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 ... [Continue reading this entry]

Above: This picture could be called "Why I like Minnesota". Above: Same lake, a few moments later. Above: The view down the Heartland Trail. [Continue reading this entry]

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]

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. [Continue reading this entry]

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]