So continuing on from the last post, updating on the last week…

My first morning in Wisconsin, I took my time getting ready. I took advantage of the bathroom, used it to wash my pot and gathered paper towels to clean my chain, which had become pretty nasty. I also got a fairly good stretch in. Leaving the park, I thought I would put on a decent pace to try to do some high miles, try to make it to Minneapolis a day early. A few miles up the road, pedalling up a good-size hill, I suddenly heard someone biking next to me. I was startled to turn and see a man right beside me. I want to remember that his name is Gary. He is an Ironman, on his last bike ride before the Ironman triathlon next week out of Madison. We rode together for a while, chatting about triathlons and touring. I think we were both equally in awe of each other. If you don’t know, the Ironman consists of 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of biking, followed by a marathon- 26.2 miles of running -all in one day. You have 17 hours to complete the competition. It was nice talking to him about it, and I think it may be something for me to consider trying sometime in the near future.

After a few miles we stopped to look at my map, as he had some thoughts about what route I should go. As we looked over the roads, his riding partner caught up and joined in the conversation. She was a very attractive German woman named Petra. When I told her my name is Otis, she said she only knew one other person named Otis, a German man. She said she didn’t like the name. I guess it wasn’t meant to be for us. Oh well. She also was not game for joining me on my trip when I offered. Shoot. Guess I’ll continue on alone.

Back on the road, the day was heating up, but I was still pushing, aiming for a day of good mileage. My rear tire had other plans. I stopped at a local market to check out the fruit selection and noticed that the air was low in my rear tire. I pulled out the pump and began inflating but soon heard that the air was just rushing out as quickly as I could inflate. I realized there was a hole in the tube and tire and I would need to patch.

While I was in Chicago, riding around to grocery and thrift stores, I skid to a stop on the road at a light. I didn’t mean to skid, it just happened. With over 2500 miles on the tires already, they seem to be getting to a breaking point, and the skid left a four or five inch tear in the rubber, exposing the protective kevlar underneath. The kevlar is tough, and great for preventing punctures, but when it is left uncovered, exposed to the force of friction, it wears down fairly quickly. So my rear wheel is falling apart now, the kevlar quickly wearing down to the inner layer of rubber. It was through this exposed patch that the puncture had occurred.

I patched the tube easily, but then I had to figure out what to do about the tire. With still over 200 miles to go to Julie’s place, I was really weary of just leaving it as is, taking the chance of another flat in the same spot. I also knew I wasn’t going to be passing through any big towns for a bit to purchase a new one. This tire would have to make it to Minneapolis. Luckily I had some extra rim tape, which is a tough layer of fibrous material you put between the tube and the rim of the wheel to help prevent pinch flats. I cut some lenghts of the rim tape and lined the inside of the tire at the site of the missing outer rubber, using my handy-dandy electical tape. Put the tube and tire back on the rim and pumped it up, and it seemed to hold air. All I could do was hope it would work.

So what was planned as a quick fruit break quickly became an hour and a half layover to patch a tube and tire. I was a bit sluggish in my work pace, as it was then midday and very warm. I was able to find some shade, but the heat still slowed me down. I continued on, and a few miles later I came across another local produce market. I thought I would stop in there and see if they had any bananas or kiwi, as I was in need of some potassium, and the previous market did not have any. I was just going to do a quick run through the parking lot to survey the situation, but pulling in I spotted a fellow bike traveler. I haven’t really passed many other tourers throughout this trip, so I was eager for some conversation.

The guy was young, about my age, heading from Portland back to his home in Virginia. He had just come from traveling around South America with a buddy, traveling by bus, went back to Portland with his friend and decided to bike back home. We talked for a good half hour or 45 minutes about our trips and our bikes and what not. It was a nice break, but I think we both knew we needed to get back out on the road. We exchanged emails and went our separate ways.

Despite my setbacks in time, I was feeling generally better that day. My spirits had definitely been lifted by my conversations and the little bit of tail wind I had caught. It was a beautiful sunset, passing through Amish country. I considered stopping in and asking for a place to sleep from some of them, but I decided to push on through the dark and do some more miles. Even though I knew I wasn’t going to make it to Julie’s a day early, like I hoped, I knew I still had a ways to go and would have to push it to make it there at a decent time on Tuesday. I ended up stopping at a city park in a town called Readstown. There were a bunch of locals there for a softball tournament. I figured I would be able to talk to some people there, but rolling up, I didn’t get a friendly vibe from everyone. It wasn’t that they didn’t seem to like me, just that it was obvious I was a stranger and they were all too comfortable to keep their conversations among themselves, the people they already knew. Really, I wasn’t feeling too conversational myself, so I really didn’t mind too much.

I slept that night under the open sky, right by the Kickapoo river. Surprisingly, there were no mosquitoes, which was nice. The next morning I really took my time getting ready to leave. I cooked breakfast and stretched well and listened to music. It was just what I needed. As I was getting ready, the whole town was returning to the park, this time for a horse show and a tractor pull. I thought about sticking around for the tractor pull, because I have never seen one before, but I figured it probably wasn’t worth the time.

Riding out, I felt very relaxed, and I thought to myself that this was going to be a no bullshit kind of day. No putting on smiles or fake laughs during conversations with strangers, just straight-up honesty. It worked well, and I had a good conversation with a guy outside a Wal-mart in Viroqua, where I stopped to fill up on water and use the bathroom. He had lived in Memphis for a bit and was friendly enough.

After leaving Viroqua, I turned onto a smaller highway that would take me straight west to the Mississippi River. I was getting into really hilly country in western Wisconsin, and I figured that if I rode along the river as much as possible I would probably have flatter riding. Taking this road was exactly what I needed. There were hardly any cars, so I was able to relax more and take up the road, weave around as I watched the scenery go by. At one point I stopped to take a piss under a bridge and stretch for a moment. As I was getting off my bike and stretching a bit, a truck pulled up and with an heir of general friendliness, a man and woman asked if everything was alright. I told them it was all fine, just taking a stretch break, and they continued on. It was a nice little moment of compassion from some friendly folk. Not too long after I came up to the hilly part of the road. The hills were long and steep and required a lot of effort to pedal up, but I just stood up and took my time, sweating it out. It was just the kind of adversity I needed to help me relax. And the downhills that followed were always glorious, as long and steep as the uphills, making for some sweet rewards for my effort. And with no cars around, I could take up the whole lane and weave and drift at my leisure. It was nice.

Reaching the Mississippi felt great. The highway paralleling the river had a wide shoulder, and I was blessed with a slight tailwind, so I was content. I stopped in the city of La Crosse to get a bite to eat before heading across the bridge into the state of Minnesota. In Minnesota, the riding became very scenic, with tree-covered hills and cliffs to the left and the mighty Mississippi rolling along to the right.

Only a few miles into the state, traveling on the same highway I had been on through most of Wisconsin, US 14/61, I came across a junction where Interstate 90 merged with the highway for a bit. Not having a state map or knowing any alternatives to remaining on this highway, I figured I would just keep going. As I rolled up the slight hill that joined the state highway with the busy interstate, it was impossible to miss the big sign denoting the illegality of riding a bicycle on the interstate. I saw it, I understood it. I’ve ridden on freeways before; it’s never fun, but there are generally very wide shoulders and the fast traffic and general lack of beautiful scenery makes for some fast-paced riding. Of course, as I entered the freeway, I knew that there was going to be some kind of confrontation. Despite the dozen or so other times I’ve broken this law, I knew this was going to be the time I got caught. Sure enough, a few miles down the road, as I was finally figuring out the exit I needed to get back on the smaller highway, I see a cop car coming the other way, lights on, slowing down to make a U-turn at a crossover. I knew he was coming for me. I didn’t look back, though. Soon enough he gave a quick buzz of the siren noise. I slowed to a stop, got off, and leaned my bike against the guard rail. I approached the officer, a highway patrolman, as he exited his car, instantly spouting off an apology for being on the interstate. ‘I’m sorry sir, I know I’m not supposed to be on the interstate. I didn’t realize it was an interstate until I was already on it, and now I was just waiting for an exit I could take.’ He wasn’t into it. ‘Well, you know why I’m giving you a ticket then.’ Shit.

I gave him my Tennessee id, and he asked some questions.

Is this where you live?

It’s my homebase.

How long have you been on the road?

Two months.

Where’s your home now?

Where ever I get to every night. Where I lay my head.

When are you going back to Knoxville?

I don’t know. Not for a while; I’m probably moving somewhere else.

Well, that was not the right answer. Having said that, he informed me I would have to pay the bail on the spot, given that he didn’t know how I could be accounted for. He went back to his car to find out how much the ticket would be.

I was playing it cool, but as he searched and talked on his radio, I realized it was in my best interest to not play it too cool. I wanted some sympathy from this guy, not for him to think I’m some kind of arrogant prick. We were still on the side of the highway, and over his loudspeaker he told me to pull off at the next exit, just about 300 yards ahead, so we could be safer.

As I biked to the off-ramp and down to the smaller street below, I thought about what could happen. Obviously I most-likely did not have enough cash to cover the ticket, no matter how much it was. I could put it on my credit card, but would I want to. My other option would be jail. Would that really be so bad? A warm place to sleep, meals, maybe a shower. Definitely a convenient toilet. If it was just for one night, should I take that option? I thought it might be a good idea.

On the side of the smaller road, the officer told me the ticket was $120. Damn! He asked if I had that much money on me. Nope, not even close. I asked what my options were, meaning payment options. ‘Jail,’ was his reply. I asked if they took credit card. He made a call. Nope, not anymore. So, what to do? We talked for a bit, and it was clear he was becoming more sympathetic. He knew that was a ridiculous charge to make me pay. I told him where I was going but that I didn’t have a state road map; I was hoping to pick one up in the morning. He got out of his car, fished in his back seat, and pulled one out for me. He told me the road we were on, that was what I should have taken instead of the interstate. I lied and told him that I hadn’t seen the big sign informing me it was an interstate, no bikes allowed. I don’t think he really bought it, but it didn’t matter. He told me he was going to let me off with a warning, but he put in the computer that he had warned me and if I was found on the interstate again, I should be arrested and sent to jail, no ticket or questions. I was fine with that. By this point it was around 6, maybe, the beginning of dusk. He said I should probably be looking for a place to stop for the night soon and asked if I had any reflective clothing, like a vest. I told him I had the proper lights. He seemed genuinely concerned and said I should have a safety vest. He fished in his trunk for a minute and pulled out a brand new, yellow and orange, vest with high-quality reflective tape. ‘A gift from the state of Minnesota,’ he said as he tossed it to me. Damn, that’s pretty nice.

As he got back in his car, I packed up the road map and the vest in one of my rear bags and got back on the bike. As I started to pull away, the officer got back on the loudspeaker. ‘Put the vest on. You either wear the vest or go to jail.’ I told him I was going to wait until dark, but I would put it on now. So I did. I also put my helmet on, which I hadn’t been wearing all day. I figured I would make a good impression for him, since he had been so generous.

So on I went, quite visibly, down the smaller highway. The officer pulled away, back on to the interstate, I’m sure. I wasn’t really comfortable in the vest, as it was too big and surprisingly very warm, but I kept it on for a while, thinking the cop might roll by at any time to check on me. After 20 minutes, it became too much to bear, and even though it had cooled down a bit as the sun was beginning to set, the vest was way too hot. I strapped it on top of my rear rack, so that it would still be very visible to those behind me. I’m very grateful for the gift, and while I don’t intend to use it as a vest, I do have some plans to cut it up and use the parts. The reflective tape they use is very expensive, something I would never pay for myself, but now that I have some, I can put it on my bags or my helmet or my frame. Also, the fluorescent orange and yellow could come in handy for decoration for my waist pack or bags or something. Who knows what I’ll come up with. Also, getting the free map from the cop was awesome. I was afraid I was going to have to pay for one of those, as it was still a holiday weekend and few places would probably be open that supply that necessity.

I pushed on more, through the dark, knowing I needed to cover some good miles that night to make my next day a little easier. I wanted to get to Julie’s before dark so I could have a more relaxing day. Once I got past the decent-sized town of Winona, there wasn’t much for miles. The highway was completely dark, which would have been nice, but the shoulder was very patchy. It required all of my energy to focus on the 4 square feet of concrete that my front light illuminates to try to avoid bumps and holes. At one point I somehow missed a big dip, a three-foot break in the concrete. I hit it hard, and it managed to send one of my rear panniers, which are generally very securely attached to my rack, flying off into the road. The other pannier half came off and was dangling down into my leg. It really scared me. Luckily no cars were coming right away and I was able to gather my bag with no problem. But with it being so dark, I couldn’t tell for sure if anything else had flown off, and with no guard rail or anything to lean my bike against, I had to reattach my panniers while holding the bike up, illuminating my workspace with my flashlight in my mouth. Not an easy task even during the day, let alone in the middle of the night. I was able to get it all back together and after a few minutes of shining the light around, felt confident nothing else had been knocked off. I was weary, however, from that point on, and slowed my pace and really racked my eyes to see what lay ahead. It wasn’t fun. At one point, I also almost hit a skunk. Not cool. No spray, though. That would really have sucked.

Finally, just before ten, I reached a tiny town called Minneiska, pop. 120 or so. It was quiet and closed up. Seemed like everyone was either in bed or getting ready for bed. There were two bars, but they were already closed. One had a few people inside, so I decided to knock and ask about finding a place to sleep. They were friendly, invited me in, told me about a boat launch area in town where canoists camped often. I had two beers, which I hope were intended to be on the house. I only left a tip. Actually, one of the guys said he would cover them as I was leaving. So that was good.

A little before midnight I left the bar and headed down to the boat launch area. I wanted to set up my hammock, as I knew there would be mosquitoes, but there was only one tree, so that wouldn’t work too well. So I figured I would cowboy up and just sleep on the ground, under the open sky. Everything was cool as I got ready for bed, layed out my sleeping bag, brushed my teeth, but as I was finishing up my brushing, I noticed a raccoon creeping toward my bike. I ran over and chased it off, but I became weary. I started looking around for rocks to throw, should it return. All I found at first were a few pebbles, but I gathered a handful. Sure enough, it came back a few minutes later. I threw the rocks, and it scurried off in a different direction. Well shit. I really did not want to deal with a raccoon all night, and I figured it would surely come back again at some point. So I gathered up my sleeping bag and sleeping pad and began pushing my bike up the hill back up to the bar. It was tough, my bag fell a few times, and I was exhausted.

I made it up finally, and no one was at the bar anymore. I knew one of the owners lived upstairs, and he was friendly, so I decided I would just lay out in the lawn in front of the bar. I didn’t really care anymore at that point. It was almost 1am. I thought the mosquitoes might be fewer being uphill from river, but that wasn’t the case. So I was wearing long sleeves, long pants, to keep them off, but it was quite hot and muggy. I was sweating like crazy. It seemed nearly impossible to get any sleep. The heat and humidity was nearly unbearable, especially being in my sleeping bag, but the mosquitos were so pesky, and all I wanted to do was bury my whole head inside the bag. It took at least an hour to fall asleep, and once asleep, I woke up several times. I woke up for good with the sun, around 6am. I could have tried to go back to sleep, but some people were already up and driving off to work, and I knew I had some miles to cover, so I just got up and packed up.

Riding early morning was nice, not very many cars on the road. After I stopped for breakfast for a bit, however, traffic started to pick up and fatigue from lack of sleep started to kick in. I pushed on anyway. I knew I had to. I made it to Red Wing, a decent sized town, where I knew I could get on the internet, the first time in four days. I stopped at a grocery store first to get some fruit, and just as I got my bike under the awning, it started pouring down rain. That lasted for 20 minutes or so, as I browsed the fruit and bought some hot chicken and broccoli casserole from the deli.

After getting on the internet and writing the beginning to this saga, I headed back out. It was cloudy, but I figured the rain was done for the day. The wind, however, which most of the day had been light and at my back, had altered to fierce and in my face. It was brutal, and I was anxious at first. No matter how much you push, though, you just can’t go fast into a 20mph headwind. So really, it was good. There was no escaping the wind slapping me in the face, no matter which way the road turned, and I just had to accept it. Of course, then came the hills.

The first must have been at least two miles long. Every time I thought I could see the crest, the point at which it must surely level out or begin into decent, I would pass around a curve and see that it wound on, continuing up. What else could I do but push on, slow and steady, fighting wind and gravity with all my strength. It really put me in a good mental space, and I began to feel at peace with where I was. When I finally reached the top of the hill, however, I was dissapointed, despite the fact I knew it was coming, to find that there was no beautiful downhill, just miles and miles of rolling hills ahead.

It was a brutal section, and a few miles into the rolling hills, I changed highways, and the new one had really no shoulder at all, maybe three inches between the white line and a four inch (or more) drop off into sandy dirt. Traffic was lighter, but big trucks did come through sporadically, and I was forced off the roadway a few times to let them pass. I stopped in a tiny town to use the restroom at the only establishment I could find, a bar/restuarant. I was starving, and I didn’t see any stores in town, and I didn’t know how far the next town would be, and the hills were getting brutal, wearing me out, so I asked if they had anything cheap and filling. The bartender gave me a menu. I ordered a cup of chicken and rice soup, and a few locals came in and started talking to me. They were really nice, just some local farmers/laborers, good ol’ boys, you might call them. I had some really great conversation with three of them, and they asked me a lot of questions, told me I was crazy, convinced I was gonna get creamed riding down the road. They ended up paying for my soup and buying me a beer. I told them I was headed to Montana, and they said I should hitch a ride with some trucks that were going out that way to pick up some cattle on Friday. I was tempted, really I was. In the end, I told them I would ride.

So I left with some food and a beer in my belly, feeling really good. The wind didn’t really let up much, but the hills did taper off as I pushed on. It was getting toward dark, and I still had over 20 miles to go, so I called my cousin and arranged to have her pick me up about 12 miles from her place. After a night of very little sleep and a day of tough hills and headwinds, I didn’t feel bad at all about not riding that last bit through the dark.

Julie and her boyfriend Ron and I got some food in the city, and I had a night of plenty of sleep. Yesterday was not terribly productive, but that’s okay. I needed some rest. Today I am headed into the city to get new tires and possibly swap out my handlebars. The new ones are better than the ones I had, but I think I may just go back to some standard drop-down bars. My hands have been hurting lately. So I must be getting along to catch a train into downtown. Tomorrow I plan on heading out again, beginning what will be a long trek toward Great Falls. I still need to pick up a heavier jacket, as my uncle says there is always a chance of a freeze in September, but I did find some waterproof shoes for six bucks yesterday at a Goodwill. I’m pretty stoked about that.

While I wasn’t before, I am looking forward to this next segment. I don’t feel rushed to get there anymore, and I’m starting to come to terms that I am not going to beat the cold weather, and I might as well just take it as it comes. I’m so tired of deadlines and anxiety. I just want to enjoy myself again. I want to relax and let the cards fall as they may. I’m done with rushing around for now.