The Northern Tier: Days 29-32

Day 29: Onward to the Mississippi

     I started from the Marina in Stillwater feeling very refreshed.  The sun was coming up over the east bank of the St. Croix and the water was calm.  I rode slowly through Stillwater, taking in the town in the morning light.  I love the air in the early mornings, cool and still.

Stillwater is a pretty town.  It was once a hub of the timber and fur trade for the region, but eventually began to lose residents when the resources of the region became over-exploited.  It’s now more of a tourist destination, helped by it’s proximity to the Twin Cities.

There was construction on the route out of town, so I worked some google-maps-fu and routed myself around it.  This was to be a common occurance for the next several days.  Detours galore.

Once I made it to the river-road, the miles began to fly by.  The St. Croix joins the Mississippi and the route follows the river.  The Mississippi has cut a deep channel in the surrounding rocks, creating some impressive bluffs bordering its banks.  My route climbed these bluffs off and on the entire day, bringing me from the cool of the riverbank into swealtering heat in the cornfields above.

I was crossing in and out of Wisconsin for most of the day, sweating and steaming into Red Wing.  I bought a chocolate malt, one of many on this trip and definitely one of the most satisfying.

Eventually I ended up camping entirely alone in a hardwood forest by the Zumbro River.  I washed my clothes and myself in the water.  It was swift and I stayed by the shore, letting fish nibble my salty legs, enjoying finally being cool after a long day in the heat.  The trees were alive with woodpeckers, cicadas and the sounds of the forest.

Mileage: 93

Day 30:  Fear

From my forest glade I descended to Wabasha for a great sandwich, muffins and some coffee.  I wrote a lot on the porch, collecting thoughts and memories.  I stopped in a bike shop for a replcaement water bottle and a grocery store for food. It’s incredible the amount of calories I have to consume to power myself through these rides.  My stomach is a black hole.

Forty miles went down quickly on a full stomach and I was in Wanona eating more ice cream at a Dairy Queen in the early afternoon.  I got back on the highway after handling some logistical concerns and things got hairy with construction on the road.  Outside of La Crescent there is a bicycle road that takes you underneath the bridge to La Crosse.  This road was closed so I was forced on to a busier highway.  I got a flat tire, but was unfased repairing it in the wake of semi trucks.

Continuing on the 61, I made a dangerous mistake.  I was supposed to continue on the southern road past La Crescent, but confused the two names and ended up merging onto the newly made bridge.  All of the traffic was routed onto one side of the highway, both directions driving on the two  northern bound lanes.  Concrete barriers entered the shoulder and cones divided the two lanes, making it impossible for cars to give me more space as they usually do.  I had one foot of clearance between the barriers and the stripe and trucks were within inches of my left shoulder.  I hit a pothole filled with gravel, a terrifying occurance without trucks blasting by.  I had my handlebars in a death grip and was focused, blocking out darker possibilities as truck after truck rolled by.  The barriers eventually ended and I pulled over to the side, collecting myself and breathing deep.  A construction worker pulled up and suggested I travel on the newly built bridge, free of traffic.  I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked him and moved onto the bridge, alone and safe.

I realized by the end of that bridge that I was headed to La Crosse and not past it as I should have been.  The construction savior rolled up again and offered me the use of the wider shoulder to head down the on ramp, opposite traffic to the other side of the highway.  I went for it and thankfully there was a break in traffic that allowed my to get on the right side of the road, back onto thin shoulders and concrete barriers, terrifying trucks and white-knuckle riding.  This lasted another mile until the road opened up to normalcy, with a wide shoulder and safer conditions.
I took off my sunglasses because it was getting dark and a fly immediately lodged itself under my eyelid.  I washed it out with my water bottle, my anger little comparison to the relief I felt after being done with the construction zone. “I AM ALIVE AND I AM STILL RIDING” I shouted, playing the scenario I had just survived over and over in my head.  The morbid what-if plagued me the rest of the ride. Charged with adrenaline I burned the last miles with speed.  Brownsville arrived and I calmed myself with several beers and a hamburger.

Thinking back on this day is still a bit nerve racking.  In the thousands of miles I’ve ridden on a bicycle I’ve never had a moment as terrifying as hitting that pothole with a truck that close.  The brightside is that in the two thousand or so miles I’ve spent on the Northern Tier, only that moment has been truly fearful for me.  Or tuly dangerous for that matter.

Mileage: 76

Day 31: Detours

     I slept in at the RV park in Brownsville.  I deserved it after the day before.  The forecast wasn’t great but I realized I had 220 miles before Muscatine and the end of the section.  I didn’t want to spend three days making that distance so I set off with determination.  Despite the late hour (11:00) I was still making 110 miles no matter the conditions.

As I climbed onto the bluffs I hit another detour, forcing me several miles out of the way on county roads.  There was gravel, my nemesis, but the rain was light and the cornfields were soothing in their monotony.  The farmers in their trucks were giving me a wide bearth and the distances were seeming realistic.

I made it into Iowa and continued, past Lansing, Harpers Ferry, Marquette, Monona, Farmersburg and landed at 8:30 in Colesburg.  I called my parents and brother regalling them with the tail of my adventure the day before while devouring my half-pound of pasta for the night.  I slept in the outfield of the local baseball diamond.

Mileage: 114

Day 32: Dirt Roads, More Detours, Satisfaction

     I woke up early, praising my legs for not being sore.  I thought for a long while about how far I’ve come, over mountains, through valleys and across rivers, through forests drapped in moss, humming with insects and crying out with birds.  The dust and sweat on my skin felt like a standard that I’ve carried, the colors of cycling nobility are dirt and salt.  After two breakfasts I set off into the Iowa countryside.

I took a trail from Dyersville, a scenic bike trail of well maintained dirt.  It was satisfying to be without cars and to have a bit of dust joining the road grime on my skin.

The churches that dotted the landscape were magnificent.  Huge, impressive brick temples rearing into the cloudy sky, visible for miles among the cornfields.  I hit more construction, my route being torn up for resurfacing.  There were no road crews, and the rain was holding down the dust so I decided to ride on the dirt instead of re-routing around it.

About ten miles of careful riding (bald road tires do not work well on dirt roads) brought me to my second lunch in Wyoming IA before I hit my least favorite sign.

At this point, after four detours and 15 miles of dirt roads I was pissed.  I tore out my phone and angrily routed a lengthy detour of my own devising around the gravel county roads, around the construction onto large highways.  Anger is a good motivator, and a tailwind helped the extra ten miles go by smoothly.  The last 15 miles were beautiful as the rain clouds cleared.  Rays of sun streaked through and the concrete was fast and straight.  I flew into Muscatine and had a few beers, chatting late with the locals about my journey.  RAGBRAI was arriving tomorrow and people were warm with the reception of a touring cyclist.  There was a bluegrass band playing covers from a trailor in the back and the beer and whiskey tasted great.  The day was tough but I had made it to the end of the section.

In the last three days I had ridden 320 miles, narrowly avoided dying by semi-truck, found my way through four detours, 15 miles of gravel and dirt roads and a flat tire.  I was glad to be done and decided to take a rest day to enjoy the festivities when RAGBRAI landed in the morning.

Mileage: 130