of the cousins to go to the Pow Wow. It was amazing to see all of the beautifully, and colorfully dressed people dancing. I was even pulled out there and learned the basic dance step. This was a traditional Pow Wow, where you come out in full costume for a reason such as honoring a soldier; sometimes there are dance competitions where you can win thousands of dollars, but they don’t do that at a traditional event such as this one. There was too much drama to mention what happened later that night, so I will not write about it out of respect. I left at 4 am that morning in the dark without sleeping much.
The only thing that I focused on that morning was not thinking about what had transpired earlier that day (nothing bad happened to me personally). There was a serious lightning storm rolling in and I took shelter at the Town Pump gas station where I had some stale coffee and a moldy doughnut that I had to exchange for a less moldy one. I talked to a police officer who passed me by earlier and he radioed in my inquiry about when the Sherman Hotel started to serve breakfast. So I hung out in the empty hotel restaurant for about forty five minutes until about six when all the white old men in town came in to get their normal breakfast buffet of fake eggs and sausage, I had three plates.
My bike ride to Williston, North Dakota that day started out great. I made it to the town of Poplar quickly, and then the wild dogs in the neighborhood started chasing me. I don’t like when dogs chase me, so I usually tell them to go away in a deep voice while pedaling away as fast as I can. Most of the rest of the way to the border was flat except for an area called “the Cuts”. This area is sort of a badlands consisting of hills that have been eroded away by nature over eons leaving the underlying sediment exposed. All of the clay, silt and peat from ancient times are visible. It is quite beautiful, but I was nonetheless glad to be out of the hills and into more flat land.
I knew that there was road construction at the border, so I just pedaled as far as I could and when I got to Bainville, I had to get off my bike and stick out my thumb. No luck initially, but then I pulled out Duke, the rubber duck that I started carrying since Cut Bank and held him up as trucks passed me by. Five minutes later, I had a ride and they were willing to take me all the way to Williston. I made the mother and daughter drop me off ten miles out of town and rode the rest of the way in. It wasn’t long before I found the internet café in town and waited for my host, Micah to call. He was a very unique guy, religious for sure, but he had books from about every religion in his apartment. I always enjoy fellow artists, we tend to think alike. He gave me a book entitled Siddhartha, we made up songs on the guitar and drank beer. I slept well that night on his couch.
The next morning, I left around nine and the wind was blowing extremely hard out of the north. It was hard to even go ten miles per hour. My maps showed that there was nothing along the north shore of Lake Sakakawea for seventy miles, so that was as far as I had to ride. I didn’t know that Western North Dakota was so hilly, and the grade was more like eight to ten percent. A storm hit at about mile forty and I had to take shelter under some trees. When it passed, I continued my struggle onward and finally made it into Newtown, on another Indian Reservation. These people were placed here away from their traditional farmlands, and I saw that there was a fort of some sort nearby. I bought a fish sandwich at a local grease hole and overheard a lady talking about a group of bicyclists coming through the area in a week. I asked her about camping in town and she told me that I could camp behind the Lutheran Church in the nice grass. It was the best place I could have possibly have camped, especially since it was free. However, I was awakened by the sprinklers watering my tent at four in the morning, but I just went back to sleep.
That morning I got up early, ate a huge breakfast in town, and finished the rest of the small bottle of tequila that I bought the night before. This area of North Dakota is littered with what the locals call “Potholes” and it was very beautiful to ride through. The hills were rolling and I started to see large fields of volunteer sunflowers. I made it to Minot around three and as I was pulling up to the visitors center, I couldn’t get out of my clipless pedals and gashed me knee. I had placed my first aid kit in an easy to reach place a few days ago, so my wound was bandaged up quickly. Minot had a great Stave church and other beautiful monuments at the heritage park. I ended up checking out the town for a few hours looking for a good place to camp and couldn’t find one so I just left town. I ended up riding in to Surrey, about ten miles East of Minot. I camped at the local high school in the baseball dugout because it was sheltered and at this point I didn’t know what kind of storm would hit next. Some kids kept driving around in a four wheeler close to the baseball field but finally when home when the moon started rising.
As I woke up, I knew that the day would be good as the wind was blowing out of the West. I rode in to a town called Rugby, which is known as the geographical center of the United States. I met another biker, named Francis and he took me picture at the ridiculous monument that the coffee shop had erected. We rode in to town together looking for a bike shop, but it was only open by appointment and when I called the number I got the typical “the number has been disconnected” recording. Oh well, I thought, so I left town after eating some summer sausage and hummus. I made it to Devils Lake at dinner time and considered staying there the night, but I didn’t get the right feeling. Instead, I left town and I decided to just go as far as I could, tailwind still blowing strong. I made it 144 miles that day and found a city park in a town called Lakota. There was a pavilion to set up under and in the morning I found that the lock on the gate to the pool had already been cut, so I took that as I sign that I should go in and take a shower. I hadn’t had a shower for three solid days, so I was extremely pleased. I had about 60 miles to go to get to Great Falls, but I had a strong headwind the next day. It took me until about 4pm to get into town and my host hadn’t called me back for a couple of days. I decided to just go downtown and hook up to the internet to find a new host. As I finished my coffee, my original host finally called me (she was sick for several days) and I went over to her apartment. Linnea and Phil were extremely nice to me, and fed me curry and wine. They even had tons of musical instruments and all of the types of board games that I like to play. I enjoyed meeting people so similar to my best friends from Seattle, it was meant to happen. In fact, my attitude about life had already become so very positive. I only meet people that am supposed to meet, and they always impart some special wisdom upon me.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Post 4- Glacier Park to Wolf Point
July 31, 2009
Lee and I left St. Mary late on Sunday due to the thunderstorms that kept rolling through the valley. There was a big climb as we headed south out of the park, but we found a shortcut down along the Cut Bank Creek when we came down the other side. The road is called eight mile road, and it put us right into the broken glass strewn streets of Browning. The locals in Montana have been telling me not to stop in Browning because it is dangerous, but we didn’t care about idle talk. There were a few strange that some people gave us but the majority was nice. We ate lunch and continued towards Cut Bank with a North wind the entire time; we got there around 5 pm. The camping was not easy to find so Lee went into a casino and asked around, and as the bartender was coming out, she was rattling off her street address. We found the home, and also her son, Vladimir’s personal toy collection strewn about the backyard. At least the yard was flat, and there weren’t too many dead mice that I had to pick up.
The following morning, we went to Albertson’s for the daily banana and snack purchase, got some coffee at Mc D’s and were off around 9 am. The wind was just as strong, and the ride was difficult all the way to Chester. I made it to town about an hour before Lee so I slept on the bench at the rest stop. When he came rolling into town, we found free camping at the city park and bought a six pack of beer and dinner supplies. Two beers down, and bellies full of potatoes, peas and salad, we met JP who was heading west from Maine to Anacortes. He was full of very useful information, and we gave him some suggestions and places to stay for some of his ride coming up. I slept well that night, only got up once and when I did, the stars were shining and I could see the milky way clearly.
The next leg of the journey was to Havre, and we were blessed with tailwind for about ten miles. That wind turned into a strong north wind once again, and we pushed in to Hingham where we had lunch at Spencer’s Hi Way Café. With the help of ‘ol Spencer and his phone book, we called the Northern Montana University to book two dorm rooms for the night. JP told us about this ten dollar special the night before and we couldn’t refuse. After eating greasy deep fried chicken and lays potato chips, we stepped out of the café and the storm clouds had all decided to congregate right above our heads. It didn’t matter at this point if it was raining or not, but we put our rain gear on and braved the storm. After pedaling with all our strength for several hours, only to go 10 mph, we made it to the great metropolis known as Havre. Bill runs the student union and he is sympathetic to cross country bicyclists. Lee let me have the first floor room and it had a television, couch and two separate beds. I caught up on some writing and phone calls while yet another storm system moved in.
I decided that it was time for me to go on ahead early and I said me goodbye’s to Lee who had been great company throughout the lonely stretches of the Montana plains. I had a deliciously cheap pancake breakfast at the local grease hole, then bought bananas and granola at Gary and Leo’s Grocery Store (coincidence?). The skies had opened a hatch of sunlight for me and the winds were blowing at my back, it was nice to be back up to 20 miles per hour for once. I rode for 90 miles through the flattest terrain I had seen so far; Fort Belknap Indian Reservation was no different. The most interesting thing that I saw that day was an old Spanish style mission church that was a faded shade of pink and the colorful graveyard next to it. Someone had taped a cardboard sign on the old locked rusty gate surrounding the grounds. I didn’t read it, because I think it probably said something like,” anyone trespassing into this graveyard will be cursed for the rest of their life”. As I started down the road, a native man in a beat up pickup towing a horse trailer swerved over into my lane and stopped. I was thinking that I was in for it when he said, “hey I’ll trade you two horses for that bike of yours!” I said, “no I like my bike, but thank you”. He had about five children with him in the truck all giggling and they finally left, laughing on down the road. The trip went as smooth as it could and I found the local park; most towns in Montana usually have a park where you can camp for free or for just a few dollars a night. I met another biker named Gary and a French Canadian couple in their sixties. They made dinner and shared their wine with Gary and I. I slept under a covered pavilion that night.
In the morning, I was up early and ate biscuits and gravy at the coffee shop downtown. With a full belly and a determination to make it as far as my legs would carry me, I shoved off. I once again had the wind at my back and made to a town called Saco, known as the mosquito capitol of the world. I bought a diet coke from the convenience store there, rested for about ten minutes and got back on Bella (she’s a pretty bike). Saco wasn’t as full of the little bloodsuckers as people said, but the surrounding farmland was horrible. I couldn’t stop for a second before my whole leg was covered in them. Lucky for me, I was feeling strong and just kept pumping up the hills as hard as I could. I was running out of water, and the town of Oswego was still ten miles away but out of nowhere there was a rest stop. I pulled my steed into one of the pavilions and a nice English lady was chatting with an Australian couple. Sure enough, Mary and Morris (the Aussies) invited me for lunch (which consisted of canned ham, canned pearl onions, canned beets, potato ships and sliced cheese. It was actually quite delicious, and most of all, free. I made it to Oswego and bought a waffle cone. While at the little shop, some of the locals told me not to stay the night in Fort Peck Indian Reservation, which was about 15 miles to the East. I didn’t listen to them and I kept on truckin’ through town.
At about 6 pm I made it to Wolf Point, I had pedaled around 120 miles that day and all I wanted was a place to set up my tent...
Lee and I left St. Mary late on Sunday due to the thunderstorms that kept rolling through the valley. There was a big climb as we headed south out of the park, but we found a shortcut down along the Cut Bank Creek when we came down the other side. The road is called eight mile road, and it put us right into the broken glass strewn streets of Browning. The locals in Montana have been telling me not to stop in Browning because it is dangerous, but we didn’t care about idle talk. There were a few strange that some people gave us but the majority was nice. We ate lunch and continued towards Cut Bank with a North wind the entire time; we got there around 5 pm. The camping was not easy to find so Lee went into a casino and asked around, and as the bartender was coming out, she was rattling off her street address. We found the home, and also her son, Vladimir’s personal toy collection strewn about the backyard. At least the yard was flat, and there weren’t too many dead mice that I had to pick up.
The following morning, we went to Albertson’s for the daily banana and snack purchase, got some coffee at Mc D’s and were off around 9 am. The wind was just as strong, and the ride was difficult all the way to Chester. I made it to town about an hour before Lee so I slept on the bench at the rest stop. When he came rolling into town, we found free camping at the city park and bought a six pack of beer and dinner supplies. Two beers down, and bellies full of potatoes, peas and salad, we met JP who was heading west from Maine to Anacortes. He was full of very useful information, and we gave him some suggestions and places to stay for some of his ride coming up. I slept well that night, only got up once and when I did, the stars were shining and I could see the milky way clearly.
The next leg of the journey was to Havre, and we were blessed with tailwind for about ten miles. That wind turned into a strong north wind once again, and we pushed in to Hingham where we had lunch at Spencer’s Hi Way Café. With the help of ‘ol Spencer and his phone book, we called the Northern Montana University to book two dorm rooms for the night. JP told us about this ten dollar special the night before and we couldn’t refuse. After eating greasy deep fried chicken and lays potato chips, we stepped out of the café and the storm clouds had all decided to congregate right above our heads. It didn’t matter at this point if it was raining or not, but we put our rain gear on and braved the storm. After pedaling with all our strength for several hours, only to go 10 mph, we made it to the great metropolis known as Havre. Bill runs the student union and he is sympathetic to cross country bicyclists. Lee let me have the first floor room and it had a television, couch and two separate beds. I caught up on some writing and phone calls while yet another storm system moved in.
I decided that it was time for me to go on ahead early and I said me goodbye’s to Lee who had been great company throughout the lonely stretches of the Montana plains. I had a deliciously cheap pancake breakfast at the local grease hole, then bought bananas and granola at Gary and Leo’s Grocery Store (coincidence?). The skies had opened a hatch of sunlight for me and the winds were blowing at my back, it was nice to be back up to 20 miles per hour for once. I rode for 90 miles through the flattest terrain I had seen so far; Fort Belknap Indian Reservation was no different. The most interesting thing that I saw that day was an old Spanish style mission church that was a faded shade of pink and the colorful graveyard next to it. Someone had taped a cardboard sign on the old locked rusty gate surrounding the grounds. I didn’t read it, because I think it probably said something like,” anyone trespassing into this graveyard will be cursed for the rest of their life”. As I started down the road, a native man in a beat up pickup towing a horse trailer swerved over into my lane and stopped. I was thinking that I was in for it when he said, “hey I’ll trade you two horses for that bike of yours!” I said, “no I like my bike, but thank you”. He had about five children with him in the truck all giggling and they finally left, laughing on down the road. The trip went as smooth as it could and I found the local park; most towns in Montana usually have a park where you can camp for free or for just a few dollars a night. I met another biker named Gary and a French Canadian couple in their sixties. They made dinner and shared their wine with Gary and I. I slept under a covered pavilion that night.
In the morning, I was up early and ate biscuits and gravy at the coffee shop downtown. With a full belly and a determination to make it as far as my legs would carry me, I shoved off. I once again had the wind at my back and made to a town called Saco, known as the mosquito capitol of the world. I bought a diet coke from the convenience store there, rested for about ten minutes and got back on Bella (she’s a pretty bike). Saco wasn’t as full of the little bloodsuckers as people said, but the surrounding farmland was horrible. I couldn’t stop for a second before my whole leg was covered in them. Lucky for me, I was feeling strong and just kept pumping up the hills as hard as I could. I was running out of water, and the town of Oswego was still ten miles away but out of nowhere there was a rest stop. I pulled my steed into one of the pavilions and a nice English lady was chatting with an Australian couple. Sure enough, Mary and Morris (the Aussies) invited me for lunch (which consisted of canned ham, canned pearl onions, canned beets, potato ships and sliced cheese. It was actually quite delicious, and most of all, free. I made it to Oswego and bought a waffle cone. While at the little shop, some of the locals told me not to stay the night in Fort Peck Indian Reservation, which was about 15 miles to the East. I didn’t listen to them and I kept on truckin’ through town.
At about 6 pm I made it to Wolf Point, I had pedaled around 120 miles that day and all I wanted was a place to set up my tent...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
