Dave rides his bike to school

Above: Typical hilly landscape in Wisconsin.

Above: The cabins at Camp Croix before the storm.

Above: The view from my cabin door, the morning after the storm.

Above: The front of my cabin, the morning after the storm (my bike has been picked up).

Above: A peaceful conclusion to one of the scariest days of my life.

Sunday, 7/30 9pm
Location: Objibwa State Park, WI

Coordinates:
45.8055 N
91.0877 W

Today’s mileage: around 65
Tomorrow’s destination: Minoqua, WI, or Trout Lake, WI

“The Day That Tried to Kill Me”

I’m going to describe yesterday and today in one entry.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I got a later start on Saturday morning, on account of a storm. So, I had to scale back my ambitions for the day and shoot for somewhere near highway 70, which will take me halfway across the state. At about 6pm, I stopped in a convenience store and asked the clerk where I might be able to camp for the night. He said that there was a place nearby called Camp Croix. I called Camp Croix, and the people on the other end said it’d be fine if I stayed there for the night. Well, not until I arrived at Camp Croix did I realize that it was a summer camp, not a campground. At first, I thought that it was going to be a very awkward evening, but in fact, the “campers” had left that afternoon, so there were only a few families left.

The people who were still at the camp were extremely gracious and kind to me. A man named Richard took me on a tour of the camp, and he set me up in my own cabin overlooking the lake.

Richard offered, “If you prefer, you’re free to set up your tent here on the grass, but of course, you’re more than welcome to stay in the cabin too. Either way.”

I decided to sleep in the cabin, since even a bunk bed is usually more comfortable than the ground. Well, despite the fact that I had stumbled upon this place accidentally, things had worked out perfectly.

Well, that’s how Saturday ended. Within a few hours, the most death-defying day of my life began, with a bang.

At four in the morning, I was abruptly awoken by the crash of thunder close by. I sat up in my bunk bed and witnessed a fireworks display of lightning close at hand. The wind outside was ferocious. The rain was pelting the cabin. I got up and closed the open windows. Suddenly, a powerful burst of wind assaulted the forest around me, creating a roar of the limbs and leaves lashing about. BANG! Something heavy hit my cabin. BANG! AH! What’s going on?! My mind was filled with images of Coleharbor, ND, the town that was flattened by a storm, only miles away from where I had stayed the very same night. I felt a bit hopeless, knowing that if a storm were going to destroy the cabin that I was in, there was nothing I could do about it. I looked outside again, and an entire tree had fallen ten feet in front of my cabin, on the exact spot where I considered setting up my tent that night. The tree measured about a foot and a half in diameter, easily large enough to crush a human. The top of another tree was piled onto the wreckage of the first tree. My bicycle was mixed in with the debris.

Moments later, another strong gust of wind showed its might by knocking out the electricity in the camp.

The thunder continued raging for quite some time, even though the pounding wind let up after about 15 minutes. I fell back asleep once the brunt of the storm had passed, leaving only a steady shower of rain in its place.

When I awoke the next morning, it was still raining. Finally, at around 9am, the rain stopped and I went outside to survey the damage. Amazingly, the cabins and my bicycle managed to avoid damage, if by only a few feet. Somehow I had managed to dodge this disaster. Unfortunately for me though, that was only the first of three close calls today.

Close-call #2: I came within a few feet of being run over by a clueless Jeep driver. I was riding along 70 when I came upon an intersection with a minor county road. A man in a Jeep Grand Cherokee was driving down the county road, headed perpendicularly towards me . He stopped at the stop sign, looked both ways for cars, and then proceeded to cross highway 70. The only problem was: apparently he didn’t look for bikes! As a result, just as I was crossing the intersection in front of him, he accelerated directly towards me. The whole incident happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to react. I just kept pedaling forward, as I was supposed to be doing. By the time the driver finally saw me, he was about 8 feet from hitting me. He slammed on his brakes just before his front wheels hit my trailer. Whoa! That would have ruined my day in a big way, real fast.

Close-call #3: Again, I was riding down 70, minding my own business. The shoulder on 70 is about 4 feet wide, which is not nearly the width of a full shoulder, but when people are driving safely, it’s enough to keep steel happily separated from flesh.

I heard a car approaching me from behind, as happens hundreds or thousands of times a day. There were no cars approaching from in front of us, so the car going in my direction had plenty of time and room to drive around me. Since I was in the shoulder, cars passing me didn’t even need to adjust their positions to pass me.

WHACK! I felt an intense pain in my left hand, and I could see the side of a car inches away from me. The wheels of the car were over the white line onto the shoulder. Without a moment’s hesitation, the car continued on, speeding away at probably 60 miles an hour. I squeezed my brakes and came to a stop.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled, as I waved my right arm in the air.

Another car, only several dozen yards behind the first car, also passed me by, but it drove by at a safe distance.

“What the f-ck was that!” I yelled at the first car, hoping to get either car to stop. Both cars sped on, as if nothing had happened.

I felt a surge of both anger and fear. That car’s sideview mirror just hit me! If that car had been an inch or two closer, it would have killed me! I inspected my hand, certain that it would be covered in blood or mangled. Amazingly, no damage at all. That driver is either drunk, or he/she did it on purpose. There is no way a normal driver would not hear or feel his or her car hitting a cyclist.

Well, I guess I should be thankful that I wasn’t killed. However, I’m mostly just pissed off because someone almost killed me and they’re going to get away with it.

Above: There are two main problems with riding your bike through the drive-through at Taco Bell:
1) The sensors in the pavement don’t detect bicycles.
2) Everyone in the Taco Bell points and laughs at you.

Above: The Grand Casino wouldn’t let me camp out in their “RV Resort” (parking lot). Big mistake. I would have pumped at least 35 cents into their slots machines. I bet they won’t make that mistake again. Suckers.

Friday, 7/28 midnight
Location: Hinckley, MN

Right now definitely qualifies as one of the most unusual moments of my life. I’m sitting in an outdoor meeting area at almost 11pm, wearing nothing but my cargo shorts. Before I tell you why, I should tell you how I got myself into this situation…

I arrived in Hinckley, Minnesota at around 7pm. Hinckley is a small town, but it sits next to Interstate 35. There is a quaint downtown area, with really only one avenue of businesses. However, about a quarter mile away, there is a long strip of gas stations, fast food chains, and motels along the highway. I entered town by way of the old downtown, and I quickly located my two eating options: a small, busy café, and a pizza shop. Given that I’m drenched in sweat and smeared with bicycle grease, I didn’t feel comfortable squeezing my way into the café, especially in my spandex. So, I opted for the pizza joint.

Unfortunately, the place didn’t have air conditioning or an ice maker (two major strikes against it), but it had about a dozen fans blowing furiously. I ordered a small pizza and sat down at a table to await my food. A TV was anchored above the pool table, and since I was the only customer in the whole place, I turned up the volume. I managed to catch the beginning of a movie which looked pretty lame, but as TV often does, the movie had me hooked instantly. After about an hour and a half of drinking copious amounts of water and soda, and falling into a zombie-like state watching the boob tube, I finally realized that I needed to figure out where I was going to stay for the evening.

At that point, it was already beginning to get dark, but I wasn’t concerned, because almost every town that I’ve been to so far has an RV park or campground nearby. I spoke with the people making pizzas, and they told me of an RV park down the road. Moments later, I was on my way.

Well, the RV park in Hinckley, Minnesota is really just a fancy parking lot for the Objibwa Indian Tribe’s Grand Casino. Hundreds of massive motor homes and trailers were parked there. The woman at the registration desk briskly informed me that the RV park does not allow tent camping. Well, of course not. If you’re sleeping in a tent, you’re probably not there to gamble.

The situation soon became a bit more interesting when I learned that the next closest camping area was 19 miles away. Given that I only had about 20 minutes of daylight left, I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it there.

I was down to two options: 1) stay in a motel or 2) hope that there’s a city park that the police will let me sleep in. I called the local police, who informed me of a park in town where I could stay for the night. They gave me directions, and I departed again, this time heading back towards where I ate dinner. Dying of thirst already, I pedaled into the drive-through of a Taco Bell. I now know that even with a fully loaded touring bike, the sensors in a drive-through won’t notice you. I rolled up to the window and asked for a drink. The people behind the counter had such a laugh that they gave me the drink for free. On to the park.

Despite the fact that Hinckley is a small town, I could not find the park to save my life. After searching around for about 15 minutes, I gave up and decided to find a room in a motel. At this point, the sun was down, and dusk was fading into darkness.

I stopped into the Travelodge. Only smoking rooms left. I called the Days Inn. Only smoking rooms left. I even called the casino. No rooms at all left. The prospect of paying $90 to sleep in an ash tray didn’t appeal to me, even less so than sleeping on the side of the road.

Hmm, my options were running out. I called the police again to get better directions to the park. I guess the dispatcher was tired of trying to describe how to find the park, so eventually she just said, “OK, I’ll send an officer over to escort you to the park.” Nice! Within a minute, a squad car arrived with the license plate “Sheriff”. The officer told me to follow. The officer drove me back to where I had looked in the first place, except that he then turned down a dirt road and navigated to an industrial looking part of town, although I can’t really tell because it’s completely dark. The officer said, “Here it is,” and drove off.

Fantastic. I don’t know where I am, I can’t see a thing, and there’s a thunderstorm approaching.

After two months of sleeping in my tent, I’d be a pretty crummy camper if I couldn’t set up my tent in the dark. Within a few minutes, I had everything set up, and I jumped into the tent to fall asleep.

Except for one problem: it’s 85 degrees outside with no breeze, and inside my tent it’s hot enough to smelt steel.

So, it’s now nearing midnight, and I’m sitting outside, somewhere in Hinckley, Minnesota, wearing nothing but my cargo shorts. How can it possibly be this hot at midnight?! This is not shaping up to be a restful evening.

Addendum:
That last statement, unfortunately, was quite foretelling. Drenched in sweat, I finally lied down in my tent at about 1am. Because of the heat, I rolled up the flaps on my rain tarp in the hopes of allowing any breeze to pass through. That worked fine and well, until 3 hours later, when I was assaulted by a brutal downpour. One moment, it was stiffling hot and still. The next moment, I was being doused by a cold rain!

Above: The lake in Hackensack, MN., in the morning.

Above: My good friend and college roommate, Roger Obando, hails from Hackensack. Of course, he’s from the other Hackensack. I have compiled a comprehensive list of the similarities between Hackensack, Minnesota and Hackensack, New Jersey:
1) They are both named Hackensack.
2) It snows in both towns.
3) They both contain a combination of humans, other life forms, and inorganic matter.

Other than that, they’re quite different.

Above: The Paul Bunyan hike/bike trail.

Above: The mighty Mississippi meanders through Minnesota, man.

Above: Look what I caught!

Friday, 7/28 9am
Location: Garrison, MN

Coordinates:
46.2960 N
93.8247 W
Yesterday’s mileage: about 75
Today’s destination: Somewhere near Hinckley

After my tumultuous night, it did not surprise me that I woke up later than I intended. On top of that, I wasn’t very fast getting packed up in the morning, so I didn’t get on the road until about 11am. One reason why I was slower than normal was because I ate two breakfasts. The night before, I noticed a bakery in town, so it was inevitable that I stop in. However, after two doughnuts and a ham, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich, I was still hungry. As a result, I stopped into another breakfast place on the way back to the park and ate a sausage, egg and toast breakfast plate.

After my extended double-breakfast, I finally got back on the bike trail. Like the previous day, the bike trail was a welcome change of pace. After a few miles, though, I stopped seeing people on the path. The main reason for that, I believe, was because at that point I was too far away from the common tourist towns to see any recreational bikers. Aside from the occasional triathlete (who can easily be spotted due to their aero bars) or competitive cyclist (who give themselves away simply by the speed at which they pedal), most of the time people on bikes don’t venture more than about 10 miles from the tourist towns. I can’t say I blame them much either; in this heat, I’d stay close to the ice cream shop too, if I had a choice.

After about 40 miles on the bike path, I began to realize that even bike paths can get monotonous. The biggest advantage of the bike path (being away from other streets and traffic) can also be a downside, because miles and miles of trees start to look the same quickly. Nonetheless, I’m very glad that I took the bike path route.

The endpoint of Paul Bunyan Trail is a town called Brainerd. The difference between the start of the trail, in Park Rapids, and the end of the trail, in Brainerd, was remarkable. In Park Rapids, the town clearly considered the bike trail as a way of attracting tourists and increasing business. The town publishes maps of the trails, and there is a park at the start of the trail. The nearby stores seem to benefit handily, because not only do they rent out bicycles to the tourists, but they also sell them drinks and treats when the tourists return.

On the other end of the spectrum (and trail), is Brainerd. Brainerd seems to treat the bike trail as a pesky back alley. The trail literally ends behind a car dealership, with no sign or indication whatsoever. From the way it just dumps you off in Brainerd, you would expect to see a “Stay Out” sign at the trailhead as much as anything else. I’m not saying that a sign would single-handedly turn Brainerd into a tourist magnet, but it might be a good place to start. Like I said, it seems to be working pretty well for Park Rapids.

After Brainerd, I headed towards Garrison, which is on the banks of Mille Lacs Lake, a lake large enough that you can just barely see the other shore. Besides the fishy smell, it’s a nice lake, with plenty of sandy beaches and fishing opportunities.

Above: This picture could be called “Why I like Minnesota”.

Above: Same lake, a few moments later.

Above: The view down the Heartland Trail.

Above: Riding along one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes.

Above: Another reason why I like the lake country….

Wednesday, 7/26 9pm
Location: Hackensack, MN

Coordinates:
46.9303 N
94.5233 W

Today’s mileage: about 88
Tomorrow’s destination: Somewhere near Brainerd

I have discovered the best thing to happen to bicycle touring since the deraileur: Rails-to-Trails. Due to my involuntary detour yesterday, I had to ride about 40 miles on a 4-lane divided road between Detroit Lakes and Park Rapids today. I must have been in a zombie-like trance for those 40 miles, because now as I think back, I can’t remember any of it. No matter, because the highlights of the day all came in the second half.

Park Rapids is a nice little town. It has a bustling main strip, flanked on both sides by an array of shops and stores. I had lunch at an unusual place: an appliance store with a café inside. I’m not sure which business came first, but they share the same space. The café was noisy with people, while the refridgerators, washers and dryers, and stoves sat by idly and ignored.

The best part about Park Rapids, from my perspective, is that it marks the beginning of the Heartland Trail, which is a hiking/biking trail built on top of old railroad tracks. The trail is cycling bliss: no cars, smooth pavement, shade from the sun, flat terrain, and few stops. As importantly, the trail cuts through a pretty landscape comprised of unsullied lakes and thick forests.

I rode from about 10am until around 6pm, including my leisurely lunch. When I reached Hackensack in the evening, I was delighted to discover a quaint town situated along the shores of a picturesque Northwoods lake. The first thing that went through my mind is how vastly different small towns in Minnesota are from small towns in North Dakota and Montana. In Minnesota, a town of 300 people is likely to be located alongside a lake, with a town beach, swimming area, and dock. Even though there may only be 300 permanent residents in the town, it feels much bigger, because people from all over come to fish or to relax in their vacation homes. So, in the summer, a town of 300 people supports far more than that. Consequently, the town has more businesses and things to do than you might expect.

In Montana and North Dakota, on the other hand, if a town of 300 has more than one restaurant, it stands out. Instead of a lake, the town has a grain mill, which doesn’t afford quite as many recreational activities.

After getting permission from the sheriff, I set up my tent in the town park. The park has a restroom, but no shower. As a result, I took off my shoes and went for a dip in the lake. It felt incredible! Just the right temperature.

Addendum:
Every night, as I set up my tent, I have to make an important decision: rain tarp or no rain tarp. On one hand, the rain tarp will keep you dry in a storm. On the other hand, the rain tarp blocks your view outside the tent, as well as any breezes. As a result, when the weather is nice, I greatly prefer to sleep without the tarp. Therefore, as I began setting up my tent last night, I surveyed the sky for any signs of impending rains. The sky was mostly clearly; the only clouds were white and puffy. I decided that it was safe to go without the rain tarp.

Alas, I overlooked one critical factor: lawn sprinklers.

At 2:45am, I was jolted awake by what sounded like a ferocious torrent of rain. I bolted out of the tent, not even consciously aware yet of what was happening. I jumped to my feet and grabbed the rain tarp, which I had placed just outside of the tent. As I started to unroll the tarp, and I finally glanced up to take a look at the storm. Sure enough, the night was still, except for an automatic sprinkler system which apparently activates in the evenings. The circling wall of water was again fast closing upon me. I dropped the rain tarp, grabbed my tent and began dragging it away from the sprinklers. In addition, I snatched my trailer (which I had left opened) and scurried over to a covered area, out of reach of the menacing sprinklers.

For a moment, it seemed as if I had avoided a soggy disaster, save for a few sprinkles in my tent and on my clothes. However, a new worry confronted me: if these are timed sprinklers, when are the next set going to spring to life, and where are they in the lawn? In the darkness of the night, I couldn’t exactly scour the lawn to figure out where the other sprinkler heads were.

I slid the tent closer to the lake and then put on the rain tarp. I got back into the tent and tried to fall asleep again. However, a thought kept me awake, worrying: what if I moved my tent ON TOP of a sprinkler? That would definitely and completely ruin my day.

Moments later (in actuality, about 3 hours), I woke up again to the sound of rain. Sh*t! Not again! I peeked outside my tent to see where the rain was coming from this time. Ironically, this time the rain was coming from where it’s supposed to, the sky. REAL rain. Phew. I climbed into my tent and quickly fell back to sleep, listening as the rain fell on my rain tarp.

As I said, I greatly prefer having the rain tarp on my tent. Who needs to look at that ugly lake anyway?

Wednesday, 7/26 9am
Location: Detroit Lakes

Yesterday’s mileage: about 60
Today’s destination: Hackensack, MN ?

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to write an entry covering yesterday. Here’s the two minute version:

I was forced to make a 12 mile detour because my intended route was undergoing road work. Riding 12 miles out of the way on a bike is not fun! Argh.

Several hours later, I was caught by a severe thunderstorm on the road a few miles outside of Detroit Lakes. I ducked into the closest building, which ended up being a lakeside lodge/resort. Under the circumstances, I was very lucky. Instead of getting slammed by gale-force winds and fried by lightning, I spent an hour or two gabbing with the resort owners and lapping up free slushies.

That night, I ate dinner at a Country Kitchen. This was actually quite exciting for me, because I have not been to a Country Kitchen in 9 years (since the last time I was in Wisconsin). Ten years ago (ouch!), during the summer of 1996, my best buddy Bryan Stewart and I worked as counselors at Red Arrow Camp in Wisconsin. On more than a few occasions, we would spend too much time at the “library”, and we’d found ourselves at Country Kitchen at 2am, wolfing down pancakes and omelettes. My personal favorite, then as now, is the Farmer’s Scrambler Plate. Yum! Nothing counteracts the intoxicating power of the “library” like Country Kitchen does. The restaraunt chain hasn’t changed much in ten years, and I was happy to discover that, because so many happy memories awaited me there. Good times!

Above: In a field full of sunflowers facing east, this lone plant decided to face west.

Above: When I saw this, I instantly thought of those (usually cheesy) inspirational posters with themes like “Teamwork”, “Achievement”, and “Courage”.

Above: I believe this plant is called “cattails”. However, when my sisters, my cousin Emily, and I were little kids, we called it “poop-on-a-stick”, which was undoubtedly the funniest thing we’d ever heard.

Above: Smile! The water tower in Hope, ND.

Above: People from Minnewaukan, ND, and all over the county, came to bid on items at an estate auction. The gem of the auction was a 1957 Lincoln, which sold for $17,500.

Above: Auctioneer Arlo, “ten-ten-ten-the-money’s-on-ten-who-can-give-me-eleven-eleven-HEY-we-got-eleven-eleven-eleven-who’s-got-eleven-fifty-eleven-fifty-HEY”

Above: A swampy lake in North Dakota. It seems like the farther east I travel, the more water there is. This is definitely not something you’d see in Eastern Montana.

Above: I took this picture on Sunday, July 15th. In retrospect, I think God might have been telling me to get off my bike and go to church.

Above: Here I am, in the center of it all!

Folks, I must apologize profusely for slacking off this past week. I didn’t write a single entry between Minot, ND and Fargo, ND. I think it was a combination of 3 things:
1) being impatient to get to Fargo. My 10-year high school reunion was the weekend of July 22nd, so I flew from Fargo to Houston for the weekend. I spent a lot of the preceding week just looking forward to seeing my friends over the weekend.
2) The scenery didn’t change much between Minot and Fargo.
3) It was hot!

Don’t get me wrong; I enjoyed riding through North Dakota. However, the majority of what I saw was farmland, which was pleasant, but for the most part it didn’t scream out to be captured on film.

OK, fine, basically I just got lazy.

The highlight of North Dakota, without a doubt, was Fargo. I stayed in Fargo with some friends of friends named the Jordheim’s, who are the nicest people in the world. They got me a free ticket to an outdoor performance of “Fiddler on the Roof”, which was super fun. They cooked fantastic, HEALTHY meals, and they even dropped me off and picked me up at the airport. I couldn’t be more thankful for their hospitality.

Also, while I was in Fargo, I saw Fargo’s Minor League Baseball team play Winnepeg. Fargo won in the bottom of the ninth, in a dramatic finish.

In my next posting, I’ll post some pictures from my high school reunion in Houston.

Now I’m headed to Northern Wisconsin to visit Red Arrow Camp, the summer camp where I was a camper for 5 summers, and later, a counselor for 2 additional summers. After that, I’m heading south for Chicago!

Above: The road to Minot, ND.

Above: I wasn’t the only one benefitting from the windy conditions on Thursday. This windmill may look stationary, but it was actually wizzing along. I can’t believe that I just happened to take the picture in time for the arms of the windmill to line up perfectly like this. It seems like a one in a thousand shot.
Friday, 7/14 6pm
Location: Minot, ND

Coordinates:

Yesterday’s mileage: about 75
Today’s destination: REST DAY!

I was immeasurably pleased to discover easterly winds at I departed New Town yesterday morning. My destination for the day was just as far away as my previous day’s destination had been, but with tailwinds instead of headwinds, I knew life would be a lot easier.

With one exception, that was true. At about 4pm, I was slammed by a passing thunderstorm that lasted only about 15 minutes. However, for those 15 minutes, the wind was so strong that I had to get off my bike and take cover in the roadside ditch. I threw on my rainjacket, not so much to stay dry, but to protect myself from the pelting rain. Believe it or not, due to the speed of the wind, the rain actually stung when it hit my exposed skin. For a moment, I panicked, thinking that a tornado must be barrelling down upon me, but it was simply the remnants of the powerful storm that blew through the night before.

Today, I’m doing laundry, catching up on my blog, checking email, and paying bills. I should start calling these “administrative days” instead of “rest days”.Woe is me! Somehow, I doubt I’m going to get much sympathy though…

Above: Here’s a picture of the storm that I barely avoided. This picture is from www.minotdailynews.com . See below for the URL to the article that I got this image from.

Above: Manhattan ain’t Paul’s only playground, ladies and gentlemen.
Wednesday, 7/12 9pm
Location: New Town, ND

Coordinates:
Didn’t take reading

Today’s mileage: about 77
Tomorrow’s destination: Minot, ND

My very friendly neighbors in the campground were generous enough to offer me home-made breakfast. I had a lot of fun eating and chatting with them. They’re really energetic, adventurous, intelligent folks. Actually, in a lot of ways, they reminded me of my parents, aside from the fact that a mobile home is among the last thing my parents would ever spend money on. I was fascinated to hear that their next trip will be to Bhutan, a country known recently for promoting a Gross National Happiness index as opposed to the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) index. As I stood up to leave, they handed me an apple, some string cheese, and trail mix for the road. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the food they gave me would later turn out to be a godsend.

I left Williston a little before 10am, oblivious to the struggle I had in store. To put it succinctly, Mother Nature dealt me a ruthless smackdown.

Once on the road, the prevailing easterly winds were overtaken by stormy weather, which sent the winds sailing headfirst in my direction. At around 1pm, I stopped at Lund’s Landing, which was built as a resort/marina on Lake Sakakawea. Unfortunately for the proprietors, a friendly mom and pop pair, the water level on Lake Sakakawea has dropped so far that there’s no water to be found anywhere near Lund’s Landing. There’s still a dock with a nice two-story outdoor patio, but now it just overlooks a field. I asked the owners what happened to the lake, and they gave me the same expanation that the people in Ft. Peck gave me: the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers is draining the lake to ensure that there’s enough water downstream to keep the barges in Missouri afloat. You can imagine how popular that policy is here.

Getting back to my bicycle travails, I foolishly neglected to look ahead on my bike map to figure out where my next rest stop would be. As I found out later, the next place with food/water was 55 miles away. Ignorant of this fact, I set out without any additional provisions.

By 6pm, my feet were really beginning to drag, figuratively speaking. All day long, I could only muster about 11mph in the headwinds. To complicate matters, when my route turned south, I found myself heading directly into a horizon filled with ominous, dark clouds. The sky began to flicker, and soon I could see lightning bolts lashing at the ground. At that point, it wasn’t raining yet, and I couldn’t hear any thunder, so I continued pedaling. However, it didn’t take long before I heard the rumbling of the oncoming storm.

When you’re in the middle of relatively feature-less plains, it’s hard to gauge the distance of lightning visually. I tried to count the seconds between the lightning bolts and the thunder, but there was so much lightning that I wasn’t able to determine which flash corresponded to which rumble. Eventually, I began to see lightning strike the fields 90 degrees to my left, and I decided it was time to get off my rolling lightning rod.

I coasted down into the ditch on the side of the road and whipped out my tent as quickly as possible. I set up the tent in under 10 minutes, just in time for the rain to hit. I didn’t so much care about getting wet; I just didn’t want to end up as chicken-fried roadkill.

I lied down in my tent and listened as the thunder grew louder and more frequent. Suddenly, a car horn blasting from the road several yards away from my tent jolted me to attention. I looked at my watch and realized that in the process of getting in my tent and listening to the rain and thunder, I had somehow fallen asleep for the last 30 minutes. Instead of cursing the car horn, I should have thanked it for waking me up! For he next hour or so, I looked out of my tent every 10 minutes to get a feeling for whether the storm was getting better or worse.

For a while, I considered staying in that spot overnight, but with only about 12 ounces of water left, I decided to push on if at all possible.

At about 7:30pm, I decided to make my move and get back on the road. To my right, I could see a sunny sky. To my left, all I could see was a dark curtain of stormy clouds. With any luck, I reasoned that perhaps I’d ride right past the storm.

Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter which way the road curved, the wind hit me in the face in every direction. After another hour, I resorted to my final method of combatting the wind: insults. I shouted every obscenity that came to mind, and yet the wind continued unabated. Now tired and out of breath, I almost gave up. However, a few moments later, I spotted the shores along Lake Sakakawea that marked my approach to my destination, New Town.

I pulled onto Main Street and ducked into a motel. After a grueling day, I decided that I would splurge on a brick and steel roof over my head, in favor of my usual a nylon and aluminum one. I secured a room and jumped into the shower, and then looked outside again to see how the weather was holding up. Like opening the door on a speeding train, the storm outside announced its presence with a roar. I suddenly felt like a genius for getting a motel room, despite the fact that my decision had been inspired entirely by exhaustion, not weather sense.

I recoiled back to the motel bed, resigned to the fact that I’d have to wait until the next morning for a bite to eat. Just then, I remembered the food that my neighbors from the night before had given me in that morning. I reached into my bag, pulled out the string cheese and trail mix, and flopped onto the bed with a triumphant smile.

Epilogue:
When I checked into the Minot KOA the next evening, the manager asked me where I had traveled from. When I told her New Town, she gave me a surprised look and gasped, “Oh, so you came from out near Coleharbor, didn’t you? Did you know that it got destroyed by that storm last night?” I asked her what she meant by “destroyed”, and she replied that 80% of the buildings in the town had been razed by the winds. Sure enough, the Minot Daily News the day after that (Friday) devoted an entire page to images of the buildings reduced to scrap metal. Fortunately, there were only minor injuries in the storm.

Here’s an online article that details the devastation: http://www.minotdailynews.com/News/articles.asp?articleID=4121

Comment(s):

Minot is pronounced “My Not”. If you want to avoid public ridicule, don’t ask a group of people at a diner how to get to “minow” (like the fish). Just take my word on that one.

Above: The sunset in Williston, ND

Above: My first traffic jam in North Dakota. I got stopped at a train crossing in the middle of nowhere for about 20 minutes.

Above: My awesome neighbors and friends at the Buffalo Trails RV campground in Williston.

Above:

Tuesday, 7/11 10pm
Location: Williston, ND

Coordinates:
48.2085 N
103.6227 W

Today’s mileage: about 45
Tomorrow’s destination: New Town, ND

My bicycle map showed a distance of 65 miles today. However, for some reason, the map recommended that I take a 20 mile detour between Bainville and Williston. It’s not that I’m actively looking for shortcuts, but at the same time, I’m not dying to go out of my way needlessly. So, when I came to the 20 mile detour, I opted for the shorter route. That proved to be a wise decision, for within a handful of miles, a spoke on my rear wheel broke, which left me to wobble down the road for the remaining miles.

I reached Williston fairly early in the afternoon and located a Subway for lunch. In the doorway of Subway, I was greeted by a woman who was in town to meet up with her brother and sister-in-law, who are also on a bicycle tour. We chatted briefly, and then I got in line to order my sandwich. When I pulled out my money to pay the cashier, she stopped me and explained that the people with whom I had just been speaking already paid for me. Surprised, I walked over to their table to thank them. The woman smiled and said, “We’re bribing you to tell us about your bike trip!” I said, “Well, that sounds like a deal to me, ” and I sat down to have lunch with them.

I enjoyed chatting with the couple. Before they stood up to leave, they asked if I had plans for dinner and whether I’d like to stay at their campsite for the night. Never one to pass up a homemade meal, I told them I’d see them later at the Buffalo Trails RV campsite.

I ended up staying in the local library until about 8pm, but I made my way over to the RV campground shortly after that. When I found their mobile home, they welcomed me and offered me a cold beer. After 95 degree weather, that beer was heaven!

We sat outside enjoying the evening and the pretty sunset until darkness fell. It was the first time that I had hung out with people at a mobile home since my 2nd night of the trip, in Anchor Bay, CA. Going to sleep that night in my tent, I felt really fortunate to have met such friendly, welcoming people.

Above: Now, why didn’t I think of this? A Winery/Car Wash. What a brilliant idea! Just imagine, you could pick up a nice Pinot AND wash your Peugot in the same trip! Them Frenchies are going to be sooo jealous when they hear about this…

Above: Another Culbertson innovation. A physician/surgeon + taxidermist combination. That’s gosh-darned brilliant! If things work out, you can walk out with a new heart. If they don’t, they just hang you above the door!
Monday, 7/10 9pm
Location: Culbertson, MT

Coordinates:
48.1459 N
104.5128 W

Today’s mileage: about 55
Tomorrow’s destination: Williston, ND

It was another interesting day in bicycleland. I sat down at a picnic table across from the Albertson’s in Wolf Point to eat my breakfast, and before long, a guy came over, sat down across from me, and began telling me his life story. He claimed to be the Vice Chairman of the Assiniboine Indian Tribe. However, within about 5 minutes, he asked me for money to go buy beer.  Among the stories he told me: he broke up a knife fight last night among the drunks in the park (who also asked me for beer money the evening before); he once drop-kicked a guy who picked a fight with him despite the fact that he walks with a cane in each hand; he got a law degree from the University of Washington. I’m not saying that none of these stories could be true, but they just seemed highly unlikely coming from a guy who drinks 40’s at 9 am on Mondays in the city park.

As has happened consistently on this trip, nothing turns out quite as I expect. My next stop of the day was Poplar, a town that several people told me to steer clear of (Evidently, Poplar’s nickname is “Stabville”).  When I rolled into Poplar, it looked like every other small town, so I stopped in a gas station to get a 7-Up. I started chatting with the workers in the store, and everyone was super friendly. Outside, the girls’ junior high basketball team was running a fundraiser car wash to raise money to attend a state-wide tournament in Billings this weekend. The guy in the store explained that the girls have been washing cars for almost three weeks now. I gave the girls 10 bucks, and every single one of them shook my hand and said thank you. The fact that the girls were so appreciative of a $10 donation was pretty touching. It instantly put me in a good mood. Just another example of why I like small-time sports more than the pro’s.

I arrived in Culbertson, which is outside the Indian Reservation, in time to eat dinner before a thunderstorm hit. The were only a few sprinkles of rain, but the lightning show was spectacular, and it lowered the temperature about 15 degrees (Yes!). On a side note, Culbertson wins the award for most friendly wavers. Everyone that I passed by, be it in a car, in their yard, or just walking by…everyone waved hello to me. Real friendly folks here in ole Culbertson.

On a historical note, Culbertson was built around a coal mine that was opened in the early 1900’s by a McMillan.

Musings:
Trains are awesome!