The Final Hurrah

Several days.  Lots of progress.  Not so many photos to hide the lack of entertaining or meaningful narrative.  Which will be even more lacking, even if it is difficult to imagine such a thing. Build it, and they will come Beautiful, but long day to Appleton, WI.  En route, a bolt removed itself from one of the pannier rack's struts.  The other saved the day, but after 74 miles, I wasn't completely thrilled by adding a couple more to get to the local Menards.   Oh, and a slow leak in my back tire.  Fifteen minutes to fix, which was about one fewer than the job really needed, as I pinched the tube putting it back together, thereby replacing a slow leak with a fast one.  Added that needed minute the second time around. The hotel had a fancy restaurant, which Susan somehow preferred to Subway, even though it was just across the street. Another 76 miles down , 1,102 to go.  (The particularly attentive among you may have noted a disturbance in the...

Literally.  Somehow, between the two of us we only managed to take one picture, despite being a beautiful day, and more picture-postcard scenery.   That, right there, is the problem.  Such pleasant  — and there really is no other word for it — scenery is very difficult to persuasively capture absent skill and the right tools.  The former I lack in spades, an iPhone 15 just isn't up to the task. Build it, and they will come Amish cruisin'. Sixty-three gift shop wall art miles today, and cheese curds. A mere 1,108, and Lord knows how many burgers, await.

Particularly attentive readers, who really should find something better to do with their lives, may remember this Wally World-esque challenge: What doen't belong in this picture: Uplarging: In Wasta, SD.  Parked at a gas station.

Very pleasant day winding through the Wisconsin countryside.  Not as perfect as yesterday, but near as makes no difference. Susan cruizin. Well, save for one little thing: Several times today Susan's electrics —the only reason to have these things — just up and quit.  Thankfully, recycling the power brought things back.  Well, the angry pixies anyway.  Peace of mind, not so much. Googlerizing from the hotel revealed the most likely cause is the battery bouncing around, causing enough electrical noise to make the controller think something has gone wrong.  Good news, in the sense that this is far more likely to be annoying than terminal.  Bad news, peace of mind remains elusive. Seventy four pleasant except for that damn fly-in-the-ointment miles.   1,171 to be spent hoping ER 71 doesn't become ER ∞.

Today was merely perfect: bucolic scenery, light winds, temperature in the low-80s, a biker bar at the two-thirds point with a killer club sandwich and they didn't sneer at us very much. Very quickly after leaving Cannon Falls, we crossed into Wisconsin: We only rode 36 miles in Minnesota Lake Peipin, along the western Wisconsin border Today's total, 61 miles.   Another 1,245 just like them would be perfectly fine.  Just saying. What do we do for fun after a day's riding? Why, rotate tires, of course:    On bicycles, the back tires carry probably 75% of the weight.  Add 100% of fifty or so pounds of gear, and they wear at least twice as fast as the fronts.  If we hope to have them last the trip, the chore needed doing.  An hour total for both bikes.  Somehow, the world's precious supply of swear words was not depleted, nor were any hotel furnishings or carpet damaged, and the tires still hold air. It is truly a mystery.

We had long since hit our stride, settling into a routine of 60-ish mile days, eating our way across the USA, going to bed honestly tired, and ready to go the next morning. So we didn't want, nor need the remnants of Tropical Storm Alberto : One of the best lessons to learn as a pilot is that really wanting to get somewhere isn't reason enough to go. (Along with don't get lost, don't panic, and if you are going to land short, add power.) In the several days we spent following our hotel reservations, we traversed 252 miles courtesy of a UHaul 15' box truck and $434, leaving us with 1,306 more we are perfectly happy to trust to our legs, given a chance. So what did we do instead? Visit the Schell Brewery in New Ulm: Where we spent a couple hours having beers, lunch, and watching the rain. And watching Susan show off her tan lines: Zesty! On Saturday, we got to Cannon Falls with a window between storms, and did this, as if nearly 3,500 miles weren't enough: As it t...

Yesterday's stage was from a spartan hotel in Miller, SD, to De Smet, of Laura Ingalls Wilder fame.  We delayed our departure long enough to allow the rain to pass, but the road was still plenty wet to get covered in truck spray. Flat lighting from a low overcast didn't make for good photo ops.  Well, except for this, in Huron: Good news?  For once, a strong tailwind. Bad news?   Rain picked up again for the last 30 miles. Seventy-eight miles is a fair stretch.   But not nearly as fair a stretch as the 1,605 still in front of us. Now today's effort: De Smet to Lake Benton, MN.  First forty miles went fine.  Little bit on the cool side, winds neither helping, hindering, nor annoying.   Stopped in Brookings, SD, for lunch.  Looked at the forecast for the next several days: unchanged from dire.  Up to an inch and a half of rain each day from tomorrow through Saturday. Lucky for us, Brookings is big enough to have a UHaul location, so I thre...

Fifteen mph wind dead on the nose and rain didn't sound like something up with which we wanted to put, so we paid cash money to skip the first half of 71 miles.   I suggested paying twice as much to go the whole distance, but Susan insisted we show at least some commitment to our craft. Seventy-one more give-us-a-break miles, 37 under our own power .  1,683 will-the-tires-make-it? left. As it happened, where we finally demonstrated some pride was also the tipping point on this trip: miles remaining equal what we have done. Either way, 1,737 slo-mo miles Three days ago was the ETP (Equal Time Point — sudden flashback to my transoceanic days).

When we have needed the wind out of the north, it was out of the south; out of the west, south; out of the south, north. Three hours to go 22 northbound miles into a 25 mph NW wind, gusting to 40 .  Nowhere to stop, nowhere to hide.  Thankfully, the eastbound turn to Pierre (pronounced in these parts as "Pier"; the correction will be quick) pulled some of the sting, although the wind turned more northerly as we turned.  Somehow not surprised. Sixty-two pummeled miles.   1,754 more chances for meteorological punishment.

Lulling us into a false sense of security, the ride to Midland was not only prairie-beautiful, but pleasant on top of that.  Aside from the pestilential cross wind.   Wasta has the last phone booth in America?  (Yes, I checked; It didn't work) Nav is easy when there is only one road out of town. Bird Sanctuary. Midway Break Our lodging:  Stroppel Mineral Hotel and Baths Which was, ummm, different.  Like the 60's were preserved in amber. Interesting Design Choices Could be the sunset shot of the trip. Unless it is this one. Seventy-one miles.   A mere 1,816 in front of us.

After two very pleasant days riding, the weather decided we were fair game.   Sailors, like the Mr. Bill's, are familiar: the wind and sea are at cross purposes, and utterly antagonistic to everything else. Just as it was getting from the Skippy's in Piedmont to Wasta, SD.  Fifteen miles of howling wind in the face, before we turned east, and it getting even stronger on the beam. Nonetheless, a beautiful ride. I can remember when these signs came every mile for several hundred miles in every direction.  Not nearly so many anymore. Lunch, with ever so conveniently located outlets Wasta, SD The bar in Wasta.  There is something decidedly unexpected in this picture. I chose to stay in Wasta because it balanced stage lengths between Piedmont and Midland, and had both a hotel and restaurant . When we got there, the bartender told us there would be no food that night because the exhaust fan was broken.  However, we could head 11 miles up the road to Wall.  That's...

I know what I said about longer stages in the last post.  However, considering this stage would end at Skippy's and Audrey's house in Piedmont, we needed to be tanned, rested, and ready to become legless but smiling. We know them from our tour in RAF Upper Heyford at the 79th Fighter Squadron and Desert Storm, a group that has enjoyed unusually strong comradery ever since. They came up for dinner in Spearfish the night before we darkened their doorway, which was merely a half-stage away. Arriving at the Skippy's Alcohol Fueled Reminiscing Serious journalistic failure not getting a photo of all four of us. Thirty-seven more miles onto the odometer.   1946 more about which we need to get serious.

This stage was a prelude to the rest of the trip: mid-sixty to seventy miles, and mostly flat.  Save for the fact that it wasn't flat at all.  Beautiful weather and scenery, and absent wind that was antagonistic to our progress.   Leaving the Lodge At forty miles in, Aladdin was the only place en route to stop.  Because we weren't traveling in "cages" — biker speak for cars — the bikers proved quite friendly.   Having fortified ourselves with sugar (Butterfinger for Susan, Peanut M&M's and Reeses Cups for me) we pressed on to Spearfish, with the Vore Buffalo Jump along the way. Arriving at the jump.  Drastic scenery change. From this vantage point, there is nothing to see, aside from the buildings.  Which was the hole point; the bison had no idea of the sinkhole ahead. The results, over hundreds of years Sixty-six miles into yet another landscape.   1,983 ahead of us.

 Yesterday's stage, and the next couple days, will be delayed due to: Very limited wifi; and,  Good friends of ours from our days in England,  Skippy and his wife Audrey, live in Piedmont, SD.  They are meeting us in Spearfish this evening, and we are staying at their house tomorrow.  I have a strong feeling there will be drinking involved delays.

Beautiful, warm, and calm for today's stage.  Finally. Where the Deer and the Antelope play.  Actually, not sure about the deer, but the place is lousy with antelope. The big reveal. Turns out we have been here before, sort of: On the horizon.  One week shy of 14 years ago. As if the ride to Devil's Tower wasn't already enough, we did the hike around its base.   At the base of the tower.  We rode from the right side of the photo. We spent the night at the Devil's Tower lodge, which isn't in the park, but can only be reached by going through it.  The lodge was, umm, different.  But in a way that is different, but not bad.  Aside from being completely dry, that is.  Definitely a room with a view: Sunrise & Coffee Merely 37 miles; we need to step up the pace.   2049 pace stepping up opportunities ahead.