Pepin, WI

Last summer, I rode a bicycle from Chicago, IL to Devil's Lake, ND. Since I've never written about the adventure, and since it was a long December as far as temperatures went, I thought January might be a good time to talk about summer 2008. January is Bike Month at the Drawing Board.

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The town of Pepin received its name from the lake on which it dwells. The lake received its name from a pair of French brothers who traded furs on its shores. And the thing that makes all of this notable is that in August, I slept on orange shag carpeting that covered the basement of the town's Methodist church.

We found the town on a Friday night* a few hours after it had shut down for the day. There wasn't much to see at that time; then, there wasn't much to see when the place was at its most lively. We showered and ate pulled pork and enjoyed an evening on the rocks overlooking the magnificent lake. It was the kind of evening that seemed to linger forever, and at the same time, not nearly long enough.

* That's just a guess. I never actually knew what day it was.

The pastor of the church stirred us early for breakfast, filled us up well, then gathered us for what he called an announcement. It may have been better called a warning, or instead, a proclamation straight from the book of Revelation.

Reverend Chicken Little warned us that tens of miles of climbing, incredibly steep grades, the monster from Lost, and indeed, the iron will of an angry God would certainly prevent us from reaching our destination before the dangers of nightfall arrived. Also, it might rain. Our survival hinged on our leaving immediately in order to avoid the pitfalls that would certainly behest our evening.

Paul and I decided to get a cup of coffee.