Untold Stories

ONE

Barreling down the last descent before a steep climb into Cut Bank, BJ was making 44 mph. I was working the brakes and holding my speed at 40. A passing pickup truck blew its horn, a couple of short toots, not aggressive, not unfriendly. The driver made a gesture I didn't recognize. His hand at 90 degrees from his wrist, fingers toward the temple of his head, he wagged his hand back and forward. Thinking about it later, I decided it must be a Native American sign that means "crazy."

At least I hope that's what it means.


TWO

We stopped for lunch one day at a bar. The meat loaf special was actually quite good. When we were getting ready to leave I went into the men's room. It was a small men's room. There was essentially space for one person.

Almost immediately the door opened behind me. A deep voice said, "Hey, buddy."

I was startled. An adrenaline rush hit me. The old fight-or-flight reaction kicked in and there was no place to fly to. I turned around fast.

There blocking the doorway was a big guy with a goatee. He looked like the offspring of the union of a linebacker and a brick outhouse.

For a second I thought I heard banjos.

"I think you dropped these," he said holding my arm warmers out toward me.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a million. I appreciate that."


THREE

As I walked into a cafe for breakfast one morning, a local man greeted me.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Best day of my life!" He sounded as if he meant it.

"Really?" I asked.

"Every day," he replied.

End of the Trail

Today was the last day of my ride.

We stopped at the Calumet Inn again for breakfast. Our server was also one of the new (as of 30 days ago) owners. She was a frighteningly energetic young woman who had spent a year backpacking around the world. Taking on a historic hotel and restaurant seems a risky business venture but, if youth, energy, and enthusiasm count for anything she might just make a go of it.

Our route was predominantly south, into the teeth of the wind.

Just north of Luverne (where we had lunch) we stopped at a tiny wayside chapel built in 1963 by the Luverne Christian Reformed Church. Inside were pews to seat 6 people, racks full of devotional literature, and Gideon's Bibles for the taking. We signed the guest book.

Crossing into Iowa made the seventh state of this trip.

When we rode into Rock Rapids from the north we found a lovely city park with a designated campground. It's almost too bad we aren't staying there.

Almost.

BJ's wife Pam came to spend the night with BJ. I will ride back to Illinois with her tomorrow. I have a room to myself at the Four Seasons, Rock Rapids' only motel. The dark, quiet, and solitude are unfamiliar.

There is no longer a laundromat in Rock Rapids, but the motel owner did our laundry for a reasonable fee. So I have fresh clothes to wear home.

When I checked in the owner asked if I wanted a queen-size bed or, for ten dollars more, a king. I have been sleeping on an 18 inch wide self-inflating mattress for more than a month. A queen was just fine.

Although I didn't ride all the way home I have no regrets. I have traveled more than 1900 miles under my own power on a bicycle I assembled with my own two hands and tools. It has been a great adventure.

I have a few more posts in mind before I finish this blog. If you would like to follow BJ's progress you can find him on FaceBook as Bernard Fenwick.

Today's milage: 47. Trip total: 1932.

TXT MSGS

Melanie and I have been in daily contact during this ride. Among other things we have exchanged text messages about three times a day.

One morning when it was particularly cold she commented on the weather. I replied that it wasn't a great concern.

"We have warm clothes."

She texted back, "You are intrepid."

Intrepid is not a word I would ever have applied to myself but if it means that I have gotten up every day and pedaled my bike down the road regardless of the temperature or terrain, then I will accept it.

One Sunday evening I texted that I was sitting on the steps of a public library taking advantage of the unsecured Wi-Fi network inside.

Melanie texted, "You are resourceful."

I'll take resourceful. When I left on this trip I figured that BJ and I had the resourcefulness to deal with whatever might arise.

Resourceful and intrepid. I guess those are good qualities to have if you want to do a self-contained bicycle tour.

And, oh yeah, my mom says I'm cool, too.

Minnesota Nice

This morning we had breakfast at the Midway Cafe in Canby. Our server, Sherri, apologized for the cook. Not his cooking (which was excellent) but his happy whistling in the kitchen.

"He whistles all the time but he owns the place."

"So you can't say anything," I added.

"Well, we have church in here once a week and I shush him during the sermon."

When I went to wash my hands, the cook came out and gave BJ a foil packet with two slices of freshly baked herb bread "for later."

"If you don't tell your friend you won't have to share."

The cook/owner told BJ that he was stationed at San Diego when he was in the Marines.

"I used to ride my bike all the time to San Francisco and L.A."

He envied us our adventure.

When BJ went to wash his hands, the cook came to the table again and gave me a foil packet with a slice of freshly baked sour cream-cinnamon coffee cake.

"This is in case you friend doesn't share," he said.

When we got to camp this evening we both shared and the baked goods were delicious.

We rode a hard 60 miles today against the wind and were glad to put the tent up at the Pipestone RV Camp, a pleasant campground in Pipestone, MN. We rode down into the Pipestone National Monument before dinner at the Calumet Inn in historic downtown Pipestone.

Trip total: 1885 miles.

3 Maidens at Pipestone National  Monument

Downtown Pipestone

Can this be Canby?

We washed up in the men's room before we left camp this morning. A man came in and greeted us jovially.

"So there's those two crazy idiots," he said.

We owned that we were.

He was from Illinois, near Peoria.

"What brings you to South Dakota?" we asked.

"I'm here looking for work," he said. "I got two job offers yesterday."

I don't know if it's a sign of economic recovery, but it accounted for his buoyant mood.

He was familiar with Dixon.

"I played in chess tournaments there when I was in high school."

We stopped for breakfast at the Stockman's Family Restaurant next to the sale barn. I bought a couple of "home made" date-filled cookies for the road. They were more like small pies than cookies. (Most people who know me also know that I believe a cookie is defined by the presence of chocolate chips). We ate them when we took a break 15 miles down the road. Cookie or pie, whatever they were, they were good!

BJ's rear tire went flat by the time we stopped in Castlewood. His cash boot had finally given out after a few hundred miles. I offered to let him use my spare again "even though I know you won't take it." He didn't. But it makes the story better.

We stopped at Clear Lake hoping for lunch but Kathy's Korner Kafe was, shall we say, "klosed?" A handwritten sign on the door said "Back by 4:00." It was 2:45, so we made due with sandwiches from the Cenex store.

From Clear Lake to the state line, the shoulders of Route 22 sported tarry, freshly-milled rumble strips. How freshly-milled? We saw the equipment used to make them returning toward Clear Lake. Happily, they left us plenty of ridable shoulder.

At the Minnesota line our shoulder ran out but the lanes were wide and the traffic light. We stopped at Casey's for information when we reached Canby.

"Is there a place in town where we can put up a tent?"

The clerk thought for a long moment.

"The campground," he said, making it sound like a question.

"Where's that?"

Again he took a long pause.

"You take a right at the corner and go down that street a little way."

"About how far is that?"

"Oh," he said, "about half a block."

It was closer to a full block, but I'm picking nits. The information was sound.

Our tent is up in the city park. We have running water and a place to plug in our electronics. No shower, but that's OK.

We are eating dinner at P.K. Egan's, a pizza and pasta joint named for a fictional tailor. There are framed pieces of velocipedic stitchery on the wall.

Minnesota is the sixth state of this journey. I think Montana was four of them.

Today's mileage: 63. Trip total: 1825.

 

Webster to Watertown

I had a good night of sleep in the Webster city park. It was quiet and I pulled my stocking cap down over my eyes to block the lights.

We were awake before construction started on the new pool for the day.

Webster's has a Casey's General Store, the first we've seen since this trip began, a sign that we are closer to home.

We took State Route 25 south out of Webster to Route 20. The day warmed quickly. The sun was bright. The winds were mild and mostly favorable. It made for an easy day of cycling.

We saw more waterfowl today including Canada geese, and, I think, coots, and a pelican.

Today's distance was a short 48 miles to Watertown, but there isn't much else in striking distance. The last few miles into town were along a pretty, paved bike path.

We have made camp in the Lake City Park campground on the shores of Lake Kampseka. I'm looking forward to my shower and shave and a good night of sleep.

I'm writing this post after a truly yummy meal at Lunker's, a fine restaurant by the lake just less than a mile from our campsite.

Trip distance: 1762 miles.

Making camp in Watertown

Still More Secrets

On a bicycle tour it is important to trim your fingernails short because it is impossible to keep them clean.

Headlights make a car much more visible even in the daytime. "Lights on for safety" works.

On cold mornings, warm air hand dryers make effective hand warmers.

A diner that will not let you charge your lunch will probably let you charge your cell phone if you ask.

You don't really need a shower every day. Most people either do not notice or are too polite to say anything.