Jackie’s avg speed: 9.1 mph
Scott’s avg speed: 10.6 mph
Weather: partly cloudy morning, 47 degrees, 55 degrees by afternoon. Slight north-northeast breeze, 4-6 mph

Scott and I are retired, but we still have jobs to do. From April 30 to sometime at the end of July or early August, our job is to pedal across the U.S. During his 29-year career, Scott rarely (never?) took a sick day. When I got sick, I was only home for one or two days. After two days being a sickie fie on our cross country tour, it was time to get back to work.

Breakfast for me was two cups of tea and two pieces of toast. For Scott, four or five cups of coffee, two or three Danish rolls, toast, a waffle, maybe one of the bizarre pre-cooked, re-microwaveable omelets. The food service industry has come up with some bizarre tasteless innovations for the cheap chain motels. 

A little after 08:00 we were pedaling out of the Super 8 Bemidji across Highway 197 to Apple Bagels for fresh, authentic whole wheat bagels with green olive cream cheese for lunch on the road.

We had taken Highway 197 (aka Bemidji Avenue N in town) on our exploratory tour on Saturday and it was unpleasant enough we did not want to leave Bemidji that way. Resuming our mission with a half hour of serenity was a superb tactical decision. We rolled through the quiet residential areas, listening to the birds, undisturbed by loud fast cars. Bicycles are quiet, we were in sync with the morning.

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After about 10 miles, we re-merged with Highway 2 and settled in for the 58-mile ride. I wanted to pace myself and stop for a good rest to keep my enthusiasm stoked. I found myself looking at the mile markers in disbelief. Only 10 miles so far? 12? 15? A clear sign I was feeling puny. After about 20 miles, we got to Cass Lake, where Shaynowishkung had been relocated the first time. “You want to stop here?” Scott asked me. “Let’s get through town, there’s a rest area on the other side. I can lay down on a bench for a while and recharge.”

The rest area was on the left side of the road next to a lake, a nice location. As we turned into the parking lot, we pedaled through swarms of what looked like huge mosquitoes. They didn’t buzz or sting, but they landed on our faces, close to our eyes and we swatted vigorously to keep them from landing on us. They covered signs and the outside wall. Scott grabbed the bagels from his handlebar bag and darted inside. No lying on the bench for me, but sitting on a narrow window ledge inside away from the may flies. That’s what a woman who came inside said they were. (Wikipedia says may flies are part of a healthy aquatic eco system and in fact, only breed intensely for about a day. Then they die, fall into the lakes and feed the fish. Yay!)

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We could not very well hang out in the foyer of the rest area all afternoon, so about 12:00 we got back out on the road. There was no getting around it, I had set my heart on a good rest and didn’t get it. The frogs were loud in the marshes on the roadside, thinking of them diverted my attention from my fatigue. They were so loud, even Scott could hear them and he keeps his hearing aids turned down to muffle the road noise. 

By 14:00, I could not go any more. There may have been comments that sounded close to a whine and references to being hospitalized if I didn’t stop right now. Scott suggested staying in one of the many lakeside resorts we were passing, but all I could think of was swatting mayflies all night long. Or mosquitoes. Overnight, it seemed we had finally transitioned from cold spring to late spring and the insects that go with it. 

We had barely gone 16 miles since the rest area. I spotted a bench behind The Big Fish Supper Club and Resort. I crossed the highway, let my bike down gently in the grass to rest on a fat pannier. In 20 seconds I was curled on my side, the hood of my raincoat and my neck gaiter pulled over my face. It had been chilly in the breeze, but up against the side of the restaurant, the sun beat down. I had created my own private sweat lodge to drive out the virus. Scott lay down on the soft thick grass for a while. When I roused myself a half hour or so later, Scott suggested we could stay in Bena, just five more miles down the road. “We’ve got just 22 to go before Deer River. We can do this.” God bless him, he had waited patiently until I gave him the signal to keep moving. And given me every opportunity to bail. 

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Refreshed by our stop at The Big Fish, we enjoyed the scenery that opened up after pedaling most of the day in the woods. We crossed the Mississippi River again, still pretty cool to folks from Montana. The clouds disappeared and we felt the full sun on us as the day wound down. Paradise regained.

At 17:30 we parked our bikes under the portico at The White Oak Inn and Suites in Deer River. $89 plus tax for a three-star accommodation with a whirlpool and big swimming pool. We received our summer gear, including my swimming suit back in Grand Forks. But no way did I want to infect anyone else with this virus. I did the laundry so I’d have clean pants for dinner, then we went to the Outpost Bar and Grill for chili and Caesar salad (me), grilled chicken sandwich and ham and bean soup (Scott). By the way, the food was quite nice, fresh Romaine, home made chili, not out of a can. Plus Busch Light in the bottle (fancy) and club soda with lime. I texted my cousin who lives in Minnesota about meeting the next day in Swan River. Before the sun went down, we were in bed.