Days 27, 28

JULY 5 Fargo ND to Pelican Rapids MN

We left late the morning in Fargo, after a beautiful breakfast of 2 dozen eggs, scrambled with cheese and asparagus (dad ate my asparagus for me), orange juice, tea, toast, and water melon. As we packed up our bags in the garage, the Grays hovered around us, advising us on the best routes and snapping action shots of us strapping on our bags. Finally, around 9:00, we had to once again head out onto the road.

The ride through Fargo was pleasant, along well shaded, tree-lined streets (I hadn't realized how much I had missed trees until I saw them again!). We crossed a short concrete bridge, with a toll booth at the end. Dave stopped at the window, "Cyclists enter for free, correct?" he said, peering over his sun glasses as he tends to do. The girl behind the counter nodded. "Excelent! That's what we like to hear." Passing the toll booth, we entered into Minnesota without fanfare.

A wall of humidity struck us almost immediatly after we crossed the boarder; the temperature itself didn't rise any, but it took on a sticky, probing feeling that has been with us ever since. I think I prefer the dry heat. A few blocks past the crossing, we all stopped at a Holiday Gas Station for a bathroom and snack break. Dad and I got snickers bars, and apples that tasted more like cardboard than anything else. The Wisconsin Crew came away with handfuls of giant gas-station cookies. Just as I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Bill disappearing into the women's side. "That was perfect timing!" Pat laughed, "He had just given up waiting for you when you opened the door!"

That gas station was also where we parted ways with the Wisconsin Crew after having ridden with them for 18 days (in truth, it felt like much longer; in those 18 days, it sort of felt like we had become one big group, a road family, as opposed to two separate entities with separate goals.) "Y'know, you could ride with us for another day..." Pat suggested, shrugging, "we're only planning on going 60 or so today..." Tempted as we were, dad and I had to decline; they were on a faster schedule than us, and we needed a chance to set our own pace. Dad and I found ourselves saying an anticlimactic goodbye, and discovering for the first time on the trip that we were truly by ourselves.

After our goodbyes, we rode a difficult 20 miles through side- to occasional head-winds. During those 20 miles, the scenery began to change: the wild flowers began to disappear, corn fields replaced wheat fields, lakes began to become more common, and trees finally began to return to the landscape. Despite the wind, my mood improved drastically with the return of trees.

Arriving in the town of Hawley around 11, dad and I instantly spotted the Dairy Queen, "Wanna stop here or wait for the next town?" he asked me. I dithered for a few seconds, breaking one of the cardinal rule of touring: NEVER pass up a DQ. Before I answered, Bob and Barb rolled out of the grocery store parking lot. "Hey!" dad shouted and we rode over. Turns out, we never made it to Dairy Queen.

"Hello," Barb called back, "You should check out that store over there, great selection of food for lunch." She paused, and we both nodded. "I visited the cathedral today and lit candles for all the cyclists we've met so far. I did everything right... I don't know why we're getting this awful wind!"

"Did you light a candle for good wind?" Dad asked.

"Well, no..."

"There you go!" he said matter-of-factly, eliciting a round of laughter.

Barb and Bob headed on, while dad and I stopped for lunch, sheltering behind a wall of trees for protection from the winds. We knew that after lunch we would have to face the winds quite literally head-on over an 8 mile stretch heading directly due south. The ride into the wind took us about an hour (traveling at just about 8 mph, if that even needs to be said). Dad and I took turns pulling out front while the other drafted behind. At one point as I was pulling, I started to whistle 'Mellow Yellow.' And then I couldn't help laughing at the craziness of it all: riding my bike at 8 miles per hour, into a head wind, on a back road in Minnesota, whistling a 60s song to distract me from the pain in my legs. What the hell was I doing out there? Why wasn't I back home, curled up with a good Star Wars book? And why was I asctually enjoying myself?

After 8 miles, we turned out of the wind (now it was only a side-wind), and were met right away by an uphill. Our pace hardly changed. That was when my brain clicked into survival-mode, focusing on everything and anything but what was going on around me. The miles certainly didn't fly by, but at least I wasn't thinking about them anymore. In the town of Cormorant, we stopped for a snack... soda and candy. "I'm starting to think David was right." Dad said, refering to my swim coach, David, "Our diets are going downhill fast. He predicted we'd be eating soda and twinkies. I told him we'd be healthier than that, but..."

In Pelican Rapids, we met up again with Barb and Bob, who had decided to stay in a hotel because of the forboding black clouds on the horizon; dad and I decided to brave staying in the city park. The park actually turned out to be quite nice, with lots of trees overlooking a river. The sign on the bathroom door, however, was worrisome: "In case of tornados, take shelter in the bath house." Noting the clouds that had scared away Bob and Barb, we hurried to set up our tents before the rain came.

As we made dinner that night, two more riders entered camp and rode right up to us. "Hello, I'm Graham." One said, sticking out his hand; he hadn't even climbed off his bike or taken off his helmet.

"Seth." I introduced myself.

"And this is my friend James." Graham said, gesturing to the second biker, standing a few yards behind him. Both looked pretty young, in their mid 20s, and James had a couple of tattoos and piercings (including one in his nose, like a bull). They left to take showers, while we ate our dinner. Afterwards, we still had a decent amount of spaghetti left in the pot.

"Why don't you go offer it to them." dad suggested. I hesistated nervously, but decided to go for it.

"We had some extra pasta," I said, walking over, "We made WAY too much. Do you want the rest."

"Sure. Your sure your done with it?" I nodded, "Thanks!" they eagerly scooped the spaghetti into one of their own pans.

Just before we went to bed, and old man and his grandaughter came by with a plate of cupcakes, "Want some cupcakes?" he handed one to both dad and I, "My granddaugher wanted to make cupcakes, but it the box made 24, so we decided to give away some to the rest of the campground." Dad and I both thanked him, then polished off our snacks. It's things like this that make me want to keep going.

JULY 6 Pelican Rapids to Parkers Prairie MN

Our first morning on our own in a long while... we got on the road before Graham or James even woke up; they were both still curled up in their bivysacks, sound asleep. A couple of miles in, dad glanced down at his chain ring, "Hmmm, my bike is making an odd sound." he said distractedly, I glanced over at his bike to see if I noticed anything, and when I glanced back at the road, my bike was headed for soft gravel and a grassy ditch. My first instinct was to jerk back on the handle bars and pray that I remained upright, but I fought this down and kept riding in a straight line; that's probably what saved me any new scabs. My bike went off the road, through the gravel, and into the ditch, all with me still on the seat. From the ditch, I maneuvered my bike back up the side and onto the road, to dad's unbelieving stare, "Nice job." he congradulated me, "I was pretty sure you would try to stay on the road; then you'd of been toast!" I smiled proudly and kept on riding.

Mile 1834, in the town of Battle Lake Minnesota, a landmark more important even than our first DQ of the trip: our first bakery. Dad spotted the little building, and with an "ooh!", he steered his bicycle into the parking lot. I followed his lead. Before the trip, we had planned to doing our best to find bakeries in every little town we passed; turned out, North Dakota isn't known for its bakeries. Inside, we both ordered a cinnamon roll and orange juice, then took them outside to eat them on the porch. As we ate, an older couple walked by, "Looks like your on quite the adventure!" The woman said, gesturing over her shoulder towards our bikes.

"All the way across the country."

"Wow... I've always wanted to do that. I told myself that I'd do that when I'm 60... that's in three years. But I don't know if I ever really will..."

"If you want to, you will." Dad reassured her, "I'm sure you could do it."

The woman smiled, "Well, thank you. Good luck on your ride!" then her and her husband crossed the street and disappeared into a little store.

On the road again, dad and I enjoyed the general lack of winds for a couple of miles. Then, in the distance, we spotted another loaded down bike tourer, coming our direction. We swerved over to his side of the road, and waited for him to stop. We talked to him for a few minutes, then an older man on a recumbant rolled up as well. Together, they introduced themselves as Mike (on the recumbant) and Yoni. They had traveled from their home in New York, and were headed out west along the Adventure Cycle route... mostly; they're ultimate goal is Eugene, OR. We offered our house for them to stay at if they ever passed by Canby, and then we also traded blogs. "Bikingforallergies... so you're doing this for a cause, then." Mike said, reading my blog site, "I always hated it when people with allergies came into my restaurant. I just wanted to tell them to go eat somewhere else!"

"You worked in a restaurant?" I asked.

"Yeah, I was the head chef."

"What kind of restaurant?" Dad asked.

"A snooty French one." Mike replied.

"It sounds like we should be riding with them!" I said to dad, "We'd be eating a lot better than we are now."

"Only if you like Raemen noodles." Mike pronounced the 'a' when he said it. That's what we've been eating a lot of. Our crowning achievment was Raemen noodles with sardines." On second though, maybe I'll pass on the "snooty French" cooking; sardines don't quite do it for me. Later I asked Mike if he was related to Yoni. "Ahh, no. He's a friend of my son's. My son wouldn't go with me; he said he couldn't put up with me for that long. I'm not that bad!" Just one more reminder as to how lucky dad and I are that we both are willing to spend 10 weeks, almost round the clock, with each other on such a great adventure. I guess some families don't get along quite as well.

"May the wind be at your back!" I called as we wished Mike and Yoni farewell.

"Seth, no!" dad corrected me, "If the wind's at their back, it's a head wind for us!"

"How about a side-wind all around, then." Yoni said, laughing.

The campsite at Parker's Prairie left a lot to be desired: there was very little running water, meaning pit toilets and no shower, and our neighbors were a rowdy extended family, celebrating Fourth of July weekend up to the last minute. Periodically, a firework would exploded, followed by cheers from the revelers. We set up our camp as far from them as possible, and hoped that come bed time, we'd be too tired to notice the noise. In town, we ran into Graham and James (who Barb and Bob have nick-named the 'bivysack boys') while picking up groceries. They planned to push on to Long Prairie that evening, an extra 30 miles. "We just came from the pool!" James told us, "They let cross country cyclists swim for free!" That sounded too good to pass up, so dad and I headed over to the pool, and swam for a grand total of 5 minutes (I thinking we took more time in the locker room showers). Still, we came out feeling moderately refreshed and ready to eat.

Back at camp, we ran into Bob and Barb, who were also staying there, although Barb was none too happy about it, "We should have pushed on today; I knew I should have pushed on today. We could have made it to Long Prairie, it only would have been 100 miles." she said to dad, "But them, probably would have had a mutiny on my hands." Bob's feet have a tendency to begin hurting while on his bike, meaning he has trouble going really far or really fast. (He's actually discovered that the best way to alleviate the pain is to wear his Keens Sandles when he rides instead of his regular bike shoes... whatever works!) "Oh, I also talked to a priest today." Barb said, "I asked him why we had such terrible winds yesterday after I lit the candles! 'Well,' he said to me, 'God wants you to go straight to heaven when you die, so he's giving you some of your purgatory now.' you have to admit, that's a pretty good response!" After talking to Barb, we prepared dinner, and then I crashed, likely because of the heat: I was in my tent and asleep by 8:00.