Milk, The Mississippi River, A Famous Aviator, And Not A Drop Of Rain

September 8, 2024

Charles Lindbergh State Park

I left my bloody stinking Chrysler minivan in a downtown St. Cloud parking lot. From there, I headed in a northerly direction. I can safely report the corn is tall, the sun is hot, and the Mississippi River is still flowing.

The day started out cool enough that I had to wear two long-sleeved shirts, but it warmed up quickly. I remembered to keep hydrated, which I haven't always done in the past. A couple times I've paid the price in the form of leg cramps. Another time, while riding a typically hot and humid day of RAGBRAI, I paid the price in the form of mild disorientation and no longer being able to sweat on a 95-degree day. Lucky for me, I was saved by a half-hour of rest in a shady park that had water. I learned an important lesson there--dehydration can really sneak up on you.

Not today though. I started with two bottles of water and a quart of Gatorade, and I stopped at every convenience store for milk. In north St. Cloud, it was a small bottle of whole milk. In Sartell, I tried to limit my fat intake by buying a bottle of 2% milk. That tasted so good that I went back inside and bought a chocolate milk.

Cold milk is not only a thirst quencher, but it's also a source of calcium and protein. At a very early age, I learned calcium and protein build strong bones, teeth and muscle. Plus, I LIKE milk, and my digestive system can handle it.

All of my milk intake occurred in the first seven miles. After that, there were no stores of any kind for the next 30 miles, unless you count the farm selling fresh eggs and another farm selling squash, sweet corn, and cabbages.

The egg vendor got me to thinking about how, if I got desperately thirsty, I could break a couple fresh eggs into my REI cup, stir them with my camping spoon, and drink them down like a glass of milk. Big time liquid protein there. It works for body builders, so why not for bike tourists. (Just to let you know, I lived without resorting to an egg beverage.)

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As always, my rambling has gotten ahead of the chronology of my day. At this time, I'll try to bring you up to speed with a few pictures.

In some countries, sheep wander into the road and impede your progress. In Minnesota, geese are more likely to get in your way.

Like my dad, I still wonder how the farmers get all those corn stalks to grow to the same height.

A steeple rising above the irrigator and the trees.

The steeple rises from a cute country church in the tiny town of North Prairie. The town is so tiny that it doesn't have a convenience store from which I could complete my milk quadra-fecta with a purchase of buttermilk.

I slowed down for a deer. The deer sped up for me.

I failed to mention that all of my first day of riding has been on a group of highways known as The Great River Road. The Great River is, of course, the Mississippi. How could I not ride a designated National Route without taking a few pictures of my favorite river? Don't worry, I didn't.

I'm smiling because I'm on the Great River Road and it's nice to know it would be illegal to run me over while riding the shoulder.

Where the Sauk River flows into the Mississippi River.

I went a little out of my way to get this shot from the middle of a bridge crossing the Great River.

The view-blockers are doing what nature designed them to do--block the view. In this case, they blocked my view of the Mississippi River.

I was well-hydrated, but the hot sun was bearing down on me. At the end of the day, I was glad to arrive at the boyhood home of the first famous Minnesotan mentioned in yesterday's post. I've been told Charles Lindbergh was famous for flying his airplane--The Spirit of St. Louis--all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. Heck, what's the big deal? Airplanes do that all the time. Here's the big deal: Charles A. Lindbergh was the first one to do it.

If it wasn't too expensive, I was ready to tour the Charles A. Lindbergh Museum. The parking lot was disturbingly empty, though, and so was the building.

So, I hiked up the trail to Charley's house. I was hoping he'd see me out the window and come out to greet me. Nope! Turns out the guy has been dead for five decades.

Okay, I was joking about expecting him to come out to meet me in person. But I was really hoping there would be a statue of Charles A. Lindberg on the grounds. I envisioned a cool timed-picture of me wrapping my arm around his shoulder. No such luck.

Charles A. Lindbergh's former home on the banks of the Mississippi River. I wonder if Chuck owned that golf cart in the front yard.

Across the highway from Charley's house is the Charles A. Lindbergh State Park.

I set up camp, wrote in my notebook, made dinner, took a short hike, saw a black squirrel, and enjoyed the peaceful silence.

It wasn't even dark yet when I retired to my tent. Then the crazy screeching commenced. Maybe the following video/audio will help you to identify the birds I was hearing and tell me what they were.

I know I fell behind on this journal. It's not because I quit again. It's because I didn't bring my laptop. I'll try to catch up very quickly. I'll also try to catch up with responding to your comments.

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Mark BinghamThey're Blue Jays. There's a great app called Merlin Bird ID and you can identify a bird by sound (I played your video for it) and also by pictures (even terrible, really low-resolution ones).
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3 months ago

Rachael AndersonYou sure had a great cycling path. I love your video going through the state park!
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3 months ago

Gregory GarceauTo Mark BinghamI kind of thought they might have been blue jays, as I've heard them before. But I've never heard one screeching for so long, nor have I heard so many of them screeching at the same.
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3 months ago

Emily SharpLooks like this was a really nice day and a good tent site. Such a contrast to the rain of the other half of the tour.
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3 months ago