Relative Something

This is a continuation of yesterday’s post, “Rain Delay”

It was about 20 miles to the first scheduled pause that Thursday morning, a convenience store and gas station at a wide spot of the road called, Clam Lake. We reached the limited cover of the overhang of their roof just as the rain began to establish itself as a soaker. One after another of our group stepped inside to get out of the rain, until the place was filled beyond capacity.

Bikes were parked around the gas pumps and stacked 4-deep under the eaves. They had a television overhead, tuned to the weather channel, and we could see the radar image of doom headed our way. It was going to get worse, before it would get better. Our conductor, Jim Klobuchar, reported that the clerk was okay with our waiting it out in their store.

We entertained ourselves with conversation, and slowly but surely found more and more things to purchase. It started with drinks, moved on to snacks, and eventually included neck gators with skulls on them. Meanwhile, lightning flashed, thunder clapped, and the electricity flashed on and off a few times.

An hour passed. Then another. It was one of the few times when everyone in our group was in the same place at the same time, with nothing to do. It occurred to me that it was a perfect opportunity for the song I wrote, the one that makes reference to, “the trials of surviving a ride through a day-long storm.” The sing-along chorus would work well in this situation, I felt. Too bad I didn’t have my guitar.

I went for it anyway, a capella. Despite not being able to remember all of the verses, standing in front of the checkout counter, singing to the captive audience, worked as well as I could hope. It was a good lift of spirits, and refreshed our bonds of shared adventure. This trip is what we all do, rain or shine.

Eventually, the most threatening band of the storm moved past, and we were given clearance to go out into the rain to pedal to our lunch destination, about 17 miles away.

By the time we reached that stop, everyone was soaked, and a bit chilly. The proprietor met us at the door with towels, which was greatly appreciated, and quite frankly, necessary. After a pizza lunch, the next leg to Hayward would take us right past the driveway of my in-law’s lake home, where we had conveniently stashed a couple of cars at the beginning of the week. I was thoroughly pleased with our fore-planning. A small group of us would pull in there and dry off, warm up, and use the cars to rescue others, after which we could then pick up our bags of gear that would be at the school in town.

Of all the difficulty and drama that we endured in the rain that day, the issue that created the most trouble for everyone ended up being the handling of our bags. Our loyal courier, John, had attempted to unload the bags into the school gym, but was forced out by a representative of the building, being told to place them outside. They sat in the rain long enough to get very, very wet, before the Superintendent showed up and said the bags should be in the building. Poor John had to move them multiple times, and then ended up looking like the bad guy, for letting all our stuff get soaked. It definitely wasn’t his fault.

Word spread that John did the best he could to protect our things, and we were ultimately able to offer up an ovation of appreciation for all he does for us through the week.

Our night at the lake home (while those who failed to find a motel room in town, slept in the gym) was a mix of luxury and laundry. Clothes and gear were spread far and wide in an effort to dry out for the final leg of the ride on Friday, when most folks biked back to their cars.

I and a few friends wouldn’t be biking that stretch of the trip. We stayed one more day, to relax on the lake. It was a wonderful opportunity, especially after that day of riding in the rain.