Saturday, June 25th
If today was a song it would be ‘On a Highway’ by Animal Collective. A favourite of mine. It’s about being a musician, a passenger, transported on a tour bus. They pass the boring hours in-between places by looking out the window, making observations as their mind drifts, on a highway.
On a highway
Hypnotized by sunstroke
As passing by some deer bones
Flowers for the dead grow
The song begins with the a windswept sound. The whole thing feels both wide open, and claustrophobic, and perfectly captures that feeling of travelling, trapped, along a long road that feels like it’s going nowhere.
I messed up today. Despite writing just the other day about how choosing the right roads is so important to your enjoyment of the ride I ended up, through my own fault, on two very less than ideal roads for 73 miles.
Firstly the route 34 which is scenic but has no shoulder for cyclists. Then from here I reached Detroit Lakes which effectively meant I was then stuck on the route 10. A long straight, two lane highway which ran all the way to Fargo for 40+ miles. It would be a 20-30 mile detour to get off this and onto quieter county roads, but since I’d arranged with a stay with a Warmshowers host that evening, I didn’t have too much choice but to stick with it.
But what really was even harder today was the wind. It was blowing 20mph directly East, against me. It was like cycling through invisible jelly for 10 hours. The effect of this is tough both physically as it seems the more you peddle the harder it becomes to cut a path through it, but also psychologically – it just feels like an endless battle to remain either remain interested in what you are doing, or distracted enough to forget about it.
The first 30 miles of the day were different. I left the campground at around 9am and cycled 10 peaceful miles through the grounds listening to my piano music playlist along picturesque winding roads past untouched lakes surrounded by forest.
It was then 20 miles from here to the only services for miles at Pine Point. A town of a population of less than 400, over 90% of which are Native American. This was evident in the names of the roads (e.g. Pow Wow Highway). Just beside the gas station was a community centre which had an usual Soviet looking concrete structure at it’s edge and a plaque on it in recognition of the areas heritage:
‘Indian students soar to great heights’.
The shape of it seemed to reference an eagle wing or eye. It was hard to pinpoint what it was exactly, but the geometry and colours evoked my (probably cliched) idea of Native American design and spirit.
The county roads were straight, flat and empty, lined with telegraph poles which reduced in size as they spaced out toward the horizon where you could maybe detect a slight curve in the road. A few solidarity houses and farm buildings. Near the town a church and an ancient gas station.
From here it was the 34 to Detroit Lakes. On the edge of this town, before joining the highway 10, I stopped at a Subway for lunch.
It was this kind of America which I found more depressing than anything else. You could literally be anywhere. It was at the side of the highway. A collection of K-Marts, Wallmarts, and KFC’s. The buildings were big, grey. Oppressive, functional architecture. Drive-thru everything. I was the only person sitting inside the restaurant. The air conditioning was too cold.
It all served a purpose of course, and was designed arguably very well to fulfil that. These places weren’t meant to be destinations. But still, experiencing on a human level, on a bike, it felt like you temporarily lost substance and meaning too.
My speed in the wind dropped at times to less than 8mph. My usual average on a good day was 11-12. I tried to calculate my arrival time based on these facts, factoring in stops every 2 hours of 20 miles. You start to notice things on the edge of the road. A scrap of tyre, a cigarette lighter, a fast food cup, a Ford badge, a square piece of metal with an unknown purpose. A smashed mobile phone. If you want to you can start to construct stories about their origins. But my distraction was listening to podcasts and trying to find some enjoyment in just how challenging it was.
I made stops at gas stations only twice. It fairness the scenery wasn’t the most bleak. As I got close to Moorhead, my destination, I passed lush fields, and enjoyed seeing the freight trains run perfectly parallel to the road.
I couldn’t help but count the last 10 miles down. It was an hour to sunset. The shadows were long. I put my lights on. I noticed the Star Lite Motel at Dilworth. It had a striking neon sign but I was too close now to stop.
The edge of Moorhead was a strip of big chain stores but I navigated to the quiet neighbourhood where I would be staying and it started to take on a more welcoming character.
My host spotted me as I was looking for the exact house number. I locked my bike in the garden and came inside. Tired and a bit dazed. They had 5 cats and 3 dogs who ruled the place. It was full of books, plants, and just about anything else you could imagine. My room was in the basement.
We ate spaghetti for dinner and sat in the living room watching TV as animals gathered around us.
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