When the sun shone through the bedroom window this morning I was too excited to lie in my bed any longer, despite getting very little sleep last night.  I got up, quickly loaded my bike, kissed my wife goodbye, and rode out of my driveway at 6:30 a.m.

I took some familiar roads north through the suburbs of Cottage Grove and Woodbury.  That's where a series of troubles began and, damn, it didn't seem fair to have to deal with troubles this early in my bike trip.  In reality, "troubles" seems too ominous of a word.  I think I'll substitute the word "challenges."

THE CHALLENGES

1. The first one was a half-mile of gravelly road construction.  I must admit, my #1 concern for this trip was the effects that 30 lbs. of gear would have on my skinny tires.  I had no desire to test them on gravel.  On the other hand, I also had no desire to backtrack a couple of miles to find a paved detour.  So I decided to walk my bike on the dewy grass for a while until I thought, "f--- this s---, I'm riding!" and I hopped back on my bike.  I don't know why I'm so paranoid about the weight.  I've seen many, many riders on 23 cm. tires who were much heavier than the combined weight of my body and my gear.  Anyway, I survived the first challenge.
2. My next challenge was of a mechanical nature.  The easier gears began slipping back and forth.  Since I have no bike repair skills other than changing a flat, I started thinking about finding a bike shop in the next town.   Before doing that, however, I felt like I should at least make an attempt at troubleshooting for myself.  I examined the rear cassette and derailleur for a couple of minutes and then I noticed the derailleur cable was bent to the outside of my pannier.  A quick repositioning of the cable solved that problem, and I felt rather proud of myself for diagnosing the problem on my own.  Then I shuddered at how embarrassingly close I was to bringing such a simple thing to a bike shop.
3. As I approached the touristy town of Stillwater, I suffered a painful cramp in my right thigh.  Experience told me that I needed to drink more water.  Aha!  Another challenge easily overcome!  I had newfound confidence that I would be just fine for the rest of the trip.

------------------------

At the town of Marine-On-St. Croix [1] I stopped at the quaint, yet busy, General Store.  I went inside, walked across the creaky wooden floor to the meat department at the back of the store, and ordered the lunch that was advertised on a chalkboard out front:  BBQ pulled pork sandwich, south of the border spicy black beans, and potato salad.  It was delicious and I was fully re-energized to get back on the road.  Adding to my invigoration was the fact that from this point on, the trip would be all new bike riding territory for me.

Heart

5

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply

It was 18 hot miles to the next town, St. Croix Falls.  I had intended to pick up a chunk of meat and some beer in this town for my dinner.  Unfortunately, I did not foresee St. Croix Falls having nothing but a couple of gas stations, a couple of gift shops, and a couple of Bed & Breakfast joints.

"Seriously?  No grocery store?" I whined.  I continued on Highway 95, up the long hill away from the St. Croix river valley.

Miles later I got to my last hope for a few groceries.  As I feared, Almelund didn't have a grocery store either.  The best I could do was to pick up a package of sliced ham at a gas station.

A block away there was a small bar with an "ON-OFF SALE" sign out front.  I walked into the poorly lit bar.  It was a step back in time.  The place had not been remodeled since the 1950's.  There were no other customers.  I waited several minutes for somebody to come out of the kitchen area to assist me.

"What can I getcha?" asked the woman who was milling around back there.  I don't think SHE had been remodeled since the 1950's either.  Her clothing and hairstyle were definitely from that era.

"I'd like to get some beer to go," I said.

"What kind of beer would you like?"

"Do you have any micro-brewed ales or imports?" I asked, doubtfully.

"No, sorry, we're just a little bar in a farming community.  We just have the popular beers."  She directed me to the the beer cooler to see for myself.  It contained the the usual Miller and Budweiser products, but down in the corner I spotted one surprise.  I got a six-pack of Schell's Brickhouse Red, paid up, and left.

The shockingly bright sunlight temporarily blinded me when I stepped out of the dark bar.  The 90-degree heat was startling as well.  I proceeded to stuff the bottles of beer into my panniers, my tent bag, and any other nook and cranny I could lash them onto.  But there was no way I could make room for more than four of them.

So I went back inside and gave two of them back to sell to somebody else.  The bartender was genuinely shocked that somebody would be giving beer BACK to the bar.  I was equally shocked that I was the one doing it.

----------------

I arrived at the Wild River State Park at mid-afternoon.  I registered for a campsite and rode a shady mile or two to the campground.  It didn't take long to realize that I was the only person here, and this place has over a hundred campsites.

As soon as I claimed my site, it took only 30 seconds for the swarm of mosquitoes to converge on me--probably for the very reason that I was the only victim in the entire campground.  Little did those bastards know that I was prepared with a vial of 100% DEET.

Heart

2

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply

A shower, some nice shade trees, and a couple of beers put me in the mood for an afternoon nap.  After a short sleep, I got up to eat my package of Oscar Meyer ham slices (with no bread.)  I lazed around my site, listened to music, then went back to my tent for good at 7:30.  I read the book I brought, The Old Man and the Sea, (selected for its smallness) until I could no longer stay awake.  I made it to the touching part where the old man and the boy were eating black beans & rice while discussing "the baseball."

-

[1] I'm a little surprised at myself for not writing on the original version how a town with the name "Marine-On-St. Croix" sounds like it should have been in England.

[2] During my first few bike tours I didn't take many pictures.  In this case, I thought my failure to take a picture of the Marine General Store was a gross oversight.  So I posted a stock picture.  I promise not to do that again.