Minnesota, we barely knew thee

Hello from Dalbo, MN! We just arrived at the farm of Donn Olson, a man who keeps a bunkhouse exclusively for cyclists. It's pretty sweet. Beds, a hot shower, and pizzas are just a few of the amenities it boasts! We plan on crossing the mighty St. Croix River tomorrow and making it to Wisconsin. It seems like we were barely in Minnesota. We spent a total of four nights in this state (including tonight and barring any unforeseen circumstances tomorrow), the same amount we spent in Idaho, and more than we spent in Oregon, but that doesn't really count since we hopped back and forth between it and Washington.

Claire and I both experienced our second falls today. Mine was rather lame as Claire knocked my bike over on top of me as I was bending down. Hah. Claire nearly fell off the picnic table bench at lunch today, but saved her real fall for the pavement. Her bike wandered onto the gravel shoulder and she fell over and got pretty scraped up (but she's ok). Two falls each after so many miles isn't bad, especially when I drunkenly told Claire this March that she better be prepared to fall ten times a day.

Here are some posts from the past few days. Sorry for being so long winded!

7/21Whenever traveling from state to state or country to country, I always feel like some kind of transformation happens when I cross that imaginary border line. When driving from Wisconsin to Illinois I always seem to notice that the cars surrounding me have somehow shed their Wisconsin plates and replaced them with those that bear "The Land of Lincoln". And while flying from the US to Guatemala, my fellow passengers who seemed to speak my native tongue so eloquently back at JFK are now completely fluent in Spanish as the plane taxis to the terminal in Guatemala City. We place so much weight on these borders that are oftentimes nothing more than a line drawn on a map that my mind invents a distinction between one area and another; the differences in dress, traditions, and landscape become more concrete when represented by liscense plates and accents. I have only been to Minnesota a handful of times, and those trips have mainly been in the eastern region of the state, so in my mind I pictured Minnesota to be rather Wisconsin-like: rolling green hills with clear blue rivers and lakes carved in the spaces between. Our border crossing was unremarkable, without even a sign welcoming us to our sixth state. Perhaps it shouldn't have been a surprise then that we were not automatically transported to the Minnesota of my mind. The liscense plates changed but the landscape remained largely North Dakotan. 

About 30 miles later, however, things began to change. Wheat fields were replaced by corn. The trees became more numerous. Lakes began popping up
on either side of the road. And we had our first series of hills for the first time in what seems like days. Tonight we are camping on the shore of a small river in Pelican Rapids, feeling closer to home than ever. 

We spent the majority of the day off ACA routes, which made the fact that we met up with other cyclists today pretty interesting. Not far out of Fargo we caught up with a couple heading the same way as us, but the started in WA and are headed to their home in CT. They were on the opposite side of the road speaking to a family with three small boys who were also on their way home. The family has been biking for over a year, having traveled down the west coast to Baja and back up along the Mississippi. They are from Calgary and are making their way back. 

I feel like our time in Fargo, though short, helped to revitalize my biking spirit. I haven't been tiring of it, but I feel far more relaxed and willing to take things at an easier pace. I have a growing fondess for the small cities/large towns we've visited on this trip, and I think that admiration has something to do with the answer our host, Joe, gave when I asked him what his favorite thing about Fargo was. To paraphrase, and sorry if I'm getting this wrong but this is what I took from it, Fargo is large enough that there are people there who are interested in doing things, changing things, being involved in the community. But it's also small enough that you, as an individual, have the power to really be heard if you want to, so you can make the changes you want to see in the community. After spending about seven months of last year in Martinsville, IN, I didn't think I could ever live anywhere smaller than Madison. But visiting places like Missoula and Fargo have really changed my perspective and have given me more to think about as I stare ahead at the giant question mark that seems to constantly be in my future.

7/23 We spent all of today and a portion of yesterday on a Rails to Trails path. In total the path we will take is about 100 miles of flat pavement, far from the normal traffic of the highways we often ride along. As nice as the path has been, no hills means we are constantly pedaling, and today felt long enough by the time we hit 65 miles. We stopped about ten miles short of our intended destination, but after two previous days with late starts and finishes, we were excited to get into camp a little early. 

Last night Claire and I pulled out our maps to check out our route for the next few days and were surprised to find that we will be out of Minnesota in just two more days. Only a week ago my thoughts had begun to turn towards home and the excitement of our return, but last night as I realized how quickly it was approaching, my stomach began to tighten into a knot and I could feel a lump rising in my throat. Even though I've visualized different post-homecoming activities over the past month, the thought of not biking every day is somewhat daunting. I love city life and the interactions it affords me, but it also brings about responsibilities I don't have to deal with out here. I've grown used to the independence that comes from being on the road, drifting from one town to the next as we please. It's difficult to imagine re-fitting my life into the boxes society makes for us: settling down into another job, returning phone calls and emails, and taking daily showers. I felt similarly as the end of my Alaska adventure neared last year, and it's amazing and perhaps a little sad how quickly I was able to readjust to the life I left behind. I have no doubt I will be able to do the same this time around, but for now I fear the known.