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.