Last leg
My youngest brother has joined us for the 75 miles from Traverse City to Petoskey, so there are now four of us riding together, our own little peleton! We enjoyed the sauna at the hotel last night, followed by several pints a piece with dinner, so we’re moving a little slow through today’s heat, but it’s nice to have company.
I can’t believe the end of this five week cycling adventure is almost over!
Real estate deal of the day
Lovely house, at a quiet crossroads, some minor structural issues. Price reduced!
Sweetish breakfast
The town of Hart, Michigan was home hast night. It has a bunch on incongruities: there’s a Mexican restaurant (that doesn’t serve alcohol), a Korean war plane next to the lake downtown, and a Swedish bakery. That was, of course, the site for breakfast. Two coffee cakes later, of was time to hit the road, and work off some sugar.
That can’t be a good sound, pt 2
We’re in Holland, Michigan this evening. Today’s ride was mostly up the Blue Star highway, which is a moderately well travelled route, which only sometimes has a shoulder. The best parts of the day were when we got off that route onto backspace. We had lunch in New Haven, which not only had a bikestore where my brother cod buy the gloves he’s been missing, but also a nice Mexican restaurant.
Instead of an afternoon milkshake, we indulged in one of the many fruit stands along the way, and had fresh peaches and blueberries.
Five miles from Holland State Park’s campsite, I heard the same sound my front tire made just outside of Lewiston, Montana: my reactors had blown. This time, however it was because I had worn out the tread. Perhaps 2250 miles of cross country riding was all I should have expected from a wheel! Last time this happened, I borrowed a tire from Alex. This time, I had the spare I had picked up in Minot, and was back on the road in 15 minutes. I’m hoping tomorrow doesn’t involve more mechanical difficulties, and that the promised tailwind appears. Riding into a north wind for two days has gotten old.
The shakedown
The first day of riding in Michigan was full of adventure. Jonathan’s rear pannier showed a propensity for popping off when he would accidentally kick it with his foot. We eventually had to strap them down with bungie cords. My dad’s pannier popped of at another point, and just to make the problems universal, my front derailleur picked today to break. Luckily the coast of Michigan is pretty flat, and I can make due with the 9 gears on my back wheel until a new shifter can be found.
About 4PM we were flagged down by John, a teacher and avid cyclist in St. Joseph, who plied us with cold drinks, tales, and then hopped on his bike to guide us toward out hotel for the night. The good characters that pop out of the woodwork to help cyclists exist in Michigan as well.
No bikes allowed
My overnight in chicago had gone smoothly: i found mh bike in the basement of union station after my train ride, and successfully put it back together next to another cyclist from Minneapolis. Lodging and food were equally easy to deal with.
I made it to millennium station in plenty of time for my South Shore train to Michigan City, only to find that the South Shore was doing weekend construction, and was terminating all trains west of Michigan City. Ok, I can ride from the last stop. But then the conductor pointed out that although bikes are allowed on all other Metra trains, they are prohibited on the South Shore. Drat! A phone call to Amtrak confirmed that bikes aren’t allowed on their trains to Michigan City. Another call showed that greyhound doesn’t run to Michigan City. My dad and brother were waiting there already, so there was one solution: take a cab. I think everyone needs one super expensive cab ride story they can tell, and now I have mine. I enjoyed every minute of it. The cab got me to Indiana only a few minutes after the train would have arrived. The Michigan adventure begins!
Bonne continuation, Alex
My serendipitous traveling companion for the past three weeks has been Alex Rice, RAGBRI veteran, francophile, lover of Indian food, adventurer, fellow prime number aficionado, and all around good egg.
Our paths crossed in Ft. Benton, and we both altered our itineraries a bit to enjoy each other’s company longer, but now our adventures go separate routes: she’s finishing her cross-country ride, while I skip ahead to Michigan.
I couldn’t have asked for or chosen a more compatible riding companion. You can follow her ongoing exploits at RideAlexRide.blogspot.com, although her updates might be a little more sparse than they were without the use of my iPhone.
Minneapolis
It’s been a fun couple of days in the twin cities, with delightful weather, a nice respite from life in the saddle. I stayed in a B&B next to Lake Como in St. Paul, recommended by a fellow cyclist we met on the road north of town, and it turned out to be an ideal location for lots of city adventures. Wednesday included a movie, visit to the nearby conservatory and zoo, followed by a St Paul Explorers baseball game. The team is owned by Bill Murray, so the game was full of comedic touches, like a live pig on the field (their mascot), and a karaoke sing along with a gentleman with a strong Japanese accent during the seventh inning stretch.
Thursday was the first day of the state fair, which was almost next door. I ate fair food, learned the pros and cons of various dairy cows, and participated in a sing-along art installation done by a couple of other B&B residents.
Minneapolis was also full of good food: Ethiopian, Asian and Afghani (thanks for the recommendation, Eric). There was, of course, the obligatory ice cream as well.
I’m now on the train to Chicago. Part two of this adventure begins tomorrow morning in Michigan City, Indiana.
The Bunkhouse
Donn Olsen is one of those remarkable people you meet when traveling. He’s a gentleman farmer and retired military officer, who now lives on the farm he grew up on just outside of Dablo, Minnesota. One day he saw a couple of bikers pushing their heavily laden bikes through the sand at the edge of road construction in front of his house, took pity on them, and invited them in. Once he discovered he was on a national map for cyclists, he converted the first floor of his barn into “The Bunkhouse” for cyclists. It has real beds, a fridge stocked with food, a place to cook, television, and an outdoor shower: for a cyclist accustomed to sleeping in public parks and showering in public pool locker rooms, it’s like staying at The Ritz.
It was especially nice to be there last night, because at five in the morning a huge Midwestern storm blew through with enough thunder to wake the dead, and lightning strikes so close I was sure Donn was going to loose a tree. It was great to be able to roll over and not worry about a leak in the tent. The Bunkhouse was a fortuitous find.
The road to Minneapolis was guarded by a stiff headwind from the south, and that in addition to the hot humid weather slowed progress. I missed a key turn on the bikemap that would have brought me into town on a riverside bike trail, so we rode a fairly major thoroughfare into the Dinkytown area next to the University of Minnesota for the requisite afternoon ice cream treat, which in this case was frozen yogurt.
We had passed a cyclist on the road the day before, coming from the twin cities, who glowed about the b&b he had stayed in on Lake Como, so now I’m there, enjoying a touch of luxury and cooler weather until I catch the train to Chicago on Friday morning. Thursday is the first day of the Minnesota state fair, which is just down the road, so there might be a stick of fried butter in my future.
Fruit!
You really appreciate things when they go away. North Dakota and Montana were largely devoid of fruit, so it’s been great to be in Minnesota, where you can find people selling fruit on the roadside, and here a jordie’s cafe in Bowlus, where we were offered this free tray of fruit with our breakfast.
We continued on the central lakes biketrail yesterday, stopping for all-you-can-eat pizza in Osakis for lunch, and an afternoon milkshake at the Sauk Hop in Sauk, where we were briefly mistaken for Paul and Caroline, who had, unbeknownst to us, stopped at the same sofa shop for fried twinkles three days earlier.
The bike path ends in St. Joseph, but I was keen to get back on the ACA route that runs north of the bike trail. Luckily, the Soo line trail linked up with the one we were on, and we could take that northeast to Bowlus. We wouldn’t have known about the Soo line path without a map, and we wouldn’t have gotten the map if we hadn’t stopped to help a fellow cyclist who had broken her cleat. Karma worked in our favor
Bowlus has a lovely city park, but sadly, no showers. On the other hand, it has a lovely cafe across from the park that serves breakfast. We’ll be heading to Milanca today to pick up a care package (thanks, dad!) before turning south to get to St. Paul.
Riding the rails
At the suggestion of Paul and Cariline from post 1, I’m off the Adventure Cycling map, and riding the Central Lakes bike trail, which runs from Ferguson Falls to St. Joseph. Iove trains, so I’d much rather have this route be a working train line, but being able to cycle it is a great alternative.
Ironically, after obtaining the right of way, the state of
Minnesota seems to be in a quandary about how to promote the path. As we started on the route, we came across a state employee doing a bike count, to try to gather use data to figure out how to market the path. We told him that marking the path entrance would be a good start ( we spent the better part of an hour finding the trailhead), and telling the ACA people about the route would be a good start.
After a mexican lunch in Fergus Falls, and ice cream in Ashby, we camped on the shores of the THIRD Pelican lake we’ve passed so far. Clearly, when you have 10,000 lakes, it’s a bit difficult to find original names!
Bacon cola?
The general store in Sabin had a HUGE selection of colas. This was by far the most unusual.
Wrong turn
I missed the turn to cross the Red river south of Fargo, and tried to take a detour. That was great until I crossed the river and the paved road turned to this on the Minnesota side. Quite a welcome!
My thin tire fishtailed in the new rock. And then it started to drizzle. Perfect!
Civilization!
After a month on the road, Fargo was the largest town I’ve hit since leaving Portland. It has malls, big box stores, and a cute downtown. For a biker who has survived largely on dehydrated food, burgers and fries across Montana and North Dakota, the priorities were clear: find good food.
It turns out the only Indian restaurant in all of North Dakota is in Fargo, and they have a lunch buffet. Two hungry bikers made a shambles of their aloo and butter chicken for lunch.
We found a hotel on the west side of town and took a nap before venturing out to the grocery store, and it was beginning to get dark before we felt like eating again.
We opted for an African restaurant, which turned out to be Samalian, and had a late night snack with all the other observers of Ramadan, who are cornbread from eating until after sundown.
The next morning we stopped at the library to use their wireless connection, and at the bike store that shares the downtown depot with Amtrak to pump up tires.
Fargo was such a nice break from all the tiny, one restaurant towns we’ve been to. Minnesota lies ahead, although I’m now a week out from my render-vous date with my father and brother, so I’m going to catch the train in Minneapolis. Minnesota will be the end of the first se toon of mh tour.
A plague upon North Dakota
No, I’m not wishing ill upon anyone in the peace garden state, just making the observation that North Dakota has seen it’s share of hardships this year, mostly due to rain.
As a result, Devil’s Lake is about to claim several towns that were once miles from shore, crops are late, and many fields here are unplanted. The newly formed lakes surrounding silos, or full of half-submerged hay bales, and full of water fowl make me think of how the Prague is taking back the farmlands from humans. The new ponds are also great breeding grounds for frogs and snakes, who often get flattened by passing cars when they hop or slither o to the roadway to sun themselves. To a passing cyclist it looks as if a deluge of frogs happened the day before.
Did I mention the grasshoppers? The western part of the state is full of them. The jump up off the asphalt like popcorn as you ride past, and there are tons of them over miles of roadway. One hopped on the back of my bike and hitchhiked 10 miles to the next town. Who says insects aren’t smart?
I’ve passed through Binford, with it’s delightful people and cafe, had lunch in Hope (I was careful not to eat all the hope in Hope), and camped in Arthur. Today will be a short morning ride to Fargo, 30 miles away, followed by erranding in the big city.
Lunch, anyone?
The old grocery store in Sheyanne, ND has closed, and is now a taxidermy shop, as well as a cafe. Mmmm!
Welcome to Minot, you can’t leave
This is Adventire Cycling’s recommended route put of Minot. It’s mow a levy, left over from the recent floods. I think they might need to update their map.
The center of everything
In my mind, eastern Montana and western North Dakota were both flat. It was an eye opener to ride through endless rolling hills. Up and down, up and down all day. It made me wish for flatter terrain.
Yesterday, that wish came true. Route 2 out of Minot was dead flat. And dead straight. There was no scenery. Just endless miles of road that disappeared into the horizon. At that point I was jonesing for a little topography to break up the monopoly.
We ended up in Rugby, which is the geographic center of North America. Like many small towns in Montana, the old downtown looked a little run down, and the new commercial strip along the road was a little too commercial. The hotel was empty, but only because all the relief workers who are there helping with the rebuilding (and demolition) of Minot like to go home on weekends.
North Dakota has shaped up as the state of change: Williston is booming with oil work and traffic, Minot is still rebuilding from this summer’s flood, and now I’m in Minawanka, which is on the expanding shores of Devil’s Lake. The lake has been filling for the past decade, and as the water rises, it’s been taking farms and roads with it. If the lake goes up another 4 feet it will take this town with it as well. That might contribute to the ghost town feel of the downtown: the grocery store has closed, and the only dinner to be found is at the town bar.
The route continues south and east towards Fargo. The weather looks a little iffy for the next couple days, but the winds will be strong out of the west, which will make the miles easier.
Best joke of the day: North Dakota is the only state where you can watch your dog run away for three days.
Of rain and whirla-whips
I camped on the north shore of lake Sakakawea last night, in a lovely campground close to the lake. The beauty of the site was marred, however by several waves of strong thunderstorms that moved through during the night. My tent leaks a bit, even when properly assembled, so hard rains are not particularly welcome.
The ride from the lake to Stanley reminded me of my daily commute in the middle of eight lanes of traffic on the 205 bridge: lots of passing trucks on a two lane road, with hills and a headwind. Not so pleasant. The roads are county roads that have been absolutely chewed by an endless stream of heavy trucks carrying supplies to, and oil from, the oil fields between Williston and Minot. It’s an interesting lesson in how quick growth can overwhelm infrastructure.
After turning east on route 2, things got better: there’s more traffic, but it’s a four lane road with a wide berm, and in my case a tailwind as well. Lunch was in Stanley, which has an authentic soda fountain in the drug store, which was a required visit after the meal. Their specialty is a “whirla-whip”, a sort of blizzard.
Instead of taking the major highway east from Stanley, I chose the alternate route, the “old” route 2, which was much more lightly traveled, and wound it’s way past a host of small lakes, full of ducks and other birds. This year’s heavy rainfalls in North Dakota have been a boon to aquatic fowl. At one point, somewhere between the metropolises of Palermo and Tagus, a badger tried to cross the road ahead of us, only to be scared back into hiding by our approach. I think that’s the first time I’ve seen a live badger.
Today I should make it from Berthold to Minot for lunch, and a visit to the bike store to pick ip some spare tires. My attest to have tires drop shipped to the post office in Williston were foiled by FedEx’s refusal to deliver to a post office. Who knew?
Over the line
The ride from Circle north to the Missouri river was about par for eastern Montana: rolling hills, past lots of wheat, with lots of grasshoppers under wheel, and lots of sun overhead. Things changed after crossing the Missouri and turning east on Rt. 2. An afternoon thunderstorm to our north started generating a gusty headwind, so the last 15 miles to Poplar seemed to take forever. Did the road get bumpier, and my seat get more uncomfortable, or was it just my imagination?
Poplar is in the heart of the Ft. Peck Indian reservation. We had been warned not to stop on the reservation, but like so many warnings from the locals, it was unfounded. We found lodging at the Poplar Hotel, which has definitely seen better days. The tiny room had a tiny price, but it was probay justified by the fake wood wall, drop ceiling decor. On the bright side there was a great restaurant around the corner, the Overland, which had yummy food.
Our next destination was Williston, a town that isinglass the middle of an oil boom. With a huge influx of oil workers, we were warned that it would be impossible to find a hotel, and this piece of advice turned out to be true. Bikers are no longer able to camp in the city park either, because it became a hooverville, full of oil workers when the boom happened. Luckily, some nice Willistonians have made their yards available to bikers, and we lucked out, with a nice basement to sleep in, a hot shower, and even use of the washer and drier to do some much needed laundry.
From the Montana border to Williston the traffic got heavier, and once again an afternoon thunderstorm blew up. This time it had an angry crosswind and rain, but an open farmer’s shed provided 15 minutes of refuge from the worst of the storm.
Today is a rest day, with the morning spent running errands, a trip to the library, so Alex can update her blog, and a visit to the post office, so I can pick up some spare tires that were sent ahead for me. We’ll camp in Lewis and Clark state park tonight (is that the third park I’ve passed with that name?), and try to be settled before this afternoon’s thunderstorms arrive.
Pie in Circle
I’m in Circle, MT after a lovely 70 mile ride from scenic Jordan this morning. This part of Montana isn’t mountainous, but it is far from flat. The trip into Jordan was punctuated by descents into valleys, and climbs back out every 2 miles or so. This can be fun at first, but after the twelth or so hill, it gets a little old (and tiring).
Ten miles short of Jordan, a pickup came up behind Alex and me, but couldn’t pass because of oncoming traffic. As he passed us going single file he yelled something that Alex said was “Ride on the shoulder!” I laughed it off because there really wasn’t a fixable shoulder at that point, but a couple miles later a county sheriff pulled up to say he had had a report of cyclists not yielding to traffic. I pointed out that we’d be foolish not to get out of the way of big pickups, and after a warning to be careful, we were on our way.
The ride from Jordan to circle was shorter, and less eventful. There were still rolling hills, but they seemed smaller, perhaps because the wind was blowing at our backs most of the day.
It seems nobody does this route on bike: I haven’t seen any bikers since Missoula, and the serviceslisted on our bike maps seem to be riddled with errors. The listed campground in Jordan had closed, and there WAS food 12 miles out of Circle.
Tonight we took a (cold) shower at the pool, ate a pizza pie and pi in the restaurant in Circle (which was unfortunately not named The Circumference or Pythagorous’ Place), and are now camped in the city park at the edge of town.
Tomorrow we turn north to get to route 2, and then east to get to Williston. We should be there in two days time if we put in one more long day. The reward, I think, will be a hotel, a hot shower, and a trip to the laundromat.
That can’t be a good sound
After a warm day in Ft. Denton, Alex and I were rewarded with a cool, moist ride to Denton. Montana was over it’s average rainfall for the year by July 1, and we got caught in a bit of that precipitation. It felt good, really, and never came down so hard that my shoes got wet.
We got to see the aftermath of the high rainfall as well: every several miles it seemed there had been a washout of the road we were on, especially on the hills, so we rode several inclines that were partly mud, and my brakes are still caked with the stuff today.
Denton, like most of the towns we’re staying in, was less than 200 people, and allows free camping in a public park at the edge of town, with free showers in the swimming pool locker room. The only downside to the arrangement was that I had to pull a rope to keep the shower water running. It’s not as easy as it sounds.
The next day we took off toward Lewistown, a metropolis, at 6000 people. In the middle of the morning we went hors piste to visit the “Gigantic Warm Springs” along the route. It turned out to be a cool-ish local swimming hole, so we stayed, splashed, and got to see the neighbor’s steam tractor running, which was cool, and a bit smelly.
We rolled into Lewistown a little after 2PM, hit the grocery for provisions and lunch, and then the recommendedlocal drive through for milkshakes. Mine was coffee, which not only tasted like the flavor, but also had what looked like grounds mixed in. I think they saved the filters from the morning coffee orders for the afternoon shakes.
A mile out of town, my front wheel made a “bang” sound. The tire had ripped, and the intestine had burst. Alex loaned me a spare (note to self: buy a spare tire!), and after arranging for Bike Nashbar to ship a replacement to Williston, we cycled on to Grass Range, arriving just before 8, and an evening thunderstorm.
George, a local at the truck stop we camped behind explained to me that the Montana city we had gone through was “Lewistown” (two syllables), whereas the town in Idaho I had pedaled through was “Lewiston” (one syllable), by telling me a story of how the Shriners once sent their circus elephants to the wrong place.
There’s a huge tailwind today, and we’re trying to get to Jordan, MT, to camp, because after Jordan, there’s litterlly 60 miles of nothing before the next town, and we don’t want to camp in a wheat field if it can be avoided.
tallbikewidecountry 