A few days ago, after leaving Williston, ND, I hurt my right knee and had to ride in the sag vehicle for a couple of days. No big deal, but I wanted to confess before some investigative reporter published it in USA Today, or the the breaking story ran on CNN all day. "Fatman lies! Says he pedaled across America." Well, I rode in a car a few hundred miles, and I approve this message.
Two days ago, we had a slight tail wind. I pedaled 94 miles in about 5 1/2 hours giggling all the way. Didn't stop even once for the first 77.45 miles. I was afraid that the wind would change directions. Next day I pedaled a mere 62 miles and really hurt myself. I'm not complaining. Just want you to know why I'll be in the car for a while. Confession is not easy. I know at least a few of you are laughing at this sorry old man. But ca y est. que sera, sera. Yet this doesn't get me down. Still too high on America.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Fatman goes to Batman
It's Sunday night. We're still in Williston. Right now as I am typing Bruce and Sophia are back at camp cooking up some marinated chicken, rice, and sauteed green beans with pine nuts for dinner. So this post will be pleasantly short. I'm not missing dinner tonight. I haven't had much to eat the last 2 days. Been working on the wreck of a bike.
The parts I ordered arrived on Saturday. Well, some of them did! I got a derailleur and a couple of replacement pins and a cable end. But Roy forgot to include the chain I ordered. And I asked for many replacement pinssss and cable endssss. Since I'm hardly a trained mechanic, I figured I would blunder some. Guess what! Okay you guessed. Two days and some 14 hours of tedious work later, the bike is ridable, with a confidence level of nil. So I think we will wait until Wednesday and ride out with Bruce and Sophia and John and the sag vehicle. That way there will be a car following to rescue me and my sorry ass bike. You should see the derailleur hanger. It looks like a huge growth on the side of the left rear wheel. The hanger was welded back together again by Scott Monson, hero of this segment of the trip. The first weld didn't hold because there was such little material to weld to. So he created a gusset, a truss, to add strength. It was no easy task. Took over 2 hours and a dozen tries. Every time he emerged from the shop with a big grin and a new solution. I just love a person who is good at something and enjoys solving a problem. There was no charge! He just wants to her that we finished the trip.
Thanks again also to Jason and the Bicycle Man. They also worked hard to get me going again.
The librarians here were kind enough to search out multiple telephone numbers and other information i needed.
Anyway, Saturday night we went to see Batman. Both pavillions in the park were reserved for parties and we didn't want to inttude. Good flick it was. A little extra long and noisy. Oh, I almost forgot there was a glitch in the middle of the movie. Like the film broke in the old days. Only this was digital. When it rebooted the screen said "100 hours since filter was last cleaned. Consult your service manual." That was so funny. It took a while, and we missed a segment of the film. But we saw most of it. This trip just gets better and better and better. Always something new and unexpected.
Th-tha-that's all f-f-folks.
The parts I ordered arrived on Saturday. Well, some of them did! I got a derailleur and a couple of replacement pins and a cable end. But Roy forgot to include the chain I ordered. And I asked for many replacement pinssss and cable endssss. Since I'm hardly a trained mechanic, I figured I would blunder some. Guess what! Okay you guessed. Two days and some 14 hours of tedious work later, the bike is ridable, with a confidence level of nil. So I think we will wait until Wednesday and ride out with Bruce and Sophia and John and the sag vehicle. That way there will be a car following to rescue me and my sorry ass bike. You should see the derailleur hanger. It looks like a huge growth on the side of the left rear wheel. The hanger was welded back together again by Scott Monson, hero of this segment of the trip. The first weld didn't hold because there was such little material to weld to. So he created a gusset, a truss, to add strength. It was no easy task. Took over 2 hours and a dozen tries. Every time he emerged from the shop with a big grin and a new solution. I just love a person who is good at something and enjoys solving a problem. There was no charge! He just wants to her that we finished the trip.
Thanks again also to Jason and the Bicycle Man. They also worked hard to get me going again.
The librarians here were kind enough to search out multiple telephone numbers and other information i needed.
Anyway, Saturday night we went to see Batman. Both pavillions in the park were reserved for parties and we didn't want to inttude. Good flick it was. A little extra long and noisy. Oh, I almost forgot there was a glitch in the middle of the movie. Like the film broke in the old days. Only this was digital. When it rebooted the screen said "100 hours since filter was last cleaned. Consult your service manual." That was so funny. It took a while, and we missed a segment of the film. But we saw most of it. This trip just gets better and better and better. Always something new and unexpected.
Th-tha-that's all f-f-folks.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Williston, ND
It will probably come as a great surprise to everyone that North Dakota is a beautiful state, not at all flat and treeless, not quite full of the friendliest, nicest people. Actually, there aren't a lot of people. Maybe 600,000 I think I was told. Like all other facts, suspect, subject to my memory. But they are friendly. However, they don't stop to help people in trouble on the road.
The road from Minot to Williston is very hilly, about 80 miles of brutal, steep hills with some long flats. My bike started having problems about 40 miles from Williston. We were out in farm country. Very few, very large farms. After one particularly long, steep decline and up-cline the chain on my bike started jumping off the low chainring. I would pedal a little, the chain would jump off and I would fix it. Repeat. Repeat. There was no question of using the middle chainring. It was just too steep. An hour and a half later, I reached the top of the hill where Beverly rescued me. Probably told you about that yesterday.
So here we were in Williston, camping in the town park. It's a lovely spot next to the library and the recreation center. The recreation center has showers and a hot tub and a sauna, all available free for out use. We cleaned up and discovered Mamma Sharon's for dinner. Mamma Sharon's was a real treat for us. They have and all you can eat salad bar and home cooking. They serve way too much food, but we did our best. Pie ala mode for dessert was delicious. Annie, in Fargo, had told us about ND size portions and homemade pie, but this was the first time we experienced it.
Next morning we were off to breakfast. I pedaled a few rotations when I heard this horrrible sound from the rear of my bike. The rear derailleut hanger had snapped and the rear derailleur was twisted beyond recognition. Just then, Bruce arrived in his sag vehicle. That's the car that carries the equipment for people on a bike tour. Bruce is riding cross country with Sophia and John. Ever third day one of them drives and the others ride bikes. The driver is responsible for breaking camp, finding a camp site, buying food, preparing dinner, etc. He is, a Sophia explained, slave for a day. So Bruce drove me to the bicycle shop in town. Out of business! No real surprise. It's been the general story for the whole trip. I called the bike shop in Minot. He didn't have the parts, but could get them over nighted to Minot and then overnight them to me in Williston. But he couldn't get a hanger for the derailleur. Another emergency call to Jason in Rochester at Eastern Mountain Sports. We talked a while, the Jason spent I don't kow how long trying to hunt down a hanger for my Sun recumbent bike. None of his suppliers has one. Sun didn't have any. The Bicycle Man, from whom I bought the bike had one, though they were on order from the manufacturer in Tai Wan. Unfortunately, they were coming from Tai Wan by bicycle and wouldn't be here for a while. The Bicycle Man, Peter, called me later with and alternate temporary solution. Meanwhile, I started looking for a machine shop that could weld the part back to its original shape. Because of the oil boom in ND, Williston has become the welding capital of the world. Apparently drilling requires massive welding. I finally found a shop, a welder who is a real artiste who put it back together almost as good as new. It was hard to tell exactly what new was. It was so contorted. We found a picture on the web and did our best. Now I'm waiting here in Williston for the mail to arrive, care of general delivery. If all goes well, everything I need will be here and I will use my prodigious mechanical ability to rebuild the bike. That is, if fat fingers and bad eyes don't hinder the process.
Back to Bruce, Sophia, and John. They drove me everywhere: 4 machine shops, FedEx, the bicycle shop out of business, the bicycle shop that replaced the one out of business where the guy doesn't know anything about bicycles, the post office. All the time talking, swapping stories of the open road, and always laughing. The trip has been so wonderful. I'm so high on America. I've met so many wonderful people. Even this doesn't get me down. Who am I? Where did I come from? I don't know, but I ike it.
They invited us to dinner. In the sag vehicle are all sorts of wonderful and strange things. Like a Coleman camping stove, plates, knives, forks, spoons, bowls, plates, a myriad of spices, fresh garlic. A recumbent exercycle?!! For dinner we had Taiwanese chicken curry. Food with flavor. I have missed flavor sine we left home. We played Scrabble after dinner. I had bad letters and played a pitiful game after bragging about our family's prowess. Rematch tonight! Friday morning, today, we had real coffee, dark roast. Life is good.
Now, off to study the Big Blue Book of Bicycle Repair. Ciao.
The road from Minot to Williston is very hilly, about 80 miles of brutal, steep hills with some long flats. My bike started having problems about 40 miles from Williston. We were out in farm country. Very few, very large farms. After one particularly long, steep decline and up-cline the chain on my bike started jumping off the low chainring. I would pedal a little, the chain would jump off and I would fix it. Repeat. Repeat. There was no question of using the middle chainring. It was just too steep. An hour and a half later, I reached the top of the hill where Beverly rescued me. Probably told you about that yesterday.
So here we were in Williston, camping in the town park. It's a lovely spot next to the library and the recreation center. The recreation center has showers and a hot tub and a sauna, all available free for out use. We cleaned up and discovered Mamma Sharon's for dinner. Mamma Sharon's was a real treat for us. They have and all you can eat salad bar and home cooking. They serve way too much food, but we did our best. Pie ala mode for dessert was delicious. Annie, in Fargo, had told us about ND size portions and homemade pie, but this was the first time we experienced it.
Next morning we were off to breakfast. I pedaled a few rotations when I heard this horrrible sound from the rear of my bike. The rear derailleut hanger had snapped and the rear derailleur was twisted beyond recognition. Just then, Bruce arrived in his sag vehicle. That's the car that carries the equipment for people on a bike tour. Bruce is riding cross country with Sophia and John. Ever third day one of them drives and the others ride bikes. The driver is responsible for breaking camp, finding a camp site, buying food, preparing dinner, etc. He is, a Sophia explained, slave for a day. So Bruce drove me to the bicycle shop in town. Out of business! No real surprise. It's been the general story for the whole trip. I called the bike shop in Minot. He didn't have the parts, but could get them over nighted to Minot and then overnight them to me in Williston. But he couldn't get a hanger for the derailleur. Another emergency call to Jason in Rochester at Eastern Mountain Sports. We talked a while, the Jason spent I don't kow how long trying to hunt down a hanger for my Sun recumbent bike. None of his suppliers has one. Sun didn't have any. The Bicycle Man, from whom I bought the bike had one, though they were on order from the manufacturer in Tai Wan. Unfortunately, they were coming from Tai Wan by bicycle and wouldn't be here for a while. The Bicycle Man, Peter, called me later with and alternate temporary solution. Meanwhile, I started looking for a machine shop that could weld the part back to its original shape. Because of the oil boom in ND, Williston has become the welding capital of the world. Apparently drilling requires massive welding. I finally found a shop, a welder who is a real artiste who put it back together almost as good as new. It was hard to tell exactly what new was. It was so contorted. We found a picture on the web and did our best. Now I'm waiting here in Williston for the mail to arrive, care of general delivery. If all goes well, everything I need will be here and I will use my prodigious mechanical ability to rebuild the bike. That is, if fat fingers and bad eyes don't hinder the process.
Back to Bruce, Sophia, and John. They drove me everywhere: 4 machine shops, FedEx, the bicycle shop out of business, the bicycle shop that replaced the one out of business where the guy doesn't know anything about bicycles, the post office. All the time talking, swapping stories of the open road, and always laughing. The trip has been so wonderful. I'm so high on America. I've met so many wonderful people. Even this doesn't get me down. Who am I? Where did I come from? I don't know, but I ike it.
They invited us to dinner. In the sag vehicle are all sorts of wonderful and strange things. Like a Coleman camping stove, plates, knives, forks, spoons, bowls, plates, a myriad of spices, fresh garlic. A recumbent exercycle?!! For dinner we had Taiwanese chicken curry. Food with flavor. I have missed flavor sine we left home. We played Scrabble after dinner. I had bad letters and played a pitiful game after bragging about our family's prowess. Rematch tonight! Friday morning, today, we had real coffee, dark roast. Life is good.
Now, off to study the Big Blue Book of Bicycle Repair. Ciao.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
The Twenty Minute Orgasm
We left Fargo about 9AM, pedaled through town, and made a left, heading north. For the first time ever we picked up a tail wind. That's wind that is at our backs, not in our faces. We had heard rumors of such a thing. But to experience it! We pedaled 20mph, 25 mph, maybe faster. It took no effort. we started laughing and joking, giggling and tittering. The noises probably would have embarassed us if anyone had been aroun to listen. I said the west to east route was for girly sissy men. Yoni dubbed the west to to east route the "Coast to Coast Coast." We covered the next 6 miles in 20 minutes. Then we turned left and headed west.
As Bill Clinton found out, a brief period of such intense pleasure is always followed bay an extended period of terrible retribution and punishment. The winds started to kick up in out faces. Then they sharply increased. And increased. We pumped as hard as we could to make 6 or 8 mph and clutched white knuckled to stay on the bikes. Somehow we mad it to Page, ND a mere 38 miles from Fargo. That night we slept in the town park in the gazebo, on concrete, surrounded by three walls. The wind carried on right throught the night. We were up early, had breakfast at the local cafe, and hit the road. The winds were even stronger. Bicycling was almost impossible. We found out later that the winds ran 45 to 60 mph with gusts up to 80mph for two days. The corn in the fields looked more like a million sorcerer's apprentices fiercly waving all their hands at us, creating this enormous wind, trying to blow us off the road, ridding the world of the evil bikers that dared to have a tail wind for a few minutes.
Twenty-eight miles down the road I had had enough. I pulled over to rest and decided to attempt to hitch a ride. Enter Trish and Perry. They were hauling a camper from Maine to Montana with stuff to put in the cabin they are building there. They invited us in oout of the wind and started toward ou destination 13 miles down the road. But it seemed they were going west in our general direction, so we stayed with them until Underwood, ND, about 51 miles south of Minot. Could it posibly be? Two orgasms in one day!
We spent an uneventful night in Underwood, camped in the town park, encircled by trees.
Oh, but I forgot to tell you about the trip from Glyndon to Fargo, our day of rest, and Annie!
When we left Sue and Rus Bekkarus, we went to see this magnificent viking ship that is in a museum in Moorehead, called the Hjemst (something Norwegian or Icelandic). Don't remember. Sue told us the whole story of the man who built a real authentic Viking boat in the 70's and died before he could complete his dream of sailing it across the ocean. His family completed the dream after he died and the boat was flown back to ND. Anyway, on to Fargo. Even yet another state behind us.
First stop was the bicycle shop to fix the chain. My chain broke 2 days before. And thanks once again to Jason at Eastern Mountain Sports, we were able to temporarily fix it. Good enough at least to get us the 40 miles to Fargo. The chain was replaced. The bent derailleur I never told you about was unbent and we were off to the Atomic Coffee, and internet cafe, to blog. Fargo is getting quite Yuppie. All the latest styles and fashions are available on main street. All the latest electronic equipment and gadgets too. Outside of the city, in West Fargo are the shopping malls similar to everywhere else.
Now how to explain Annie, who picked us up at the Atomic Cafe, took us home for 2 nights and a day, and showed us everything there is to know about Fargo in such a short time. She apparently knows everyone. Works for the local alternative newspaper run by John Strand, formally of Rochester. Annie is a character of complex contradictions. (I think that's what she called herself.) Thoroughly charming. A theta healer. Somewhat psychic. Interested in Astrology. She has a daughter Nancy, And Nancy's best friend is Macey. We talked for hours and hours and hours and had a perfectly wonderful time. And that's all I have to say about that.
Now back to Minot. Turns out we didn't really have to go to Minot. We were off route and came to Minot from the south. The bike route comes to Minot from the east and then heads south. We pedaled 17 miles extra to Minot for naught. Really for naught. Minot is a silly city built on 2 very steep hills. Downtown is a couple of blocks between these huge hills.
From Minot to Makoti over some difficult, steep rolling hills. From Makoti to someplace in the middle of nowhere to camp. It was truly beautiful. Yoni has some pictures. But it was 50 miles from the nearest town and 3 miles down a minimally maintained gravel road. Now when the sign says minimally maintained road, liability limited by law, you really think twice before riding it on a bicycle. But we had no options and so we discovered a truly beautiful camp ground. It might of been Eden, because to get there were had to travel through 3 miles of hell and bugs.
Now we are in Williston, ND. Another tortuous day over steep, unrelenting, rolling hills. ON one particularly nasty steep one, I started having derailleur problems. My chain kept jumping off the small chainring. I spent more than an hour trying to get up the hill. Then Beverly stopped and asked if I needed help. I thanked her. Wept a little. And eventually she gave me a ride for the last 4 miles into Williston. Yoni has pictures. I'm saying "My Heroes".
Tomorrow is a rest day in Williston. The next day we are in Montana. Even yet aother state behind us. We'll be on route 2 until we reach Going to the Sun Highway. Speaking of Going to the Sun Highway, we met some guys going west to east who loved it. One guy said he wanted to go back down and do it again. Of course, he was riding a fixed wheel bike. No derailleurs to worry about. Only one speed. High speed.
There will be very few opportunities to write once we get to Montana. So until next time.
As Bill Clinton found out, a brief period of such intense pleasure is always followed bay an extended period of terrible retribution and punishment. The winds started to kick up in out faces. Then they sharply increased. And increased. We pumped as hard as we could to make 6 or 8 mph and clutched white knuckled to stay on the bikes. Somehow we mad it to Page, ND a mere 38 miles from Fargo. That night we slept in the town park in the gazebo, on concrete, surrounded by three walls. The wind carried on right throught the night. We were up early, had breakfast at the local cafe, and hit the road. The winds were even stronger. Bicycling was almost impossible. We found out later that the winds ran 45 to 60 mph with gusts up to 80mph for two days. The corn in the fields looked more like a million sorcerer's apprentices fiercly waving all their hands at us, creating this enormous wind, trying to blow us off the road, ridding the world of the evil bikers that dared to have a tail wind for a few minutes.
Twenty-eight miles down the road I had had enough. I pulled over to rest and decided to attempt to hitch a ride. Enter Trish and Perry. They were hauling a camper from Maine to Montana with stuff to put in the cabin they are building there. They invited us in oout of the wind and started toward ou destination 13 miles down the road. But it seemed they were going west in our general direction, so we stayed with them until Underwood, ND, about 51 miles south of Minot. Could it posibly be? Two orgasms in one day!
We spent an uneventful night in Underwood, camped in the town park, encircled by trees.
Oh, but I forgot to tell you about the trip from Glyndon to Fargo, our day of rest, and Annie!
When we left Sue and Rus Bekkarus, we went to see this magnificent viking ship that is in a museum in Moorehead, called the Hjemst (something Norwegian or Icelandic). Don't remember. Sue told us the whole story of the man who built a real authentic Viking boat in the 70's and died before he could complete his dream of sailing it across the ocean. His family completed the dream after he died and the boat was flown back to ND. Anyway, on to Fargo. Even yet another state behind us.
First stop was the bicycle shop to fix the chain. My chain broke 2 days before. And thanks once again to Jason at Eastern Mountain Sports, we were able to temporarily fix it. Good enough at least to get us the 40 miles to Fargo. The chain was replaced. The bent derailleur I never told you about was unbent and we were off to the Atomic Coffee, and internet cafe, to blog. Fargo is getting quite Yuppie. All the latest styles and fashions are available on main street. All the latest electronic equipment and gadgets too. Outside of the city, in West Fargo are the shopping malls similar to everywhere else.
Now how to explain Annie, who picked us up at the Atomic Cafe, took us home for 2 nights and a day, and showed us everything there is to know about Fargo in such a short time. She apparently knows everyone. Works for the local alternative newspaper run by John Strand, formally of Rochester. Annie is a character of complex contradictions. (I think that's what she called herself.) Thoroughly charming. A theta healer. Somewhat psychic. Interested in Astrology. She has a daughter Nancy, And Nancy's best friend is Macey. We talked for hours and hours and hours and had a perfectly wonderful time. And that's all I have to say about that.
Now back to Minot. Turns out we didn't really have to go to Minot. We were off route and came to Minot from the south. The bike route comes to Minot from the east and then heads south. We pedaled 17 miles extra to Minot for naught. Really for naught. Minot is a silly city built on 2 very steep hills. Downtown is a couple of blocks between these huge hills.
From Minot to Makoti over some difficult, steep rolling hills. From Makoti to someplace in the middle of nowhere to camp. It was truly beautiful. Yoni has some pictures. But it was 50 miles from the nearest town and 3 miles down a minimally maintained gravel road. Now when the sign says minimally maintained road, liability limited by law, you really think twice before riding it on a bicycle. But we had no options and so we discovered a truly beautiful camp ground. It might of been Eden, because to get there were had to travel through 3 miles of hell and bugs.
Now we are in Williston, ND. Another tortuous day over steep, unrelenting, rolling hills. ON one particularly nasty steep one, I started having derailleur problems. My chain kept jumping off the small chainring. I spent more than an hour trying to get up the hill. Then Beverly stopped and asked if I needed help. I thanked her. Wept a little. And eventually she gave me a ride for the last 4 miles into Williston. Yoni has pictures. I'm saying "My Heroes".
Tomorrow is a rest day in Williston. The next day we are in Montana. Even yet aother state behind us. We'll be on route 2 until we reach Going to the Sun Highway. Speaking of Going to the Sun Highway, we met some guys going west to east who loved it. One guy said he wanted to go back down and do it again. Of course, he was riding a fixed wheel bike. No derailleurs to worry about. Only one speed. High speed.
There will be very few opportunities to write once we get to Montana. So until next time.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Some thanks and some pictures
Since Mike did a pretty wonderful job recounting what our last days have been up to, I'll leave you with some pictures and a few wholly unsatisfactory words of thanks. I'd like to add that as much as I love a good desert and a big sky, Minnesota (at least in summer; nix those -30 degree winters) is a pretty amazing state.
So here we go..
Before I get to the recent thanks, a few I've been meaning to get in somewhere. As an aside: if you read blogs about cross-country bicycle touring, they make mention of how amazing the law enforcement officers are for cyclists. They are not lying. Trooper Scott Mershman and Officer Jay Klopfenstein, thank you for finding us a park to camp out at in Paulding. Officer Dave Wynia, thanks for spending some time with us at the end of a long day to try and find us a campsite. Your help has been greatly appreciated. To Larry and family, thank you for the effort you put forth to try and help me get my bike fixed. To Mike of the Green River Oaks Camping Resort in Amboy, your kindness towards us and to cyclists in general is awing. To Patty for the drinks, pastries, and light-hearted candidness about your wonderful town.
Kirsten and Jake, thanks for providing a near cornucopia of ridiculousness to last me the rest of the trip (go Jake falling back into the lake after getting dressed). Fred for dinner and for providing us the opportunity to let loose and enjoy the 4th. Gary and Putsy for giving Mike a bed and for feeding us both, your hospitality was greatly appreciated (and the seat built in to the shower wall, doubly so). Steve, Deb, Karina; you made a very long and arduous ride seem oh so distant with your wonderful company, food, and (for me at least) a most amazing swim in the lake. Kerry, for giving us a ride to Cormorant and making our painful and blundering repair to Mike's bike possible. Lee Ann, for coming out to Sheila's early enough to meet us and for putting us in contact with your parents. Russ and Lois, thank you for the beds, the home-cooked meals, the home-baked pastries, and for teaching some Northeastern city-folk a part of what Minnesota farming is all about.
Now you have a slight inkling of what Fatman was talking about when he made mention of the kindness of strangers. There really is no bound to the absolute graciousness and generosity we have been shown. I don't recall who made mention of this (Deb maybe?): though I will never be able to repay these people adequately, I hope to have the opportunity to pass such goodwill along.
! edit: It continues. As I was typing this post up, a lady sat down next to me and offered us to camp in her back yard. My mind is officially blown.
In regards to the photos. I pointed this out to a few people I've spoken to. Any and all of the pictures I thumbnail on the actual blog website will, if clicked, link you to our Picasaweb album (you can click that link too). This will let you access the rest of our pictures. I've organized the general album into smaller albums by state. There is a single album of the borders crossed that have signs.
For your pleasure.
Fatman enjoying the Soggy Bottom Boys during our 4th celebration
Gary and Putsy in front of their self-built home
Mike and Shawn from the Green River Oaks resort (Fatman made mention of a roadside donut delivery from Mike)
The King family in front of their US vacation home
To end this post, I give you two views that have helped form my like for this beautiful state.
So here we go..
Before I get to the recent thanks, a few I've been meaning to get in somewhere. As an aside: if you read blogs about cross-country bicycle touring, they make mention of how amazing the law enforcement officers are for cyclists. They are not lying. Trooper Scott Mershman and Officer Jay Klopfenstein, thank you for finding us a park to camp out at in Paulding. Officer Dave Wynia, thanks for spending some time with us at the end of a long day to try and find us a campsite. Your help has been greatly appreciated. To Larry and family, thank you for the effort you put forth to try and help me get my bike fixed. To Mike of the Green River Oaks Camping Resort in Amboy, your kindness towards us and to cyclists in general is awing. To Patty for the drinks, pastries, and light-hearted candidness about your wonderful town.
Kirsten and Jake, thanks for providing a near cornucopia of ridiculousness to last me the rest of the trip (go Jake falling back into the lake after getting dressed). Fred for dinner and for providing us the opportunity to let loose and enjoy the 4th. Gary and Putsy for giving Mike a bed and for feeding us both, your hospitality was greatly appreciated (and the seat built in to the shower wall, doubly so). Steve, Deb, Karina; you made a very long and arduous ride seem oh so distant with your wonderful company, food, and (for me at least) a most amazing swim in the lake. Kerry, for giving us a ride to Cormorant and making our painful and blundering repair to Mike's bike possible. Lee Ann, for coming out to Sheila's early enough to meet us and for putting us in contact with your parents. Russ and Lois, thank you for the beds, the home-cooked meals, the home-baked pastries, and for teaching some Northeastern city-folk a part of what Minnesota farming is all about.
Now you have a slight inkling of what Fatman was talking about when he made mention of the kindness of strangers. There really is no bound to the absolute graciousness and generosity we have been shown. I don't recall who made mention of this (Deb maybe?): though I will never be able to repay these people adequately, I hope to have the opportunity to pass such goodwill along.
! edit: It continues. As I was typing this post up, a lady sat down next to me and offered us to camp in her back yard. My mind is officially blown.
In regards to the photos. I pointed this out to a few people I've spoken to. Any and all of the pictures I thumbnail on the actual blog website will, if clicked, link you to our Picasaweb album (you can click that link too). This will let you access the rest of our pictures. I've organized the general album into smaller albums by state. There is a single album of the borders crossed that have signs.
For your pleasure.
Fatman enjoying the Soggy Bottom Boys during our 4th celebration
Gary and Putsy in front of their self-built home
Mike and Shawn from the Green River Oaks resort (Fatman made mention of a roadside donut delivery from Mike)
The King family in front of their US vacation home
To end this post, I give you two views that have helped form my like for this beautiful state.
The solitude of the open road
Last Thursday I rode 90 miles almost entirely alone. Yoni was busy with his friends so I took off alone. All in all, a very uneventful day. Got chased by a few dogs, but I kicked into hig gear and outraced them. Beautiful scenery here in Mn.
We ended up behind a bar on the Rum River. That's all I have to say about that. I just wanted you to know that I pedaled 90 miles.
Remember, all facts, names, dates, and places are suspect. They are as I remember them, not necessarily as they happened.
OK. I want to notify all the licensing bureaus of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and Minnesota that we pedaled there. We didn't peddle there. Thank you very much Mayree. Senior moment?
We left the Rum River and arrived at Royalton for lunch. Did the usual conversation with the bartender, and he recommended we stop in Swanville. Nicest people in the world. Go to Shooters Pub. This is Friday, 4 July. When we arrived, they had just finished the parade. They actually go around town twice because it is so small and end up at Shooters, of course. You wouldn't believe the welcome. Fred Peterson offered me his whiskey and water and called my bike gay. I gulped it down in one gulp. Hours on the road will do that for you. He offered another drink and invited us to the local annual July 4th party. Almost all 300 people in town attend, including the young lady who is the mayor. So we spent the rest of the day, evening singing, dancing, and drinking. Somesone was always shoving a beer in our left hand while we were drinking with our right hand. They said we could camp there, aso we set up our tents. Later we were invited home to a soft bed and shower by Gary and Putsy. I gladly accepted, broke camp and put my bike in their pickup. Yoni decided to stay and party until morning. Gary built his house with his own hands. He even cut don pine trees, took the wood to the mill, had them notched, and hung as beams in his cathedral ceiling living room. Reluctantly we left after a fine breakfast.
Off to Rose City. There, in a megalopolis of 5 houses was Sheila's Pub. Sheila was alone working the bar. the kitchen, and waitressing. I admired how she moved. NO wasted movements. Asked why somewone would open a pub at the crossroads of nothing. Everyone comes from miles around because there is nothing else. About 5pm, the weekend crowd started to arrive. It did indeed get busy. So I moseyed up to the bar to pay. I forgot to tell you that the people in Swanville decided to sign our shirts as a remembrance. I was still wearing mine. A guy at the bar recognized Fred Peterson's name and asked what was up. We talked for a while with Gary and Leeann. Leann has parents in Glyndon, right on our route and they would love to meet us, put us up for a night. We took the info and asked her to call and warn them we were coming. She didn't. But that's another story.
Off to Battle Lake. Beautiful little town, large lake. Eden, A little piece of heaven. We stopped for a while to enjoy the lake an the cool air. Down the road a piece we made a wrong, turned around, and stopped at the local gas station, convenience store. Enter Steve King. We looked pretty ragged. He invited us home for camping and a shower. Gladly accepted. Met his wife Deb, daughters Molly and Korina. Deb and Steve work as teachers for DOD, teaching army brats. Love their work. Spend 10 months a year in Europe, 2 months in Battle Lake. I think i finally met people who know how to earn a living and enjoy life. We talked and talked and talked.
We camped the next night at pelican Rapids. An uneventul day. Next day on to Glyndon. Yoni called and introduced himself. Leann had forgotten to call. A lille embarassment, but they accepted us as their guests. They are Russel and Lois Bekkerus. They live in a beatiful farm house on a street they labeled Lois Lane. Married 56 years. The lake in back is called Golden Pond. Lovely, lovely people. We talked until midnight, got up at 7:30am and talked until noon. Always so hard to leave.
Now we are in Fargo, IN YOUR FACE naysayers and doubters. Now I must go. Probably be out of touch for a while. We spend the next week riding in ND and then 600 miles in nowhere Montana.
t
We ended up behind a bar on the Rum River. That's all I have to say about that. I just wanted you to know that I pedaled 90 miles.
Remember, all facts, names, dates, and places are suspect. They are as I remember them, not necessarily as they happened.
OK. I want to notify all the licensing bureaus of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, and Minnesota that we pedaled there. We didn't peddle there. Thank you very much Mayree. Senior moment?
We left the Rum River and arrived at Royalton for lunch. Did the usual conversation with the bartender, and he recommended we stop in Swanville. Nicest people in the world. Go to Shooters Pub. This is Friday, 4 July. When we arrived, they had just finished the parade. They actually go around town twice because it is so small and end up at Shooters, of course. You wouldn't believe the welcome. Fred Peterson offered me his whiskey and water and called my bike gay. I gulped it down in one gulp. Hours on the road will do that for you. He offered another drink and invited us to the local annual July 4th party. Almost all 300 people in town attend, including the young lady who is the mayor. So we spent the rest of the day, evening singing, dancing, and drinking. Somesone was always shoving a beer in our left hand while we were drinking with our right hand. They said we could camp there, aso we set up our tents. Later we were invited home to a soft bed and shower by Gary and Putsy. I gladly accepted, broke camp and put my bike in their pickup. Yoni decided to stay and party until morning. Gary built his house with his own hands. He even cut don pine trees, took the wood to the mill, had them notched, and hung as beams in his cathedral ceiling living room. Reluctantly we left after a fine breakfast.
Off to Rose City. There, in a megalopolis of 5 houses was Sheila's Pub. Sheila was alone working the bar. the kitchen, and waitressing. I admired how she moved. NO wasted movements. Asked why somewone would open a pub at the crossroads of nothing. Everyone comes from miles around because there is nothing else. About 5pm, the weekend crowd started to arrive. It did indeed get busy. So I moseyed up to the bar to pay. I forgot to tell you that the people in Swanville decided to sign our shirts as a remembrance. I was still wearing mine. A guy at the bar recognized Fred Peterson's name and asked what was up. We talked for a while with Gary and Leeann. Leann has parents in Glyndon, right on our route and they would love to meet us, put us up for a night. We took the info and asked her to call and warn them we were coming. She didn't. But that's another story.
Off to Battle Lake. Beautiful little town, large lake. Eden, A little piece of heaven. We stopped for a while to enjoy the lake an the cool air. Down the road a piece we made a wrong, turned around, and stopped at the local gas station, convenience store. Enter Steve King. We looked pretty ragged. He invited us home for camping and a shower. Gladly accepted. Met his wife Deb, daughters Molly and Korina. Deb and Steve work as teachers for DOD, teaching army brats. Love their work. Spend 10 months a year in Europe, 2 months in Battle Lake. I think i finally met people who know how to earn a living and enjoy life. We talked and talked and talked.
We camped the next night at pelican Rapids. An uneventul day. Next day on to Glyndon. Yoni called and introduced himself. Leann had forgotten to call. A lille embarassment, but they accepted us as their guests. They are Russel and Lois Bekkerus. They live in a beatiful farm house on a street they labeled Lois Lane. Married 56 years. The lake in back is called Golden Pond. Lovely, lovely people. We talked until midnight, got up at 7:30am and talked until noon. Always so hard to leave.
Now we are in Fargo, IN YOUR FACE naysayers and doubters. Now I must go. Probably be out of touch for a while. We spend the next week riding in ND and then 600 miles in nowhere Montana.
t
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
More recollections, or not
Today is a rest day! Wed peddled six days over excrutiating hills and relentless strong headwinds. So today we give our bodies and what is left of our minds a break. I don't remember what I wrote yesterday, much less what happened during the last month, so I'll continue with a bunch of half truths and hazy recollections.
Did I mention that I hate hills and headwinds. Maybe a little. Question of the day. What is worse than a strong headwind or a steep or long hill? Yes! It is when you finally reach the top of such a hill and get slapped with a 20 mph gust that stops you cold in your tracks. The noise of the wind gets really annoying after a while. Four hours of the whistling in your ears and your mind turns to mush. When I open a water bottle to drink, the wind makes a high whisling sound like a flute.
We are not afraid or worried about no stinking terrorists here in the heartland. We think the war in Iraq is stupid. We don't watch the Weather Channel to see if we have permission to go outside today. All in all, we are happy, easygoing, friendly people. Always ready to lend a helping hand. I can't tell you how many times someone has stopped to ask if everything is ok or if we needed help when we are taking a break on the side of the road. Just yesterday a woman passed us, flipped a uey, and came back to offer aid. We think it is because Yoni is taking the opportunity to stretch and looks horribly contorted or sometimes he is taking a quick nap and looks dead next to his bike. You might remember how Shelly turned around to save us from the impending storm in Yoder, Ill. She was carrying a bike rack, so we loaded up and headed back to the community church where they were having a cookout and a concert. We ate well, enjoyed a concert, and were given free run of the church for the evening. Just asked us to turn of the lights when we went to sleep. The Pastor and the flock, delightful people.
There was the one town where we slept in the park. The mayor came down in his 4x4 to open the bathrooms so we could have running water and wouldn't mess the grass. The town had one police officer who made rounds at night. He said there hadn't been any incidents in town for the last 8 years. Everyone knows everyone. People let their kids play outside unsupervised. No fear.
I seem to recall thinking of this area of the country as a land of intolerance and predjudice. Small minded people. Nope. All wrong. After Yoni introduces himself and people ask what kind of name that is and he explains that it is hebrew, they pretty well know we are different. No matter. We are accepted, invited in.
We have seen a lot of mixed marriages in small towns. White people adopting black children. None of the paranoia and hate you find in the big city.
So I think I have enough statistics now to say the Standard Diviant lives in the big city. I call this theory Sigma Sick.
The weather has been generally good during the whole trip. There has been intermittent storms all around us. But we have only seen thunder, lightning, and rain up close and personal 3 times. The first time was somewhere in Ohio or Indiana (actually I don't have a clue where it was, Yoni has the journal). It was late in the day. As usual I was exhausted. I approached a police officer in his car and asked if a motel was close at hand, as the sky was rapidly darkening. He was very personable and we talked at length. He had been with the police force the requisite number of year needed to retire, so he was going to retire soon and collect a very good pension, and then go right back to work for the police force at his regular salary. He would use his pension to put his kids through college and his salary to live on. We talked a little too long, for when we headed down the road toward th Villa Rosa Motel, the thunder and lightening started and the sky opened up with a deluge so strong i could barely see my handle bars. That's how the rain always happens here. Sudden onslaught. Then you drown. Yoni couldn't hear me, but a exausted as I was I was screaming peddle faster as I followed him to the motel. You'll be happy to know that Apu Nasahap......(bungled Simpsons reference) is alive and well and owns most of the cheap run down motels and small groceries in the country.
Maybe the first time it dumped on us was as we approached Bowling Green, Ohio. Or not. There was thunder in the distance most of the day. We didn't worry about it because it was so far away. However, as we approached Bowling Green, the storm moved in fast. The lightening was close and coming straight down to the ground. Thunder less than 1 second away. The sky opened up as I starting up the ramp to the metal bridge I had to cross. The wind kicked up and I peddled my little heart out. Yoni spotted a golf course on the left after the bridge and quickly turned in. I turned in and we peddled to the club house. We found shelter under a canopy. But then the wind got so strong the rain was going sideways. The people there offered the shed to shelter our bicycles and invited us in until the rain and wind quited a little. They were closing, so they offered us the left over hot dogs and whatever they were only going to throw away anyway. The food was welcome. Food always seems welcome when you are riding 5 to 6 hours a day.
The last time it rained we manged to get into a restaurant just in time to avoid getting wet. They had a salad bar and we really stocked up on our raw vegetables. Raw vegetables have not been abundant in our travels. We were on a busy road just before the storm and we had to ask at several places to find the restaurant. In order to get there we had to wait for a left turn signal to recognize us. Bicycles are unrecognizable. So we sat and watched everyone else go 2 or 3 times as the storm rushed in on us. Finally we just charged through the red when all the other traffic had long gone and beat the storm by milliseconds. True harrowing story, i think.
We actually don't eat so much or so often. I really meant I don't eat so much. Beardo pounds down a huge meal every time we stop for food. Then an hour of peddling later he is hungry. Our routine is like this. I wake up a 5AM. I wait until 6:30 and say good morning to Beardo. I'm ready to leave camp by 7:30. By 8:30 to 9:00, Beardo is about ready. Sometimes I just leave early and he catches up. I go slowly. Or rather sloooooowly. Usually we ride 20 or 25 miles before breakfast. We try to stop at a local cafe. But McD is occasionally the only thing around. Local food is mediocre. Eggs are always fresh and delicious, cooked right and hot. The home fries are those dreadful frozen string potatoes. Coffee weak and tasteless. People are always friendly and inquisitive. We spend too long at breakfast talking and talking and talking.
After breakfast we ride all day until we are near our destination. I like to stop in a small town and ask if there is any free camping. We ask either an officer of the law, a local sitting outside, or at the local cafe or bar.
An aside: What does every town have no matter what size? It's not a church. It's a bar. That bar is message central. That's where everyone goes who is not a home, where all the action takes place, where you find out what is happening.
Towns with populations about 300 to 600 are optimal for finding free camping in the city park. Towns over 2000 people seem to be really shaky about letting people camp. There's been vandalism. Anyway we need to find a grocery store of a restaurant before 9:00PM or there may not be any food available at all. The bar is a good bet, but they usually stop serving food at 10:"00.
Did you know that people out here live day to day without using a credit card? The nearest shopping mall are many miles away. Going there is a special occasion. Shopping for groceries is a full morning or afternoon. And I'm talking about choosing what kind of fancy mushrooms or chili peppers you want for dinner. We're talking meat, milk, eggs, flour, etc. Why there was a bank in Odell that didn't do credit cards or ATM.
My time at the computer is almost up and I want to make sure to publis this before I lose it all. I vaguely remember getting all warm and fuzzy about America just before I got kicked out of the library last time. Fortunately, that feeling is gone. Still, the life in some of these small towns reminds me of growing up in Paterson, NJ in the forties and fifties. It turns out that they were very good times.
I'd like som input. Is it head winds, head-winds, or headwinds. Does anyone know or care? This is not and open invitation to correct my spelling or grammar. Comprende?
And what the hell is MK Ultra?
Don't know when we will be at a library again. Tomorrow we head for Dalbo, MN. Then on to Fargo, ND.
Did I mention that I hate hills and headwinds. Maybe a little. Question of the day. What is worse than a strong headwind or a steep or long hill? Yes! It is when you finally reach the top of such a hill and get slapped with a 20 mph gust that stops you cold in your tracks. The noise of the wind gets really annoying after a while. Four hours of the whistling in your ears and your mind turns to mush. When I open a water bottle to drink, the wind makes a high whisling sound like a flute.
We are not afraid or worried about no stinking terrorists here in the heartland. We think the war in Iraq is stupid. We don't watch the Weather Channel to see if we have permission to go outside today. All in all, we are happy, easygoing, friendly people. Always ready to lend a helping hand. I can't tell you how many times someone has stopped to ask if everything is ok or if we needed help when we are taking a break on the side of the road. Just yesterday a woman passed us, flipped a uey, and came back to offer aid. We think it is because Yoni is taking the opportunity to stretch and looks horribly contorted or sometimes he is taking a quick nap and looks dead next to his bike. You might remember how Shelly turned around to save us from the impending storm in Yoder, Ill. She was carrying a bike rack, so we loaded up and headed back to the community church where they were having a cookout and a concert. We ate well, enjoyed a concert, and were given free run of the church for the evening. Just asked us to turn of the lights when we went to sleep. The Pastor and the flock, delightful people.
There was the one town where we slept in the park. The mayor came down in his 4x4 to open the bathrooms so we could have running water and wouldn't mess the grass. The town had one police officer who made rounds at night. He said there hadn't been any incidents in town for the last 8 years. Everyone knows everyone. People let their kids play outside unsupervised. No fear.
I seem to recall thinking of this area of the country as a land of intolerance and predjudice. Small minded people. Nope. All wrong. After Yoni introduces himself and people ask what kind of name that is and he explains that it is hebrew, they pretty well know we are different. No matter. We are accepted, invited in.
We have seen a lot of mixed marriages in small towns. White people adopting black children. None of the paranoia and hate you find in the big city.
So I think I have enough statistics now to say the Standard Diviant lives in the big city. I call this theory Sigma Sick.
The weather has been generally good during the whole trip. There has been intermittent storms all around us. But we have only seen thunder, lightning, and rain up close and personal 3 times. The first time was somewhere in Ohio or Indiana (actually I don't have a clue where it was, Yoni has the journal). It was late in the day. As usual I was exhausted. I approached a police officer in his car and asked if a motel was close at hand, as the sky was rapidly darkening. He was very personable and we talked at length. He had been with the police force the requisite number of year needed to retire, so he was going to retire soon and collect a very good pension, and then go right back to work for the police force at his regular salary. He would use his pension to put his kids through college and his salary to live on. We talked a little too long, for when we headed down the road toward th Villa Rosa Motel, the thunder and lightening started and the sky opened up with a deluge so strong i could barely see my handle bars. That's how the rain always happens here. Sudden onslaught. Then you drown. Yoni couldn't hear me, but a exausted as I was I was screaming peddle faster as I followed him to the motel. You'll be happy to know that Apu Nasahap......(bungled Simpsons reference) is alive and well and owns most of the cheap run down motels and small groceries in the country.
Maybe the first time it dumped on us was as we approached Bowling Green, Ohio. Or not. There was thunder in the distance most of the day. We didn't worry about it because it was so far away. However, as we approached Bowling Green, the storm moved in fast. The lightening was close and coming straight down to the ground. Thunder less than 1 second away. The sky opened up as I starting up the ramp to the metal bridge I had to cross. The wind kicked up and I peddled my little heart out. Yoni spotted a golf course on the left after the bridge and quickly turned in. I turned in and we peddled to the club house. We found shelter under a canopy. But then the wind got so strong the rain was going sideways. The people there offered the shed to shelter our bicycles and invited us in until the rain and wind quited a little. They were closing, so they offered us the left over hot dogs and whatever they were only going to throw away anyway. The food was welcome. Food always seems welcome when you are riding 5 to 6 hours a day.
The last time it rained we manged to get into a restaurant just in time to avoid getting wet. They had a salad bar and we really stocked up on our raw vegetables. Raw vegetables have not been abundant in our travels. We were on a busy road just before the storm and we had to ask at several places to find the restaurant. In order to get there we had to wait for a left turn signal to recognize us. Bicycles are unrecognizable. So we sat and watched everyone else go 2 or 3 times as the storm rushed in on us. Finally we just charged through the red when all the other traffic had long gone and beat the storm by milliseconds. True harrowing story, i think.
We actually don't eat so much or so often. I really meant I don't eat so much. Beardo pounds down a huge meal every time we stop for food. Then an hour of peddling later he is hungry. Our routine is like this. I wake up a 5AM. I wait until 6:30 and say good morning to Beardo. I'm ready to leave camp by 7:30. By 8:30 to 9:00, Beardo is about ready. Sometimes I just leave early and he catches up. I go slowly. Or rather sloooooowly. Usually we ride 20 or 25 miles before breakfast. We try to stop at a local cafe. But McD is occasionally the only thing around. Local food is mediocre. Eggs are always fresh and delicious, cooked right and hot. The home fries are those dreadful frozen string potatoes. Coffee weak and tasteless. People are always friendly and inquisitive. We spend too long at breakfast talking and talking and talking.
After breakfast we ride all day until we are near our destination. I like to stop in a small town and ask if there is any free camping. We ask either an officer of the law, a local sitting outside, or at the local cafe or bar.
An aside: What does every town have no matter what size? It's not a church. It's a bar. That bar is message central. That's where everyone goes who is not a home, where all the action takes place, where you find out what is happening.
Towns with populations about 300 to 600 are optimal for finding free camping in the city park. Towns over 2000 people seem to be really shaky about letting people camp. There's been vandalism. Anyway we need to find a grocery store of a restaurant before 9:00PM or there may not be any food available at all. The bar is a good bet, but they usually stop serving food at 10:"00.
Did you know that people out here live day to day without using a credit card? The nearest shopping mall are many miles away. Going there is a special occasion. Shopping for groceries is a full morning or afternoon. And I'm talking about choosing what kind of fancy mushrooms or chili peppers you want for dinner. We're talking meat, milk, eggs, flour, etc. Why there was a bank in Odell that didn't do credit cards or ATM.
My time at the computer is almost up and I want to make sure to publis this before I lose it all. I vaguely remember getting all warm and fuzzy about America just before I got kicked out of the library last time. Fortunately, that feeling is gone. Still, the life in some of these small towns reminds me of growing up in Paterson, NJ in the forties and fifties. It turns out that they were very good times.
I'd like som input. Is it head winds, head-winds, or headwinds. Does anyone know or care? This is not and open invitation to correct my spelling or grammar. Comprende?
And what the hell is MK Ultra?
Don't know when we will be at a library again. Tomorrow we head for Dalbo, MN. Then on to Fargo, ND.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
July 1, 2008
We've been on the road a month. Today we are in Lindstrom, Mn. A beautiful little town of Swedish immigrants. First stop, the Swedish bakery. Chatted up the owner and her friend for about 1 1/2 hours while i downed some pastries and milk. It used to be a jumping little town. Apparently, the malls are putting the town out of business. After we left the owner came running out after us with a huge bag of ginger snaps. Headed down toward the library to sign onto the net when i spotted the chamber of commerce building. Met two lovely ladies. Spent another two hours chatting.
Finally reached the library whiere I find I must update the blog. Beardo's mind has been temperarily clouded and befuddled by his arch enemy Retardo from the administration at RIT.
So, Fatman must weigh in with some "Random Remarks, Recollection, Ramblings, and Ruminations from the Rotund Rider". You'll find that much of what I write has the same value as war stories. Nobody knows whether it's true or not. Especially me.
Don't know what Beardo wrote or where he stopped writing. Don't really care. We see the world differently anyway.
I hate headwinds. I mean I really hate them. We have been fighting direct head on, strong, constant, unrelenting winds since we left NY. To give you some inkling of how strong the winds can be, I must tell you a little bit about my bike and how it handles. The bike with gear weighs about 80 pounds or more. Fatman weighs only God knows how much. When riding on a flat road with no headwinds, I can usually maintain 14 to 16 miles per hour for extended periods of time. Not that I would know, because we haven't been without headwinds for and extended period of time. Going down a reasonable slope, not too steep, I can easily hit 37 or 38 miles per hour. But with head winds, sometimes i struggle to maintain 6 or 7 mile per hour. Downhill the other day, I was peddling very hard to go 12 miles per hour when I should have been flying, scared out of my mind, with no effort! Of course, it was my idea to go east to west to build strength and character before we got to the Rockies. The head wind issue is wll known. We might build strength.
I hate hills. I mean I really hate these really rolling hills. Which do you think is worse? Do you think a shallow rise that goes on for a mile or two with curves and twists and bends is bad? And then it has the nerve to round a bend have a STEEP RISE BEFORE THE TOP! THEY SUCK! THEY SUCK! Short steep hills suck even worse. Because when you finally get to the top, screaming and cursing, in lowest gear, great granny gear, going 3 miles per hour, pushing as hard as you can around 20 to 30 rpm for 10 minutes, wheezing and spitting blood and bile, and you are ready to enjoy the truly deserved flat or downhill, you see the next STEEP HILL. I really hate that. Yester day we did dozens of hills from Redwing to Bayport. And don't try to ride across northwestern Illinois into Dubuque. After highway 52, i think it is, murders you, Dubuque eats your soul.
Fortunately, we had parents of a friend living in Dubuque, John and Susan Hoffman, parents of Chad Hoffman. John picked us up in a parking lot after we climbed a 2 mile hill from the Mississippi River. By the way, crossing Ole Man Ribber on a bicycle was a real thrill or me. I peddled real slowly across the bridge in rush hour traffic to watch him roll on. Back to John and Susan. They took us into their house, let us shower, and fed us well. We in return ate like pigs. We knew we had a good thing going here, so we stayed an extra day and night. I was whupped after the ride into Dubuque. My body needed a day of rest. John is retired from John Deere where he worked for 30 years. Now all he does is hunt, fish, and drink beer. We generously helped him with his beer. Susan drove me all over town to find things needed to continue for the trip. She made enormous breakfasts and dinners that we demolished in order not to insult the cook. Dubuque is built on a palisades or bluff. Steeper hills than San Francisco. A bicyclist nightmare. The drivers don't like bicyclists and don't cut us no slack when passing. Thankfully, John drove us out of the hills of Dubuque and back to our bike route. We were supposed to ride along the Mississippi after that. So John thought it would be mostly flat, nothing too difficult.
That brings us to Sunshine Hill. Reread above what I wrote about hills. Double it.
We went from Marquette to Lansing to La Crescent to Winona, through Wabasha to Red Wing to Bayport. I don't remember them very well at the moment. I'll make up stories about them later. I think it was in Winona that we met Patty at the Sinclair station. I stopped in to ask about a place to camp. We talked about the trip, my life long dream, the hill, etc. She offered us a free drink of any kind we wanted. We drank. Talked and talked. She hada couple of bags of donuts on the counter. She said take a bag. They will only get thrown away. We took. That night we camped on a penninsula in the middle of the Mighty Mississippi.
Another donut story. We stayed at the Green River Oaks Campground. Noone was there when we arrived. Rates were posted as $30.00 per night. We were outraged but exhausted. Pitch your tent anywhere the sign. We chose the closest available grassy spot. Next morning the owner arrives in his big 4x4. He greets us and we start talking. "Oh, I never charge bicyclists", he says. "Never have. They don't use any resources." Good thing he wasn't there for the two hour shower. The mosquitos were so bad no way I was going back outside quickly. He had to rush away to take a broken motor to be fixed. We asked him for directions and promptly left. About 9 miles down ou route we see a farmiliar truck pull to the side and wait for us. There was the campground owner (Beardo has all the pictures and names). He had stopped and bought a dozen donuts. Offered us as many a we wanted. Apologized for not offering us breakfast or at least coffee.
Campground across from Red Wing, Mn in Wisconson is called Mr. Sippi. No joke. Or very little joke. We camped right at the edge of the river. We had a strange dinner, chicken breasts, mushrooms, ramen noodles, black bean dip, hot sauce. Absolutely delicious. Built a fire only inches from the water's edge and through some fresh corn in the hot coals for dessert. The stars were plentiful and clear. Temperature dropped into the 50's. A perfect night. This spot was located just next door to the office which happens to be a bar. Next morning one of the bar employees was walking around and i asked he about the pole in the river marked off in 6 inch segments that went from 6 to 18 feet. That, of course, is the flood measurer pole thingy. That day, the river was well below the 6 foot mark.. The 18 foot mark was way above our heads. He said he saw the water reach the 17 1/2 foot mark once. It looked like flooding started about the 8 foot mark. I just don't understand why anyone would be there to read the water at the 17 1/2 level.
Last night we stayed at Bayport. I wanted to stop earlier. But we begged a place in a couple of towns along the way and were turned away, sent on farther up the river. At Bayport, I walked into the first bar I saw and asked the bartendress if there was any place to camp in town. She suggested I go to the police station a short block down the street and ask permission because Bayport was a real friendly town and the police were very nice. Town hall and the police department were locked up tight. No lights, doors locked. Went back to the bar. Bartendress called the police and told them we needed help. Officer woud be over in 2 minutes. While we waited for the officer to arrive, Carl came walking across the street. On each side of the street there is a barrel with crossing flags. You pick up a flag that tells cars to stop, put your head down, and walk. Impervious. We gabbed. Cross country trip, life long dream, Rochester, NY etc.
"This is a real friendly town. Nice people. But if you can't get a place to camp, I live across the street and you can camp in our back yard." Exit Carl. Enter Officer D. Wynia. Very nice man. Friendly, chatty, informative. But no joy. There's been some vandalism in the park so you can't stay there. Calls the cheif. She says we can stay between the police station and the fire department if we are gone by 7AM. Apparently, the town nuisance, vigilante is up early every morning defending the town and calling in complaints. Didn't think that out by 7AM would sit well with Beardo. So I accepted Carl's invitation. It was another good night. Before reaching the house, however, I met 2 other people who had been in the bar when I first went in. Thery were worried about us and would offer us their back yards if we needed them.
So I want to give the tour a new name. There are several that come to mind, depending upon what I happen to be dwelling on at the moment. For now I choose to think about all the wonderful people we have met and all the kindness they have shown us. Therefore this is :
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS TOUR
We have rediscovered the America that we used to know and always loved. An America of small towns, people with big hearts, generous, giving, concerned about people, friends or strangers. There seems to be a strange lack of hate and predjudice. The library is closing so i'll return to this later.
I want instead to tell you about the Lawn Mower Poker Race that we saw in Ashkum. As far as i can make out, people pay an entrance fee, ride their mowers or lawn tractors from one bar to the next bar to the baseball diamond to the pool to the Knights of Columbus Hall drinking beer all the way. Nobody seems to know what the prizes are. Nobody cares.
Fatman out
We've been on the road a month. Today we are in Lindstrom, Mn. A beautiful little town of Swedish immigrants. First stop, the Swedish bakery. Chatted up the owner and her friend for about 1 1/2 hours while i downed some pastries and milk. It used to be a jumping little town. Apparently, the malls are putting the town out of business. After we left the owner came running out after us with a huge bag of ginger snaps. Headed down toward the library to sign onto the net when i spotted the chamber of commerce building. Met two lovely ladies. Spent another two hours chatting.
Finally reached the library whiere I find I must update the blog. Beardo's mind has been temperarily clouded and befuddled by his arch enemy Retardo from the administration at RIT.
So, Fatman must weigh in with some "Random Remarks, Recollection, Ramblings, and Ruminations from the Rotund Rider". You'll find that much of what I write has the same value as war stories. Nobody knows whether it's true or not. Especially me.
Don't know what Beardo wrote or where he stopped writing. Don't really care. We see the world differently anyway.
I hate headwinds. I mean I really hate them. We have been fighting direct head on, strong, constant, unrelenting winds since we left NY. To give you some inkling of how strong the winds can be, I must tell you a little bit about my bike and how it handles. The bike with gear weighs about 80 pounds or more. Fatman weighs only God knows how much. When riding on a flat road with no headwinds, I can usually maintain 14 to 16 miles per hour for extended periods of time. Not that I would know, because we haven't been without headwinds for and extended period of time. Going down a reasonable slope, not too steep, I can easily hit 37 or 38 miles per hour. But with head winds, sometimes i struggle to maintain 6 or 7 mile per hour. Downhill the other day, I was peddling very hard to go 12 miles per hour when I should have been flying, scared out of my mind, with no effort! Of course, it was my idea to go east to west to build strength and character before we got to the Rockies. The head wind issue is wll known. We might build strength.
I hate hills. I mean I really hate these really rolling hills. Which do you think is worse? Do you think a shallow rise that goes on for a mile or two with curves and twists and bends is bad? And then it has the nerve to round a bend have a STEEP RISE BEFORE THE TOP! THEY SUCK! THEY SUCK! Short steep hills suck even worse. Because when you finally get to the top, screaming and cursing, in lowest gear, great granny gear, going 3 miles per hour, pushing as hard as you can around 20 to 30 rpm for 10 minutes, wheezing and spitting blood and bile, and you are ready to enjoy the truly deserved flat or downhill, you see the next STEEP HILL. I really hate that. Yester day we did dozens of hills from Redwing to Bayport. And don't try to ride across northwestern Illinois into Dubuque. After highway 52, i think it is, murders you, Dubuque eats your soul.
Fortunately, we had parents of a friend living in Dubuque, John and Susan Hoffman, parents of Chad Hoffman. John picked us up in a parking lot after we climbed a 2 mile hill from the Mississippi River. By the way, crossing Ole Man Ribber on a bicycle was a real thrill or me. I peddled real slowly across the bridge in rush hour traffic to watch him roll on. Back to John and Susan. They took us into their house, let us shower, and fed us well. We in return ate like pigs. We knew we had a good thing going here, so we stayed an extra day and night. I was whupped after the ride into Dubuque. My body needed a day of rest. John is retired from John Deere where he worked for 30 years. Now all he does is hunt, fish, and drink beer. We generously helped him with his beer. Susan drove me all over town to find things needed to continue for the trip. She made enormous breakfasts and dinners that we demolished in order not to insult the cook. Dubuque is built on a palisades or bluff. Steeper hills than San Francisco. A bicyclist nightmare. The drivers don't like bicyclists and don't cut us no slack when passing. Thankfully, John drove us out of the hills of Dubuque and back to our bike route. We were supposed to ride along the Mississippi after that. So John thought it would be mostly flat, nothing too difficult.
That brings us to Sunshine Hill. Reread above what I wrote about hills. Double it.
We went from Marquette to Lansing to La Crescent to Winona, through Wabasha to Red Wing to Bayport. I don't remember them very well at the moment. I'll make up stories about them later. I think it was in Winona that we met Patty at the Sinclair station. I stopped in to ask about a place to camp. We talked about the trip, my life long dream, the hill, etc. She offered us a free drink of any kind we wanted. We drank. Talked and talked. She hada couple of bags of donuts on the counter. She said take a bag. They will only get thrown away. We took. That night we camped on a penninsula in the middle of the Mighty Mississippi.
Another donut story. We stayed at the Green River Oaks Campground. Noone was there when we arrived. Rates were posted as $30.00 per night. We were outraged but exhausted. Pitch your tent anywhere the sign. We chose the closest available grassy spot. Next morning the owner arrives in his big 4x4. He greets us and we start talking. "Oh, I never charge bicyclists", he says. "Never have. They don't use any resources." Good thing he wasn't there for the two hour shower. The mosquitos were so bad no way I was going back outside quickly. He had to rush away to take a broken motor to be fixed. We asked him for directions and promptly left. About 9 miles down ou route we see a farmiliar truck pull to the side and wait for us. There was the campground owner (Beardo has all the pictures and names). He had stopped and bought a dozen donuts. Offered us as many a we wanted. Apologized for not offering us breakfast or at least coffee.
Campground across from Red Wing, Mn in Wisconson is called Mr. Sippi. No joke. Or very little joke. We camped right at the edge of the river. We had a strange dinner, chicken breasts, mushrooms, ramen noodles, black bean dip, hot sauce. Absolutely delicious. Built a fire only inches from the water's edge and through some fresh corn in the hot coals for dessert. The stars were plentiful and clear. Temperature dropped into the 50's. A perfect night. This spot was located just next door to the office which happens to be a bar. Next morning one of the bar employees was walking around and i asked he about the pole in the river marked off in 6 inch segments that went from 6 to 18 feet. That, of course, is the flood measurer pole thingy. That day, the river was well below the 6 foot mark.. The 18 foot mark was way above our heads. He said he saw the water reach the 17 1/2 foot mark once. It looked like flooding started about the 8 foot mark. I just don't understand why anyone would be there to read the water at the 17 1/2 level.
Last night we stayed at Bayport. I wanted to stop earlier. But we begged a place in a couple of towns along the way and were turned away, sent on farther up the river. At Bayport, I walked into the first bar I saw and asked the bartendress if there was any place to camp in town. She suggested I go to the police station a short block down the street and ask permission because Bayport was a real friendly town and the police were very nice. Town hall and the police department were locked up tight. No lights, doors locked. Went back to the bar. Bartendress called the police and told them we needed help. Officer woud be over in 2 minutes. While we waited for the officer to arrive, Carl came walking across the street. On each side of the street there is a barrel with crossing flags. You pick up a flag that tells cars to stop, put your head down, and walk. Impervious. We gabbed. Cross country trip, life long dream, Rochester, NY etc.
"This is a real friendly town. Nice people. But if you can't get a place to camp, I live across the street and you can camp in our back yard." Exit Carl. Enter Officer D. Wynia. Very nice man. Friendly, chatty, informative. But no joy. There's been some vandalism in the park so you can't stay there. Calls the cheif. She says we can stay between the police station and the fire department if we are gone by 7AM. Apparently, the town nuisance, vigilante is up early every morning defending the town and calling in complaints. Didn't think that out by 7AM would sit well with Beardo. So I accepted Carl's invitation. It was another good night. Before reaching the house, however, I met 2 other people who had been in the bar when I first went in. Thery were worried about us and would offer us their back yards if we needed them.
So I want to give the tour a new name. There are several that come to mind, depending upon what I happen to be dwelling on at the moment. For now I choose to think about all the wonderful people we have met and all the kindness they have shown us. Therefore this is :
THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS TOUR
We have rediscovered the America that we used to know and always loved. An America of small towns, people with big hearts, generous, giving, concerned about people, friends or strangers. There seems to be a strange lack of hate and predjudice. The library is closing so i'll return to this later.
I want instead to tell you about the Lawn Mower Poker Race that we saw in Ashkum. As far as i can make out, people pay an entrance fee, ride their mowers or lawn tractors from one bar to the next bar to the baseball diamond to the pool to the Knights of Columbus Hall drinking beer all the way. Nobody seems to know what the prizes are. Nobody cares.
Fatman out
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)