Wednesday, June 22nd
Green Aisles is a song by Real Estate and also how I’ve come to refer to the kind of roads I’ve been riding on in Minnesota. Long and straight with tall evergreen trees either side, hence green aisles.
It was roads like this which took me all the way from where I’d camped, 25 miles into Grand Rapids in the morning. I’d left the campsite before 7am, I didn’t want to pay and didn’t want to get caught not paying, plus with all the mosquitos it wasn’t the best place for breakfast.
I cycled back two or three miles to the gas station I’d stopped at the night before, bought the largest coffee I could, and went to a picnic area by the Mississippi I’d passed the previous evening. I skyped with Tom in London for an hour and a half then got started with the short ride to the city.
About half way I met a bunch of tourers heading the opposite direction. They’d been cycling the Northern Tier route but section by section, over a couple of years or so, biting off a chunk of it at a time. That approach didn’t really appeal to me but is obviously easier to integrate into a regular existence. We chatted for a bit then I continued.
Houses began to pop up and soon enough I was in the city. A pretty and busy little place. I stopped at a coffee shop, Brewed Awakenings, and ordered coffee and oatmeal. You could tell it was a more cosmopolitan area since it served espresso and cappuccino which didn’t just dribble out of a machine. It was pricer too. I sat in the window and ate, overhearing groups of retirees gossip about the latest whatever.
I had about 8 more miles to go to Patt and Linda’s house. They were the parents of James, the host I’d stayed with in Minneapolis and owned a large home right on the water of prairie lake.
This last stretch was along parts of the scenic route 61 (I’m assuming the same highway Bob Dylan references since he was born near by) and a few winding roads which felt like they were going nowhere before I emerged at their house, one of a few in this small, lakeside community.
I put my bike in the garage. Pat made me some coffee. A little later we went around the lake on one his boats. He smoked a cigar and we chatted as his grandson peered over the edge at the reeds. The scale of this lake only became apparent once you were on the water. We went around the perimeter and looked at some of the different houses. One huge one up for sale for $350k, probably less than a single bed flat in London.
Pat invited me to a social club he was a member of – the Lions – who were having their annual fish fry meet up. Basically everyone gathers in their hunting shack in the woods and eats a load of fried fish, drinks, and watches baseball without being disturbed by their wives. Soon after we began driving the rain came in and it seemed like I’d picked a good afternoon to have off the bike.
At the cabin I was introduced to various groups of guys so I was quickly known as the guy from England cyling across America. People asked me questions and I did my best to satisfy them. Often people wonder what the reason for doing this is but like anything there are lots of small reasons, and also really no reason at all. But this wasn’t the time or place to jump on a slippery philosophical slope.
The fish was great. It was fresh walleye, fried, and served with BBQ style baked beans, coleslaw and tartar sauce. Everyone made sure I ate enough and I had three servings before I had to stop. I had a local bear and a large red tumblr of whiskey and ice.
Inside the hut were hunt trophys mounted on the wall, taxidermy fish and antlers. I spoke with one guy for for a while and got some information on the Dakotas where i’d be heading next.
We didn’t stick around too long. It was still raining. Pat worked as a recruiter and retired in 1999 after equity he held in a company paid off. He was clearly a successful guy a d gave me some advice for my career as we drove back which reminded me of the plastics scene from The Graduate. Some things to chew over in the next couple of months or however long before I try and find a job again.
The day had passed quickly and, as usual, I’d run out of time to do all the things I’d planned with the time off. Namely planning the route from North Dakota down to the badlands in South Dakota, but I should have a bit of time once I reach Fargo in day or two.
I’d added up the miles i’d done so far: 2200. About 500 more than I’d estimated.
Before I went to bed I soaked in the hot tub for a bit and jumped in the lake afterwards. I sat on the pier in the darkness, the water was gloomy and my heart was beating fast as my body processed the mix of hot and cold temperatures and felt a strange mix of achievement and a touch of melancholy now that I was now probably halfway through this trip, halfway back to where I’m not the guy cycling across America.
Map
