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.

Cyndie reported some dramatic news on Friday, then she went out of town for the weekend, to her brother’s cabin in Maine, and out of communication. I haven’t heard from her since. I’ll write more about that, when I know more.

So, back to this year’s bike trip. I was dreaming this morning that I was on the trip again, and we were riding in a school bus that was navigating the streets of a town. The locals had marked our route by placing bicycles along the center line, like cones, to guide the bus to our destination. The bus was making a turn and trying to climb up a very steep hill (Bayfield, anyone?). The driver missed a shift and was rolling backwards to get back to a place he could start over and try again. Then, suddenly we were walking up the hill.

We came to a house where we would all stay. I was trying to claim a place to sleep on some furniture in the middle of a room.

I don’t know why a mind does this. The dream was an amalgam of situations that really happened, but morphed, as dreams usually are.

I didn’t ride in a bus this year, but some folks did.

One of the big dramas of the week played out on Thursday, as we pedaled from Mellen to Hayward, the second-to-last day of the trip. I distinctly recall Jim announcing that it was going to be a great day, as he wandered among the tents with his whistle, making his 5:30 a.m. wake-up stroll. He says that often, during these daily rousings, so it can mean a lot of different things, but I sensed it indicated fair weather. I let my guard down a bit.

My first hint of the truth came from John, our trusty baggage handler. When I handed my bag of gear (tent, sleeping bag, clothes) to him, for loading into the trailer, he asked to confirm that I had my rain gear. I made light of it, figuring that I had my riding jacket on the bike, which is all I tend to bother with for riding in rain, as well as a cover for my trunk pack, which is always in one of the pockets.

Then he asked the same question again, in a more serious tone, to be sure I understood what I was in for.

The morning was overcast, but it didn’t appear threatening, so I chose not to dwell on the subject. Also, this was the day we would ride right past the driveway to my in-laws’ lake home, where I planned to spend an extra day, luxuriating with a few friends, while the rest of the group rode the final leg back to their cars. I knew I had options. Good options.

I was feeling pretty strong on the bike that morning, and tagged along on Tim’s wheel at a healthy pace. In an hour or so, the sky took on a more defined color, mostly a dark gray, above the trees in the view ahead of us. We could tell it would be a bit of a race to reach our first rest stop before water started falling from the sky. I think we all picked up the pace just a bit as the drops started painting the pavement. We knew we were close.

the drama will continue, tomorrow…