--
The ride out of St. Paul was tough. We spent the morning fixing flats and trying to figure out just how we were going to replace a van that had been, until that point, highly underrated. In all, we carried a tent, two sleeping bags, two tarps, two changes of clothes, a notebook, various tools, and a pile of energy foods that wouldn't last the week.
We attended a church service, and this was the only thing that reminded me that days still had names and roles. My excitement to leave was eclipsed by the growing knowledge that too soon, I'd be rolling one way, and Lindsay would be rolling another. It was August 10. I'd see her again in October. That seemed even further away than the other side of the country did.
Our target was Mexico, but in order to make a complete circuit, we'd have to ride north for several days until we got to Canada. We started that way with Hans, a friend I'd met on a mission trip only two weeks earlier. He'd built a route out of the twin cities and agreed to spend the day with us.
The cities featured as many bike trails as I've ever seen, each playing around the Mississippi and around the hundred bridges that traversed it. Quickly, we longed for the companionship of our dozen friends from just two days ago. When Paul and I spotted a man in a brightly colored bike jersey our spirits were lifted for the few moments that we believed it was Glen. Turns out, Glen's not the only cyclist who occasionally dresses like a fruit.*
* Another dude wearing the Sesame Street bike jersey? What are the odds of that?
We rode north, into Minneapolis, around downtown, quickly through the red light district. We moved through poorer neighborhoods and followed the same road into the wealthy suburbs. It's impossible to say when the sprawl of the city ceased, but soon we were headlong into the country, free of traffic, free of most everything.
We climbed hills that were just tall enough to conceal the horizon, each mound of concrete giving way to a new and different vista. I climbed strong, eager to see the other side; then slowed as I was blown away by the stark scenery I beheld. I'd never win a race like this. I wanted each moment to last forever, and racing only makes it a blur.
It was in the middle of this kind of visual poetry that my stomach reminded me that, no, I hadn't eaten lunch. It's impossible to say why, but we still never stopped beyond a potty break.
August in Minnesota is a lot like January in Minnesota. It's colder there than it is in Indiana. As the day wound down, I started to feel it. The chill always preceded the setting of the sun and served as a warning that it was nearly time to call it a night.
That's just about the moment we realized we were hopelessly lost. Fortunately, a man on a mountain bike was there to help. Uri* wore camo pants and a hat and spoke with the thick accent of a Minnesotan the way I'd imagined all Minnesotans did. He directed us several miles into town for dinner, then offered his own yard for our lodging.
* Urii? Uree? Ureigh? Uriieiieiey?
We destroyed that steakhouse. We were three sweaty, dirty bikers, now unashamed of the fact that we were wearing only the spandex that our bodies had moistened. We ate and ate and I don't remember that I even washed my hands first, although I do remember that they were nasty. Paul and I agreed to never skip lunch again.
The trouble with dining indoors is that it's tough to notice the decline of the sun when it's concealed behind window and shade. This wasn't the time to panic, but it was the time to hurry. Yuree lived five miles back, and light was fading. At that point, neither of us desired to ride a bike ever again. Besides, he wore camo pants, lived in the middle of nowhere, and was far too eager to welcome strangers.* His home wasn't ideal.
* At first it was creepy when a dude was eager to welcome stinky strangers. We got over that fast. Like, by the next day.
A bit of quick research and a bit of flirting on Paul's end yielded a lead. The owner of the restaurant would let us camp out behind the parking lot. She promised traffic would be light, and also said she'd leave the bathrooms open for us. This kind of spirit became a trend in the state. She even wrote us a note in case the cops came sniffing around.
The cops didn't show up, but Uerei did. He found us pretty easy, and seemed genuinely disappointed that we'd elected not to stay with him. We explained that as we lost the sun, it didn't seem best to double back his way. He rolled home, saddened, and we went to sleep without taking a shower. It would be one of only two nights we roughed it so viciously.
No comments:
Post a Comment