Had a pleasant granola breakfast in the upstairs apartment to Gretchen and Andrew's place while listening to Minnesota Public Radio and wondering what in the world is gonna happen to this country. Crapola! Haven't had this tasty Ely, MN made granola since I worked up there two summers ago. Still just as good.
Got on the road nice and early. Pelican Rapids looking swell in the morning light.
And here's their store front. A nifty little shop.
Construction on hwy 9 going North so a detour I made out and around, bypassing the town of Cormorant and leaving the lakes region. West and slightly North to Fargo. Heat wasn't bad until about 10. Then it was bad. Tried to wait until Tansem to find a bathroom but all that was in that town was an lonesome town hall. Had to find a spot on the side of the road. I can tell why they're farming out here. Good black dirt. Lots of worms.
Rode through Rollag and went down my last hill somewhere before Downer, which was, well, a downer. More of a truck stop than a town. 10 miles more was Sabin. "The town that grew up on 52" (52 is the highway).
Some siren made an awful racket as I was getting ready to go. Don't know what it was for but damn it was loud. Like an old police car siren but once it got to the top note it just stayed there for probably 2 full minutes.
Saw my first bomb train on my way out of Sabin. Nothing on it said it was carrying crude oil, but I would recognize those vaguely rounded, black, and unfortunately bomb-shaped cars anywhere. It just sat there, off-gassing outside of town.
Some more straight roads on the flatness approaching North Dakota for another 8 miles or so, and I crossed the Red River and was in Fargo.
Rolled up into town and stopped at a bike store looking for information. Was hoping to find someone who knew what it was like to tour across the state. They told me just what I expected. Flat, hot, straight. Rolling prarie past Dickenson. Just so happened that right about then two other cyclists came into the shop who had just crossed the state from the West. I spent a long while talking to them about the route ahead. Solidified my intentions to get some early morning miles in before the heat. Also made me extremely excited to get to Montana and beyond.
Fella at the bike store said I might be able to find camping for free somewhere along the river south of town, but it just so happened that a minute or two later, another host got back to me, said I can stay with him at his place in Southwest Fargo. Stoked on having a place to stay for the night, I decided to take a little walk around Broadway and see what downtown Fargo had to offer.
Hard to capture, but a pretty hip little strip with lots of bars and places to eat etc... I had just gotten to the end of the strip and was stopping to take a look at a historical plaque to a building that looked familiar to an old building I knew in Seattle. It was just then I heard someone calling at me from a car in the nearby intersection. I looked over to see none other than Kurt Smemo, my ES 105 Professor from good ole Skidmore College back in Saratoga. I couldn't help but yelling out loud "No shit!" I couldn't believe it. I think we both did double and triple takes. He pulled over and we talked for a minute or two. He was in town for a funeral (an uncle of his), and was staying at a cheap hotel on the west side of town by the interstate. We were both killing time and the place had a pool so he invited me over.
Still getting over the extraordinary odds of the situation, I weaseled through the automobile infrastructure of West Fargo and found my way over the interstate to the Biltmore Hotel. Snuck in the back entrance and found my way to the inner courtyard. There was Kurt, already in his shorts, lounging pool side. The day had already surpassed 90, so we hopped right in. Just what I needed.
We talked about the journey and this and that for a while, until his sister and nephew came and I realized it was time for me to split. Said goodbye still laughing at what a small world it truly is.
Down south and across the interstate again, I found my way to John's house. Hidden among a maze of suburban houses that all looked alike, I picked it out by the Subaru in the driveway and the bike tires hanging from the garage ceiling. I met the dog and brought my stuff in. He was hungry too and had just got back from work, so we drove back to downtown and found a place to eat. Settled on a fancier place that he had been meaning to go to for a while. John was a real Notth Dakota man. Lanky with stories as long and meandering as the Missouri. Excitable and witty. He was from Bismarck and had gone to school and had been living in Fargo for most of his life. We talked about bikes and his work and the area I had been in and was going to go to, community radio and food co-ops, and even Charles L Somners base, where he had gone as a Boy Scout and I had worked at as a guide. We had a hell of a feast and a great conversation, and afterward he drove me around to some of the sights of the city. A swell night and an instant friend.
What a night in Fargo, and what a life it is on the road. Livin the dream.
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