West. Day 12.

June 20, 2016

Bowlus to Chippewa County Park, Brandon, Minnesota

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Jordie’s Trail Cafe’ back porch. Lovely protection from an evening-before hailstorm.

In my morning call with Andy, I confessed, "I don't think this ride is the 'Forrest Gump' ride of my dreams." An adolescent dream of carefree living, one still needs to eat, shelter, and find a way to pay for everything. Touring today is not the $10 a day proposition it was when I started in 1974. "Maybe this ride serves a different purpose," I said. "I feel propelled, on a mission."

I remember our first Christmas together as husband and wife. He bought me a laptop computer, quite a big deal in 1994. "It's for your book," he said. I made many attempts.

From snug in my sleeping bag, I said, "I've been writing like crazy. This challenge to 'get there.' Could it be a vehicle for my book, finally?"

The morning view from Jordie's porch. Across the street is the Soo Line Bike Trail trailhead park.

The trail crossed the main road in Melrose and I couldn't resist a stop a Coborn's. The produce, grocery, pharmacy, general store with high windows and cheery staff lured me in with fresh and organic fruit and vegetables. I loaded up on bananas, apples, avocados, tomatoes, Brussel sprouts, a bright red pepper, and a package of flour tortillas.

Just out of town I stopped at a park bench in the shade to enjoy the first of many avocado and tomato burritos. I was spent and discouraged but I didn't know why. While warm, the trail was easy and oftentimes shady.

I kept on. The trail slipped by the littered backstreets of Osakis, population 1740. Ducking off to find a bathroom, construction circumvented me to a corner pharmacy. Three rusty bikes strewn across the sidewalk probably did not belong to transcontinental riders.

Nothing except pharmaceuticals for sale, not even a cooler full of drinks. I asked the lady behind the counter at the back of the store, "Do you have a restroom I could use?"

She peered around me. "We don't have one here, but you can try at the bank across the street." She clucked at three pre-teens gathered by the front door. "I don't know what those darn kids are up to."

"Maybe they're just bored."

They followed me out. "That's a cool bike," one of them said.

I went looking for a bathroom. A bank?! I didn't even try there.

The path changed to the Central Lakes State Trail here. Before taking off, I dug around my food bag for the sweet and salty health food bar I picked up somewhere. It resembled a PayDay. Wrong. I gagged on one tentative bite of the melted, slimy mess. Cardboard would taste better!

Oh, and I was bad. No trash cans. I tossed the bar, packaging and all, into tall ditch weeds encroaching the path and wiped my hands on the green bandana tied to my handlebars. As I hustled off in the guilty hope of not being discovered, two shirtless teens rumbled onto the asphalt with skateboards. If they witnessed my transgression, I doubted they cared. Rolling ahead, it took me a quarter-mile to pass them.

No great surprise to come across other riders on the trail.

For a while, I pedaled with Jeremy and a woman toting a toddler on the back of her bike. We stopped to wait for the woman's husband, who lagged behind. When he caught us, the little girl scrunched her face and cried, "Let's go!" Bored, maybe, with stories from the strange lady on a funny-looking bicycle.

Some miles later, an older couple dressed in neon-yellow jerseys straddled their bikes mid-path. The man almost lost his balance at my bell ringing.

"Sorry if I startled you," I said. The man mumbled something. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"It's just the wind," the woman said. Susan and her husband, Nick, were out for a ride from their cabin. The wind proved too difficult and they were turning back.

We visited and exchanged contact information. "If you come back this way, get in touch with us," Susan said.

Nick and Susan.

At a cross-road outside of Garfield, two gray-haired women stood over hybrid bicycles. They pointed at something in the distant hills. I stopped.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Oh nothing, " one said. "I was just showing that house to my friend."

The women lived in Garfield, taking advantage of a cruise on the bike path on a sunny summer day. They asked the typical questions. "Where are you riding from? Where to? How long have you been on the road? How many miles do you average?"

"By yourself?" The answer to this one brought an unexpected response. "That's great. Good for you!"

Gathering new friends and followers of my journey brightened my spirits.