I dragged myself out of bed sometime around 5:30 and was off by a little after 6, later than I'd planned...and much earlier than I would have liked. Fully dressed up for the cold, I biked the lonely gravel road back to the highway. As busy as highway 65 had been the evening before, it could scarcely have been more quiet in the cold, Sunday morning, and I felt like I had the world to myself. I turned off the highway onto 300th Avenue and followed it for about twenty miles to Hinckley, as the sun gradually rose in the sky and the day came alive around me.
At Hinckley I met the Willard Munger Trail, which I would ride for most the rest of the day. There was a bike service station at the trail head, and I considered making use of it, for air if nothing else...but then I decided that neithet lifting my bike onto it all laden or taking off all my panniers was worth it. My tires seemed to be holding anyways. The trail is gorgeous. It may well be the most beautiful bike trail I've ever been on, clearly a converted railroad, cutting a path through woods, opening into wide expanses before closing you back in again, crossing rivers, passing lakes and marshes. And incredibly, it's all paved too (virtually). Though the quality of the pavement varies greatly, with some sections clearly scarred and repaired by ski mobiles (which are allowed on the trail), others ravaged by tree roots. Despite needing to make time, I just couldn't help stopping regularly to takr it all in and snap a few pictures. Though none of the pictures I took could do it any justice.
And for the most part I had it all to myself. For most the morning, for the first thirty miles of trail, I didn't see a single other person. It surprised me, until I remembered it's Sunday and people do that church business Sunday mornings. I felt like I was attending my own John Muir style church experience, worshipping in the cathedral of nature. I felt happy and at peace (and never once bored), even with all the miles I had to do, for the whole day long. Just when I'd grow tired of one sort of scenery, it would change; there would be something new and wonderful to capture my attention. There was one bridge I came to about twenty miles out from Duluth that I was completely unprepared for, breathtaken at the beauty of the canyon it crossed.
The little towns I crossed through were fun too. I stopped at a gas station in Finlayson early on (primarily to get water) and a general store in Mahtowa over halfway, and had pleasant conversation with the locals as I got junk food to stuff down. In Mahtowa the gentleman running the place had his little girl working the register with him, learning to count change, and it was incredibly cute. I love passing through small towns, seeing how different their pace is, how relaxed their attitudes on so many things.
There was some construction on the trail at various points. There was one section where it was closed and I felt a momentary sense of dispair...until I realized it was only for a quarter mile or so and I just had to jump on the highway for a couple minutes. There was some writing on the barricade by the locals complaining about how long it had been closed, and I imagine for folks unaccustomed to riding highway, or perhaps riding the trail with their kids, that it could be a big deal, but it was total non-issue for me. Highway is the norm. Getting trail almost all day is a treat. The trail did some turns, narrow passages, short stretches of gravel, big ups and downs, but all of it just good fun. The only place the trail ever concerned me in the slightest was at one spot headed into Duluth where there had been some sort of landslide and a huge chunk was missing, surrounded by warning barriers.
Navigating Duluth after getting off the trail at the end of the day was not my favorite though. There was one stretch on Grand Avenue (which Google told me to take) where construction had closed half the road, and I was hurrying like mad not to overstretch the impatience of traffic slowed down behind me with nowhere to pass. But the city was fun to see nevertheless, an impressively large industrial area, a cool looking downtown, a very beautiful trail along the lake front.
I made it to the apartment building just a little bit before my host and took the time to decompress and take care of maintenance before she arrived to let me in. She fed me extremely well, and her roommate provided me a local beer, and we chatted about all variety of things, racism, ethnic food of all sorts, startup ideas, the potential of a yak butter market, the history and industry of our respective cities (and how I really don't know what the hell Lincoln was founded on), the strange and colorful fish based annual festival they had today, bike touring, Minnesota and it's particular customs and laws (like not being able to buy alcohol on Sundays), all manner of fun things. Her roommate also walked with me to the store so I could restock on granola bars after the crazy amount I sent through on my century ride today. Then we went to a party, had more good food, and more fun conversation. It was nice, a very good end to the day.
Though I must say it's weird. No matter how much touring I've done and how many different places I've crashed, there are times I am just overtaken by the surrealism of the shifting situations. Last night I was alone in a little cabin in the woods without running watet. Tonight I went to a party and I'm sleeping in a living room space in an apartment with three other people. And just two nights ago I was in Minneapolis with friends, having been sleeping in the same bed for a week. I was glad the party was full of open-minded or like-minded individuals that I didn't really have to explain myself much to. Because even I am aware it's not the usual lifestyle, and I don't always know how to make it understood. All I know is that on days like today, surreal as it may feel at times, I am happier than I ever am staying at home.
No comments:
Post a Comment