Day 35: Beginning-Of-The-Line, "Birthplace of America", Stop Bugging Me

Day 35: Thursday July 10th, 2014.
Pelican Rapids, MN to Salk Centre, MN.  99.1 miles.

Concerned about leaks from the patch job I did yesterday on my rear tire, I checked it first-thing before loading gear onto my bike. It lost 15-20 PSI overnight. At that rate, I decided to add some air and ride on it. 

I packed up and road the few short blocks, passed the dramatic rapids, and arrived at the main thoroughfare where I came upon "The Muddy Moose".  It was a great breakfast spot with home-made pies, baked goods, and decent coffee. 

I then continued South along the "Otter Trail Scenic Byway", making my way to the next sizable town of Fergus Falls. 

Although I didn't see an otter, the lakes they likely inhabit were all around me. 

Something interesting was waiting to be explored at just about every crossroad.  At one intersection, an old schoolhouse, probably from the early 1900's, still in use today as "Ye Olde School House" cafe.  Too bad that I had just ate!

I was excited to arrive at Fergus Falls, as this town has the start of one of Minnesota's notable bike paths, a paved "trail" replacing an old railroad route, the tracks and ties removed, and fresh blacktop laid down typically with broken yellow striping to separate the bike traffic headed in one direction from the other.  As I came upon the trail, to my left, the end-of-the-line, complete with a stop sign, haulting big industry in its tracks.  This picture has a lot to tell. 

To my right, the new line, progress, and progressive action amongst Minnesota and it's people, an incredible investment and undertaking, not for financial gain, but for the people. For happy people. I sat on my bike and stared in awe for a few minutes, taking it all in, wondering "How did they do it?"  "How did the people pull this off?"  This railroad line had been converted into a bike path. 

This was the beginning of "The Central Lakes Trail", given a unique name to differentiate it from the other ones. That's right, this is one of many trails throughout the state. Starting here, I could ride this trail for over 100 miles. 

Because it is an old railroad line, there's never more than a 2% grade, and either small towns developed along the route, or the route was established connecting existing towns together. 

Signs are prominently posted directing cyclists to the intersecting trails that lead to points of interest and town services. Each town has a small cycle "station", providing some shelter, info about the town, picnic tables, and a bathroom. Even away from towns, every few miles you can find a bench and gazebo or other overhang to take a break under. 

The rear tire that I had patched yesterday lost a considerable amount of air through my morning ride. I stopped to add about 40 PSI before starting down the Central Lakes Trail. This was double what I had added in the morning. I knew at this point that I was going to have to change the tube before the end of the day. As I continued, the trail turned into a tunnel of green.

To my right and left, occasional "windows" framed by the trunks and branches of these trees provided sneak-peeks of corn fields, expanses of soybeans, secluded lakes and ponds. 

Some of the lakes were lined with manicured lawns and modest homes, each with their own dock. 

The trail was being used. A father and son left their bikes leaning on a tree and casted their lines out, fishing from the shore along the trail. Another teenage boy down the way used his bike as a kickstand, propping himself up while he tried his luck with a few casts on the lake in front of him, before moving on to the next one. I came across numerous bicyclists, and roller blading seemed to be a popular use of the trail as well. 

Glancing down after having been on the trail for a while, my tire was low again. The leak had progressively worsened, losing more air in less time. The small town of Ashby (pop. 432) was just a few miles ahead. I pedaled on hoping to make it. I pulled into town along the backside of the town buildings and large grain elevator, as the train used to do. Relieved that I had made it, and now with rain imminent, I rolled my bike up a grassy slope and down an alley, around to the front side of this town looking for an overhang to provide shelter while I changed the flat. I found just the place, "Ruby's City Restaurant". It was 4:45 pm when I arrived, and the restaurant didn't open until 5pm. 

While changing the flat, installing my last spare tube, cars began pulling up as the restaurant opened. The people in this town were ready to eat at 5 pm. It was a quiet town, yet folks kept crawling out of the woodwork. I began to wonder what the attraction was all about (actually, it was my stomach that began to wonder). 

Then, I read the sign out front, "Tonight: Burger and Bev - $3.00". Ok, now we're talkin!  Hungry or not, I can't pass up a deal like that!  "Is it good?", I questioned myself. Then, an old man told me, without breaking his slow step as he moved across the sidewalk from his car to the diner, that the burger patty "wasn't a dried out flap of leather either!"  I was all over it. 

By about 6:00 pm, after analyzing my maps over a delicious burger, I was ready to leave, and head to the town of Alexandria ( pop. 11,070). It was an ambitious 27 mile ride with rain likely and about 3 hours of daylight left. But, I would be on the awesome, and safe, bike trail the entire way. And, Alexandria, being a bigger town, would provide me with the services I need. Or, at least, I thought so. 

The rain teased me the whole way, coming and going, but always light and never lasting long. I made it before dark. As I arrived, the grand "bike station" along the trail here was the equivalent of Union Station compared to the smaller kiosks of other towns. 

Alexandria is home to the "Kensington Rune Stone", offering indisputable proof according to some, that Viking explorers arrived in this region in the early 1360's, prior to Columbus arriving in America. The stone has a message chiseled onto it's flat surface in ancient Norse language referring to the arrival of these people. It was unearthed in 1898 by a Swedish immigrant a few miles North of Kensington, MN, while clearing Aspen trees from his land. 

Some scholars dismissed the authenticity of the stone, suggesting it was a recent forgery. But, later efforts by a true believer kept the story alive. 

Then, in 1948, the stone was displayed at the Smithsonian, where an official described it as, "probably the most important archaeological object yet found in North America".  A later story in National Geographic Magazine cited more recent research that suggested it was authentic.

After the Smithsonian, the stone was returned to Alexandria, and the town residents began referring to Alexandria as "The Birth Place of America".  Their pride went as far as to erect a giant monument to their fairy-tale past. 

Most historians would agree today that visitors traveling to Alexandria to see the stone will witness not an ancient monument, but a memorial to the pioneer settlers of Douglas County.

Standing next to the "bike station", I looked at my maps, trying to figure out which campground would work best in Alexandria. I began to realize that all were out of town, 2 to 7 miles further, and all were off the bicycle route at least 2 miles as well. Before riding 2 miles off route, I decided to call the campgrounds to insure that on my arrival, a spot would be available. I've never encountered a "sold-out" campground yet, so I wasn't too worried about it. But, I'm glad that something prompted me to call. 

Attempt #1: "No tent-camping."  Attempt #2: with a cheery voice, "Our tent sites are $40/night with a 2-night minimum."  I laughed when I heard that one. Attempt #3: no answer.  Ugh!  Ok, now what?  City campgrounds are usually a sure bet, but there wasn't one in Alexandria. The closest was in the town of Salk Centre, 25 miles further down the Central Lakes State Trail, merging onto the Lake Wobegon Trail. It was 8:00 pm. Reluctantly, I gave them a call.  Attempt #4:  "Sure, it's 15 bucks, you can pitch in site 79 next to the shower house, and we can square up in the morning."

I could have pitched my tent anywhere along the side of the trail, or spend the night in a motel. But, I didn't care that it was late, and stubbornly, I wanted to make more progress given my options. 

Back on the trail, my headlights and taillights now illuminating the trail, I pressed on to Salk Centre. The rain started to fall, this time heavier and more persistent, enough that the trail was wet, my tires lifting the water off the pavement and shooting it under my fenders.

Frogs were sitting on the trail , like spectators watching a NASCAR race while sitting frozen on the track, sometimes leaping from one puddle to the next, never prompted by my passing. A few of them bet their fellow croakers that they could leap through the spokes of my oncoming wheels. As dazed and confused as they were before the attempt, their buddies laughing at their idiot move, and me watching from the driver'seat, I shook my head, hoping they didn't leave any parts behind that could get lodged into my bike components. 

A raccoon emerged from the grass onto the trail. Startled by my unexpected approach, he couldn't turn around fast enough, his back legs peeling-out, unable to gain traction, then launching with all four legs spread out, prepared to use his belly as a break when he lands of the shoulder back in the grass. 

A little further up, a young doe, startled, ran out onto the trail ahead of me, then lacking confidence used the trail to try and get away, her head rotating left, then right, to get a glimpse at her predator, her body veering in the same direction as her head until she finally chose a grassy escape. 

The rain finall let up in the last 10 miles, and the wind calmed. Finally some relief, I thought.  But, the change brought on swarms of bugs. Mosquitos, gnats, moths, and other winged nuisances created clouds of life that didn't move out of my way. They weren't attracted to me at my velocity except for the moths heading towards my light, but their collision with my face and arms, their accidental entanglement within the slats of my helmet, and their crawling around my ears prompted me to swipe my hand continuously back and forth across my face, like the windshield wiper of a car on high speed.  

Fireflies all around me, illuminating the fields, helped take my mind off the "other" bugs. So intriguing, their green glow reminded me of my childhood and the family cross-country Summer road trips we would take to visit relatives in Wisconsin. I recalled our attempt to transport fireflies back to California, putting them in one of my Grandmothers mason jars, a fork used to poke holes in the lid for oxygen.  I think the furthest they ever made it was New Mexico before we had to dump their dried up carcasses along with the grass or other leaves we had shoved into the jar out the side window of the car. 

Finally, at 10:15 pm, I arrived at the city campground in Salk Centre at about the same time as another bout of showers.  I was ready for a hot shower, and by the time I was all cleaned up, a break in the rain provided the perfect opportunity to setup my tent and go to bed.