Tuesday, June 21st
There’s a saying which is something like ‘how you spend your days is how you spend your years’ actually:
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. Source.
I’ve been thinking you can make a similar analogy in cycling which I can’t really articulate very neatly, but the idea is the roads you choose to take is how your trip will be spent. Or in other words, you can be focused on getting to the next destination – whether that’s a city a few days away where you know you can rest, a gas station 10 miles away where you can get a coffee, or an ocean the other side of the country where you know it will all end, but you spend your time cycling along roads, sometimes, paths, and the ones you choose will dictate the mood of the trip, as much as any destination will.
Perhaps that seems obvious. But I think it’s easy to overlook the difference two different roads heading in roughly the same direction can have on your enjoyment of riding a bike. For example today I was heading out of Aitkin towards Jacobson, where I was planning to camp for the night. I began on the Highway 169. It was a busy road, and even though a lot of traffic turned off halfway on to State Highway 210, the shoulder was relatively narrow, the surface cracked from the hard winter, and when traffic did pass, it passed a little too fast for comfort. It wasn’t relaxing. I was following the ACA route but it seemed a poorly chosen road. On my map I spotted a road running diagonally along the Mississipi which would link up with where I would have otherwise arrived via right angles. I exited on to this and my mood immediately lifted. The surface was smooth. It curved pleasingly along the river. Not a car in sight.
It’s not a revelation. But it’s good to remind yourself that there is probably, usually, at least three ways to get anywhere, and if one road isn’t working out for you, then just try another and see how it feels. As a cyclist you do feel stuff, literally, as the exact consistency and contours of a road pass up through your forks, handlebars, and into your hands and arms, and head. The ACA route has been great generally, Google Map bike routing is decent, but will sometimes send you down gravel roads or go out of it’s way to put you on cycle tracks which might not actually be that great for a fully loaded touring cyclist. Using your intuition and looking at things is as useful as any map.
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I left the state park early to avoid paying. I don’t feel great about this, but I don’t feel bad either. I don’t consider it theft any more so than charging me $32 to put up a tent, like I had once or twice in Iowa.
I made coffee as I packed my things and drank this on the pier before leaving the park at around 7.30. I stopped in town at the Country Corner Cafe and had a quick breakfast of eggs and toast, and more coffee.
I quickly browsed a thrift shop before leaving the town and bought 20 rolls of film for $2. This is an absurd thing to purchase in my current circumstances, not because of the waste of money, but because of the size they take up. But they could be worth a lot. I will check eBay later.
I cycled out of town followed by Rod and his son Lucky (I hope I got you’re name right Rod..?). I spoke to them in the cafe when the spotted my camera are we spoke for a little while. They were heading in the other direction but trailed me for a little bit, just for fun, before I waved them goodbye just outside of the town.
In Isle there’d been a large sculpture of a fish and as I moved further North more emblems of hunting and fishing appeared everywhere you looked. I stopped at a gas station in Malmo, another Swedish named town, 20 miles ahead, and the wallpaper in the bathroom had a fish motif running below the ceiling. Across from the gas station was a shop selling chainsaw carvings of bears. Finding tanks full of live bait inside the gas stations was just as likely as finding iced coffee.
Pressing forward to Aitken I ran into some troubles on a section of road which was being resurfaced. It was still fresh and the black tarmac stuck to my tires in the heat, my shoes, and then my pedals. There was a also a tiny, inch or two-inch high ledge formed by the fresh layer of road topping. At one point I crossed this then turned back on to the main surface. My back wheel caught on it, the bike fell on it’s side, I stepped off. My pannier came off but luckily the attachment mechanism wasn’t damaged. I put my things back on at the side of the road. It was just annoying rather than anything else, and the wind wasn’t helping things.
I re-routed myself and reached Aitken at around 2. I was feeling slothful. I stopped at the Post Office and posted the key to the bedroom i’d stayed in in the B&B in Washaba a week or longer ago. I’d left with it in my shorts and had been meaning to get it back to them. I also got a quote for posting that film that I bought.
I stopped at McDonalds on my way out of town, intending to just get an iced coffee but before I knew it I was sitting down with a greasy bag and 10 chicken nuggets in front of me. For the next hour cycling I was full of regret.
But then I found that river road, and everything became easier. 10 miles passed like 5 and I reached Palisade. I kept my pace up heading East for Savanna State Park, and turned to go North, the final stretch of the day, once I hit the edge of it.
It was around 25 miles to Jacobson Campground, a campsite i’d pinpointed for the evening, right on the banks of the Misssisisip, around 25 miles south of Grand Rapids which I needed to reach tomorrow.
The road became quiet and time started to stretch out. When it came to this part of the day I would often be counting down the miles on my map as it tracked my location. I knew that really this made things pass more slowly.
To either side of the road was thick forest. I caught a glimpse of a single deer, frozen in the sun as we clocked each other. There was nothing for miles.
I reached Jacobson and pulled in a at the Landing Gas Station, as far as I could tell the only service and civilisation until Grand Rapids. I bought a can of beer and a Dr Pepper. Behind the station was a pile of firewood, in front, four old style petrol pumps, which still seemed to function, and the stations name written in a 50’s stye script font attached to the end of a large pole visible for passing trucks.
It was just three or four miles to the campground now. The last mile was down a rough gravel road. It could have led anywhere. Light came in through the trees and drew me in as the road twisted round, eventually a sign for ‘Campground’ appeared, and the road terminated close to the water. There were mosquitos everywhere. A cobweb covered sign requesting 15 dollars for the night.
No one else was there. It was quiet to the point of being a little eerie. But I also felt lucky to have the space to myself. I opened the can of beer and the rustle from the brown paper bag and the metallic-plop of the cold can echoed around around the trees.
Map
