Monday, June 13th
The weather held out overnight and I woke up to bright sunshine. Two guys, one old, one young, were emptying bins in the park and cutting grass. The older ones advice to me was “Enjoy yourself”, which really stuck with me for some reason, despite how empty a line it sounds on the surface. I can get so caught up in the planning and documenting of what i’m doing day to day that it’s surprisingly easy to forget to just enjoy it, whatever it is.
I went into town and bought a bagel and an ice coffee and looked around an antiques shop before heading out. Many things I wanted to buy, none suitable for carrying across country. It was a small place but there was something to it.
I had a short ride to complete to Marquette, along the scenic bluff highway again. Only 20 miles, but wind, hills, and general lethargy made it feel like double that. Eventually I began a two mile descent towards the Mississippi and the town. It had a population of just three or four hundred, a casino on a boat, and a bridge to Prairie du Chien, a bigger town in Wisconsin, over the river.
But my destination was the Frontier Motel. I’d been craving a break, some comfort. Less a rest from the riding, which I was still enjoying, but just a chance to sleep inside, no social demands from a host, and none of the fuss of camping.
I wanted to find an authentic looking place. I’d stayed in a few Motel 6 chains on my west coast trip last year, and though they served a purpose it was a charmless experience. But this place seemed more genuine. It was two storeys. White, wood clad, with a pool outside. In the window of reception a hand lettered ‘Be right back’ sign. I had to wait an hour or so for the owner to come back, after arriving just before 12. So I just sat on the bench outside and vended a can of Cherry Coke from a machine which dated from 1989.
When it came to paying I thought i’d try asking if there was a cyclists discount. The owner was a dry, blunt kind of person, and I wasn’t expecting much. But thought it was worth trying at least. He knocked $5 off, so $55 for the night. It was a luxury, by my standards at least, but given some campsites can go for $35+ dollars it felt like I was getting value for money at least.
The room was basic but comfortable, dated, but well looked after. No.13, on June 13th. It was on the ground floor so I rolled my bike right into the room.
I ate lunch in the only cafe in town in the late afternoon. Fried fish and french fries. Hilary Clinton on TV. Everything looked a sickly beige/yellow colour. Not an inspiring place. Otherwise didn’t stray far from the motel, or my room, or for most of the evening, my bed. I bought beer and nachos from the shop and found myself getting sucked into the coverage of the Orlando shooting on TV which seemed to be mainly people saying a lot of words just to fill the air. Later I caught the end of Dirty Harry on another channel. Guns everywhere. I noticed the flag outside had been lowered to half mast.
It started raining in the evening. More thunderstorms were forecast for the week. I sorted photos, wrote, and spent a little, but not enough time, planning where i’d cycle.
I’d read enough now to put me off cycling Yellowstone. It sounds like the roads get blocked with floods of tourists. Campsites fill up. Logistically it just sounded annoying. Of course the reward could be great, but perhaps it’s something I can save for a time when I’m not on a bike, and not in the height of summer too.
Badlands and the Black Hills would still be great to see. This would mean a 250-500 mile detour from the Northern Tier route, depending on where I deviated. The sites were all in South Dakota, where as the route passes through North.
For now i’ll continue up to Minnesota, to Minneapolis, along the Mississippi. Following a river always seems like a safe plan when in doubt.
Map
