Chapter 8 Over hill and dale with no room at the inn.

Despite Iowa's reputation for being flat, it is not in this part. Once again I am climbing hills all day only to descend and climb again.  This day is also miserably hot and muggy.  At one point Murphy and I come across a cool looking stream, we are desparate so we both disappear into the underbrush to take a swim in a little pool that revives us temporarily.  The route finally climbs and stays up on top and we traverse some impressively gorgeous topography with panoramas of verdant rolling countryside dotted with picturesque farms.  It seems like we keep climbing and climbing to the point that we have to be on the highest point in the county. Sure enough, we reach a place called Balltown which advertises the best view in Iowa.  It is not far from the mark. My goal is to reach Dubuque that evening with the lure of full services, cell phone signals, laundromats and a City campground along the river.  I am treating myself to a shower this night instead of sticking to the bedding like the last two nights.
We make it to Dubuque, but the campground is barricaded off with a big closed sign. It is a victim of high water.  That night I talk up a fellow patron at the Wendy's (hoping he has a yard). He is 72 and a retired John Deere machinist. I learned about his divorces. I heard about his son who died 15 years after being paralyzed in a car rollover. He lives alone and collects stuff at auctions and flea markets.  With no wife to act as a governor I imagine his house would be pretty interesting.   He have a nice conversation but it turns out he lives on top of the hill I just came down. Murphy and I end up alone in an abandoned building near the riverfront that night with no shower. Murphy does not complain.

Climbing yet another hill

Chapter 7 Terra Incognita and the town with a friendly cop

In the morning I cross the bridge to Iowa, now beyond my home state and our familiar cheesehead neighbors. It finally feels like I am beyond reach of rescue in a land of Terra Incognita. They call themselves Hawkeyes here. The town on the opposite shore is Marquette.  It is a classic rivertown with steep streets, historic red brick building and charming shops.  For me it is the home of Qwik-Stop, my lunch revue of choice.  Actually these places offer a reasonable selection of healthy foodstuffs including salads, sandwiches and of course beef jerky. I would starve without these life sustaining convenience chains. The guide book tells me that for the first time the MRT has hills starting in northern Iowa.  It is right. I immediately ascend a hill at the edge of town that climbs 600 feet to the farmland above. It's too steep to bike up and Murphy is walking up whether he likes it or not. So we both walk up. The weather has changed to hot and muggy.  We are pretty miserable and my clothes are soon soaked with sweat.  The climb is rewarded with a descent that is so steep I fear my brakes will ignite as I ride them to keep the speed down.  Repeat this 3 more times this day and we  finally drag ourselves into Gutenberg, Iowa, the town with a friendly cop. Gutenberg is right on the river and is maybe about 2,000 population. The only place still open on a Sunday night when I arrive is the "Dam" bar home to folks who apparently have no home life.   The town police officer is at the bar so I ask her any ideas for camping in town.  This approach defuses being discovered later that night.  She says it is not permitted but "as long as you are not visible I am not going to look for you".  She adds "by the way we never had this conversation". Eventually, she suggest down by the sewage plant at the end of town.  She admits that sounds horrible but I should check it out.  I do and it turns out to be perfect- dark, remote and concealed behind a utilitarian building out of view.  There is the hum of electrical equipment that lulls us to sleep until some automatic pump kicks on that sounds like a giant vacuum cleaner.  It only lasts a couple minutes along with a faint sewer smell every hour or so.  I get used to it.

Home sweet sewage pump station

Yard art in Gutenburg, IA

Chapter 6 On to Wisconsin and a leaky tent's last night

Next stop is La Cresent the Apple Capitol of Minnesota.  I bought 4 at a stand (one of each variety they had) to sample them.  By far, the Sweet Tango was the best;  crisp, sweet and juicy.  Murphy expects and always gets the core but this time it was chewed pretty clean. I crossed the river to Wisconsin entering Lacrosse the home of Heileman's brewery.  As town of 50,000 it has a system of really nice bike trails I follow out of town and am now on State Highway 35. The shoulder is narrower and Wisconsin I learn has not put up any MRT signs to follow but the roads winds through a continuous vista of limestone bluffs on one side and a spectacular view of the river below.  Right now the river is filled to the brim from recent rains. The current is swift and seems to be a scary prospect if I were doing this by canoe. The bluff side of the highway is protected from falling rocks by a concrete wall that does it's job.  Every few hundred yards a section is blasted apart by a sizable boulder resting behind the exposed steel rebar. I would not want to be driving by in a Prius when one of those bad boys came tumbling onto the highway. You would be nothing more than a smear of battery juice. That night I treated myself to a real campground and stayed at the Black hawk Campground run by the Corps of Engineers.  Only about 1/3 of the sites are available as the rest are under water due to flooding.  I slip between two huge RV rigs already there each with a circle of chairs and people looking for something interesting to show up.  A guy on a bike pulling a golden retriever qualifies. I am soon invited to join a group from Viroqua, WI for a meal of grilled brats, beans, salad and fruit and great company.  Better than the can of spagettios I had in store for me that night. One guy is a retired Iron worker who shared his stories of dealing with moronic structural engineers when he learns I am an Architect.  I am glad he wasn't a Contractor. That night it rains, not hard but enough to test out my newly re-waterproofed tent for the first time.  It failed miserably.  It seemed to only slow down the rain and doomed it's existence.  I had sentimental attachment as it was the tent Sue and I used when we traveled around the world 28 years ago.  It has been on many backpack trips since.  But it was it time.  It ended its days in the Cabela's dumpster down the road in Prairie du Chien.  A new shiny high tech model has replaced it.  In Prairie Du Chien, I make my first attempt at securing a safe place to camp by simply knocking on someone's door and asking. I rode along in the gathering darkness, picked out a house with it's lights on and knocked on the door.  I pulled the poor guy away from his game on TV. After listening to my spiel, he simply says "I don't care go ahead"and closed the door.  I had my spot for the night in the front yard. The next morning as I packed up he did come out and talked with me. He told me his neighbors were calling him about the strange tent in the front yard and wanted to know the story.  He told them I don't know but he seemed "like a nice guy" So he had to get some answers.

If you pass through Prairie Du Chein be sure to visit the Villa Louise.  It's history is an american version of Downton Abbey.  Restored by the State of Wisconsin in all historical detail. Real interesting.

Farewell to the faithful but leaky tent

Beware of falling rocks

Chapter 5 Frontenac to Minneiska and one tough dude

The MRT uses highway 61 as the main route but occasionally veers off into the countryside on quiet roads through rolling sand dunes.  At one point I see on the road ahead of me a strange box on wheels with a pair of "hooves" moving below.  It looks like an Amish wagon except instead of black it is pink.  I eventually overtake to learn it is a guy pulling a contraption like a cart and the box is pink foam board presumably his sleeping compartment.  It is festooned with flags and plastic flowers, faded stuffed animals and slogans.  The guy is about my age but built like Hercules and brown as a chestnut. He is shirtless despite the hordes of mosquitoes that beset me when I slow down to talk to him. He is a Vietnam vet and activist on his way to Washington D.C. and has been on the road for 16 months!  He tells me he has been stopped by the police more than 200 times but mostly out of curiosity.  He also tells me he is constantly asked to be interviewed by local news media as he passes through and seems annoyed although it would seem that is the point of the whole thing. I asked if he will meet with any politicians in D.C.. He said no but will meet with other activist groups that are based there. I bid him good luck leave him behind to escape the mosquitos.  In Wabasha I stopped to get a broken spoke replaced at the Two rivers bike shop. It had already developed a annoying wobble.  The owner was very accommodating dropping every thing to get me on the road. He even trued the wheel and tightened other loose spokes "those will break too" to make me better than whole.
I arrive in Minneiska, a little river town that happens to be where my mom lived until she was 18.  It is also near deer hunting land my brother Scott and I own down the road a couple miles,  I make camp at the DNR boat landing as darkness falls.

The Thorpe Wildlife Management Area is across the highway from our hunting land along highway 61. It is named after my Grandfather Clarence Thorpe who provided the land to the State of Minnesota.

Chapter 4 What is my Kit?

Some have asked what I have brought with for 90 days on a bicycle without support.  First off, my bicycle is a 38 year old Schwinn Le Tour ten speed that I have upgraded and customized over the years to the point where almost nothing is original except the frame, shifters and brakes.  There are far more advanced, lighter and purpose designed bikes to use but  I like this bike and most importantly it is a gigantic frame size that fits my 6'-5" body.  Bikes today are no longer available in such a large frame size as  bike makers take a more one size fits all approach. Murphy travels in a customized dog trailer that attaches to the rear axle with a flexible connection.  In it I carry 2 half gallon plastic water bottles and 2 plastic boxes, one for dog treats and one for human treats. It also has Murphy's leash, tennis ball and collapsible dog dish.  I carry 4 saddle bags that attach to front and rear racks of the bike. I had to be ruthless to limit my weight.  One  bag is my sleep kit and has a summer weight sleeping bag, inflatable mattress with a cotton slipcover, foam travel pillow and a nylon hammock. The second bag contains my clothing: two pairs zip off leg pants, 1 pair of lightweight cargo shorts, 2 lightweight fishing shirts, 1 canvas shirt, 4  colored t shirts, 4 pairs underwear, 4 pairs of sox, 2 bandanas and a fleece jacket with hood.  The third bag is shelter: a 2 man tent, rain suit, rain booties, an anti mosquito shirt and head net. The last bag is cooking gear and "other": small stove nested in a cook pot, mess kit pot with lid, bowl, cup, silverware, flexible plastic cutting board, toiletry kit, dog food and a miscellaneous small bottles of soap, cooking oil, dog shampoo, and repair kits. There is a small tool kit that hangs below the saddle and a front map bag on the handle bars containing eye protection, sun tan lotion, camera tripod, saddle rain cover, guide book and maps.  I recharge my smart phone with a small solar panel notebook although it seems to be falling short due to cloudy days and not enough time directly facing sunlight. I have to vampire power from exterior outlets at gas stations or where opportunity presents itself. Sue will be coming to travel with me in a week so I will be able to adjust my kit after a couple weeks to refine it further.
The smart phone makes navigation easy when there is a strong enough signal but I still refer to the guidebook, maps and ask for directions if all else fails.

 

Sleep pannier                                                 Clothing Pannier

Cooking pannier

Murphy's Trailer

The National Eagle Center In Wabasha

Chapter 3 To Frontenac and an Oasis of Civility

On my way to Red Wing I pass over the Cannon River Bike Trail . While there is no actual connection as I am on a highway bridge passing above, I bushwhacked down a weedy slope to the trail. This is short cut-a flat trail along the river right into the back door of Red Wing. Unfortunately, a half mile down the trail I am accosted by a trail worker who gets pretty upset when he sees a dog in a trailer as it is apparently against the rules (I knew this already but decided to play dumb). He is forced to let me proceed as there is no alternative direction to the nearest exit point other than a helicopter.  I asked him what the purpose of the rule was.  "Well the dog would endanger wildlife and other bikers."  In a trailer? "Well he could jump out and attack a deer."  At this point I realized leading him with logical reasoning was going nowhere and proceeded on.  In Red Wing I spot 3 boys enjoying the summer's day. They have climbed to the top of a steel pile harbor wall and leaping off about 25' into the murky water below.
I had to grin at the recklessness of youth.  I later encounter one of the boys at the local Dairy Queen and asked him how they knew the water was deep enough to safely jump. He answered "we didn't" and raced off on his bike doing wheelies. I had driven through Red Wing over a hundred times over my  life and have never really seen it until now. I ride through well groomed parks, leafy neighborhoods of great old houses and interesting shops that I never see as I am usually blowing through on the highway. That afternoon I arrive at my destination of Frontenac at the home of my friend Jean Pontzer and her husband Ross.  They have what they call a cottage right on Lake Pepin.  Cottage may be a bit modest as it is a beautiful gem of glass and gables thoughtfully designed inside and out surrounded by gardens .  They are forewarned of my arrival and host a gathering of neighbors and friends to a BBQ complete with entertainment that evening.  The next day is spent relaxing and playing yard games to allow me to recover from my first couple days of travel. That night I dodge a furious thunderstorm that dumps rains all night while I am safely esconced inside.  I wonder how bad it would have been in a tent. The next morning I am stuffed full of breakfast and loaded with baked goodies and sent on my  way. From now on there is no place of refuge for me down river.

Chapter 2 Onward Downward

Monsters and Aliens- on to Hastings

After delaying my start to avoid a soggy Saturday,  Murphy and I are joined on bike by grade school chum Craig Poeschel who escorts us to the Ford bridge on Mississippi River. Sue sends us off from the driveway. We are joined by two other friends Mike and Bob who provide a color guard through the City of St.Paul until they turn back at Battle Creek regional park.  I soon encounter a similarly burdened pair of cyclists who are on their way to NYC from Oregon. These folks are seasoned having been on the road for 5 weeks already. They are Bob and Julien a father and daughter who are raising money for autism. We exchange stories, mine much shorter as I sheepishly admit I have only been on the road for 90 minutes. I receive two pieces of advice: drink a lot of fluids and use some stuff called glucomine that prevents leg cramps. We agree to meet in Hastings but I never see them again. St. Paul has done a great job developing the riverfront where it was once junkyards and gravel operations when I was a kid. The trail goes through some cool leafy glens under the shadow of busy highways. I pass a street fair in St. Paul Park featuring a giant inflated T-Rex. In Hastings, a well preserved river town I meet my friend Ted Davis at the fire station whose offer of support include cold beer and milk bones for Murphy upon arrival. We have a "last supper" at a restaurant before I am on my own. We cram all our stuff including bike and trailer into his hatchback and he transports me to a campground a few miles into the country. I am dropped of under cover of darkness. Groping around I pitch my tent in a remote corner of an open field a far as possible from the RVs and F150s that are crammed together. My plan is to head out early but in the morning I am accosted by the campground owner who informs me he doesn't really do campers anymore, strictly RV now -despite the billboard on the highway that says CAMPGROUND in 3 foot high letters. But he is nice enough and waives of my offer to pay him with an invitation to use the showers.
Soon after a pair older women approach who are doing the rounds. They keep their distance and look apprehensive but curious as I pack up my gear. I am wearing my fluorescent green biking outfit with bug eyed sunglasses. I am pretty shure that they would have viewed me the same had there been a smoking flying saucer plowed into the ground behind me. One timidly asks if I know the owner and I told them we just talked which seemed to ally their fears. I am soon on my way to Frontenac. MN.

Why am I doing this?

I have always wanted to do some kind of  epic bicycle journey across the country since I acquired my first Schwinn.  However, the pesky demands of daily life and earning a living make such an endeavor not too realistic. So year after year we defer such things until the time is right.  Being a recently emancipated worker bee from the daily grind I looked around and decided maybe that time is now.
Of course the biggest obstacle is convincing your spouse to agree such a dubious plan. This takes some careful crafting of rationales, cajoling, compromises and even whining but with time my wife actually was on board.  She wisely deferred the idea of joining me but did volunteer to provide a pick up at the end and some support visits along the way. It does not hurt that her sister lives literally at the end of the road where the river ends.

Why the Mississippi River?

I could talk about the river being the source of life and artery of the nation but the reasons are more akin to practical considerations. I live near the beginning. My relatives near the end. It is all downhill. I don't need to cross any mountain ranges or deserts. No sixty mile stretches without water. Lots of little river towns and some big ones means a steady supply of gas station grilled hot dogs and Icees.  There is a lot of history that took place along its shores which I like as well as interesting friendly people I hope.
Also I think something  about following a river literally from its beginning to its end that appeals to me. Exploration at a snail's pace in this era of speed.

Why am I bringing a 65 lb. Golden Retriever with me?

I will grant you 65 lbs of useless Golden Retriever is a real dead weight that will slow me down and kill me on the hills.  In fact with his trailer, food, water and bedding he approaches 100 lbs.  But a golden retriever is hard to beat for loyal companionship, enthusiasm, ability to forgive and best of all a ice breaker to potential new friends along the way.  He won't complain when its raining and cold.
My daily mileage will be a fraction of that of a spandex clad carbon fiber uber-cyclist but that is the trade off for having man's best friend with me.

  
  

Chapter 1 All great journeys start with one step: Itasca to Minneapolis, June 2016 

My first leg of this trip was also a proof of concept exercise.  I decided to start the trip at Itasca with my wife volunteering to act as support driving a SAG wagon following my progress for the first 4 days.  The first concern is- I am pulling 3 times more than your average cycle tourist, am I even going to be able to move my rig?  Better to find out with a my wife around to save me.  It is heavy, but manageble.  Once you get going its moves along fine but the hills are brutal.  Good thing there won't be many hills. I hope.
There was a school field trip at the famous river's outlet at Itasca State Park.  The place was filled with screaming kids, splashing water asking me "Hey Mister, can I pet your dog?"  Murphy obliged. I am following the Mississippi River Trail (MRT) which has recently been completed about 2 years ago.  I know that Minnesota is way ahead of other states in the development of this trail.  It is actually a route that is signed and follows along the river as closely as possible. It uses existing roads, bike trails and even the tops of levees.  The goal is to use off-road trails whenever possible, if not, quiet country roads that are paved, and lastly busy roads with wide shoulders.  It travels through all 10 states bordering the river sometimes with route options on both sides. The first of many MRT signs I am to see is just off the lot for the headwaters along the park road. We take a photo for posterity.
It is surprising how quickly the river grows.  At the lake outlet it is a mere creek, a few miles later a rushing stream.  By the time it reaches the first major town of Bemidji it is already a river in my book. The first leg from Itasca to Minneapolis took 8 days averaging 35 miles per day. A good chunk of it included the Paul Bunyan Trail which takes you on 123 miles of former railroad right of way cutting through beautiful pine forest. Straight, flat and easy. This section will likely be the most remote and wild of the whole length.  Murphy does fine but he does get bored in his trailer.  I sometimes let him run alongside when it is safe which he loves.  We stop frequently to allow him time to chase his ball, go swimming and laze around.  After 8 days of bike travel covering a distance of 300 miles I am pretty sure this will work.  One upgrade made is that  I have fashioned a shade screen stretched above Murphy to give him a scrap of shade on those long stretches in the open.
The other concern is can my 61 year old body take it?  I have heard it takes 3 weeks to toughen up. After the first 3 days my butt hurts, my wrists hurt and for some reason my elbows.  But I seem to recover overnight without permanent injury.
The next leg starts from Minneapolis and goes the whole way.  I start in Mid August after taking off the month of July.