Halfway home July 22, 2014

There are so many things that happen to you as you ride a bike day after day, mostly good things, so it can be a bit of a challenge to recall a few highlights — but here goes.

As recounted several weeks back, it took quite a while to escape Montana. Relatively speaking, North Dakota went by in a flash, if you can call six days of riding a flash. Despite all the negatives that are circulating regarding the oil and gas boom in North Dakota, The Scribe’s time in that state was all positive. For the most part, the weather cooperated and while those legendary tailwinds were not in evidence, there were few headwinds and not a lot of rain.

North Dakota was a lot greener state than envisioned, at least in the sense that one did not see the wide-open brown stretches that characterize much of northern Montana.

The Scribe’s route took him through many very small and isolated communities, mostly collections of large farms with a few residences clustered together. Many of these towns were isolated when the interstate was built, but they find a way to survive, if not prosper.

Perhaps the highlight moment was a visit to the tiny vacation town of Dawson, where the Yankee Doodle Diner houses what is more properly known as the Dawson Café. The two women running it were hilarious, clad in their matching T-shirts that read “Dawson, halfway between the State Pen and the State Hospital,” which he soon learned referenced the fact that the cities of Bismarck and Fargo, equidistant from Dawson, host those two institutions. They also served up a mean caramel roll.

The Scribe got caught in a thunderstorm that came over the prairie in literally an instant, but huddled under his tarp and managed to escape the worst of a drenching. Five minutes later the sun was shining, but there was alas no rainbow to be seen.

He also experienced the joys of riding along I-94, which was far safer than one might imagine. The roads less traveled have minimal shoulders and speed limits of 70 mph, while on the interstate you get that 8-foot shoulder all to yourself. Okay, the sound level was obnoxious, but there was water everywhere and a great many interesting and occasionally curious birds.

The road led to Fargo, and that is a very nice town. Here was one of those random acts of kindness that are so much part of this journey — the waitress in a Mexican restaurant, after learning of The Scribe’s journey, tore up the dinner check and treated him to dinner.

From Fargo it was on to Minnesota, unquestionably the land of at least 10,000 lakes (and that probably does include what are no more than ponds).

Minnesota was full of friendly people who seemed quite sincerely interested in the idea of a cross-country bike trip. The first hills The Scribe had seen since leaving Montana posed a few challenges to his legs, but he got up and over in fine fettle.

As had been the case in Montana and North Dakota, it was always interesting to talk to the farmers. The economics of the dairy business have certainly taken a whack out of that type of farming everywhere, but perhaps there is more to it than economics.

As one farmer said, who also happened to run the Adventure Cyclists Bunkhouse, “a lot of folks have gone to crop farming. You work your butt off during the growing season, but can find time to do things and travel with your family.” If you were a dairy farmer, you were milking those cows twice a day, 365 days a year.

The Scribe also learned that Minnesota has pelicans. He had seen the world’s largest pelican in Pelican Rapids, Minn., after having viewed the world’s largest Holstein cow on the top of a ridgeline in New Salem, N.D., but it wasn’t until he saw a pelican floating on the surface of Stowe Lake that he realized that Minnesota really did have pelicans, along with eagles, ospreys, swans and a multitude of other birds.

His journey through that state terminated with a much-needed two day rest in St. Paul, which also proved a very interesting and friendly city.

From Minnesota it was on into Wisconsin, with the final crossing of the great Mississippi River at Winona. Once having landed in Wisconsin, it was time to ride the state’s legendary rail trail network. It is so interesting to travel these trails because they pass right through the heart of many towns, just as the trains had at an earlier time. These small towns have spruced up the old rail depots as rest centers, occasionally painted murals on the sides of rail cars or cabooses and hung banners welcoming riders to their towns. Hopefully as the Lamoille Rail Trail evolves, the same thing will take place.

So now The Scribe, accompanied for the last few days by good friend Chris Cady, is overnighting in Madison, Wis. In the morning, the two riders will be back on the Glacial Drumlin Trail, heading toward their next stop a couple of days down the road in Chicago.

Kim Brown, a ski bum by winter and a hacker by summer, lives in Waterbury Center with his very understanding family. Comment on this column on stowetoday.com, or email letters to news@stowereporter.com.