Thursday, 16th June
“Going on trips like these is like eating an elephant – you do it one bite at a time. By the time you’re done, you don’t realise you’ve eaten the whole thing!”
It sounds cliched but the more west I’ve got the nicer people have become, and the more they sound like characters in Fargo, which in turn makes them seem even nicer.
The bed and breakfast Karen fixed me up with, Turning Waters, was a very comfortable way to spend the night. And Brenda, the owner, sent me on my way with snacks and refused any payment from me. All this happened just because I started talking to a stranger walking two dachshunds. A big thanks to both of them. I didn’t get a good look at Wabasha as I crossed right back into Nelson in Wisconsin in the morning but it definitely warrants a stopover and some exploration along the river front.
The wind had died down a little and I quickly covered around 18 miles to Stockholm, population 66. There were a number of towns with Swedish names in the area, later I found out there had been an influx of Swedish immigrants in the 1850s which had left a permanent mark on the area in the naming of places and also the heritage they carried forward today. Many places in town had Swedish flags on display and other artefacts like a large Dala horse in the shop I picked up coffee in, Stockholm Pie & General Store.
Before I left the town I stopped in a shop selling a mix of old books and miscellaneous items like rocks, bottles, and old photographs. The door was open but no one was around. Then a old guy appeared from the back. He ascertained I was a cyclist and went behind the counter and promptly produced a framed, faded colour photo of a bike leaning against a wall in front of a ‘Welcome to California’ road sign. In the bottom right hand corner of the photo a note read ‘1968, 10 speed’. I didn’t catch his name unfortunately, but he proceeded to tell me about how he cycled from Saint Paul, Minnesota, to San Francisco, California, with some friends in the summer of 1968, all in just five weeks. Although what i’m doing now is considered radical by some people, it’s really people like him who laid a path for others to follow. He crossed the country almost 50 years ago. No blogs, apps, no special clothing. Just a 10 speed bike, some friends, and a thirst for an adventure.
He had owned the shop since the mid-70s, and had run it as a business since he’d retired, though it made no money and seemed more of a hobby and a way to meet people like me – he’d kept the photo handy for just such occasions.
I bought a enamel mug and a set of old photos of Niagara Falls, all for three dollars.
In total I had around 90 miles to cover in the day to make it to Minneapolis so focused on keeping my pace up after I left Stockholm. The road became more hilly than the previous few days. Long climbs on treelined snaking roads which were popular with motorbikes. It was challenging but manageable, even in the heat. I was curious how these would compare to the real mountains i’d be sure to face once I reached Montana and the western side of South Dakota.
I reached Prescott and had a late lunch. 55 miles in. I stopped at Freedom Park, just above the town which overlooked where the Mississippi met the St Croix river, before descending to meet the river. I didn’t hang around. I had a host for a couple of nights in Minneapolis and another 40 or so miles to cover.
Thankfully the afternoon passed very smoothly. A few country roads led me to a cycle track which ran about 10-15 miles down to the edge of Saint Paul. From here more cycle paths followed the highway, then along the river. I rejoined the road in Saint Paul, but followed a direct route into Minneapolis.
I’d heard it was a great city for cycling and that was already evident in the large cycle lanes, roads which allowed cyclists to use the entire lane, and the number and variety of people out on their bikes.
It was straightforward cycling but the last few miles of a day like this, as you enter a big city, always drag slightly. There is more to process. The cars, the people, the buildings. In just one day it’s possible to go from quiet country roads and sticking out in a small town to being swallowed up in a huge metropolis again.
But something about Minneapolis felt very friendly and approachable. The cycle lanes helped of course. Plus the neighbourhoods I’d been routed through were immaculate.
I found my way on to the Midtown Greenway eventually – an old railroad now cycle track which ferried cyclists across town in a motorway-like fashion. A nice way to end the ride.
On the final stretch my rear derailleur cable snapped and I couldn’t change gear. With just a mile to go this wasn’t a huge problem, i’d ridden single speed my last two years in London. Something always seems to go wrong when I reach a big city. But at least these things happened in a place where dealing with them would be easy.
I was staying with James and Emily and their two kids. A young family who lived in a beautiful architected three storey apartment in what seemed to be an up and coming part of the city which featured an equal mix of Viatnamese and Mexican restaurants and new hipster coffee shops.
As always after a long day terminating in a city I felt a mix of tired and energised. It had been a comfortable week as I hadn’t camped in three nights, but I felt ready to relax and take a day or two off the bike.
Cities have been like milestones for me, a chance to chapter up the last section of cycling and measure my progress not just in days and miles, but in landmarks and names, and the state of mind they conjure.
Map
