Posts Tagged ‘bike camping’
Touring Today
Image of the author captured during the annual June ride in 2009.
This morning, specifically, at the hour this is published today, I will be packing up my tent and preparing my bag for the luggage trailer. Our gear gets transported to tonight’s campsite by truck, allowing us to enjoy the luxury of riding with minimal added weight for the entire day.
It is the start of the 2017 Tour of Minnesota bike ride.
Since this is a vacation for me, I will be extending the break from my routine to include a pause in my daily blogging habit, but don’t for a minute think I would neglect to prepare in advance for posts to show up while I am away.
Similar to years past, when I have reposted a week of revisited “Words on Images” creations, or last year’s portraits of biking jerseys, I have created pre-scheduled posts to entertain you while I’m gone.
This year, as much for my sake as yours, I am going to revisit some of my history with this annual June ride.
Since today is the start of this year’s ride, I will go back to my start as a participant in what was then commonly referred to as the “Jaunt with Jim.”
The “Jim” was Jim Klobuchar, who at the time was a columnist with the StarTribune newspaper. I had been a fan of his writing for years, as well as a long-time cyclist with a curiosity about days-long riding and camping. 1994 happened to be the 20th year he was conducting these rides, which he convinced the StarTribune to sponsor.
Their promotion of the event caught my eye at a time I was ready to give it a try. With little needed effort, I talked a neighboring 16-year-0ld to accompany me for this maiden voyage.
We made a good travel pair, despite our age difference, which freed most of my attention for discovery of the new people and experiences on the ride. One of the main things I remember about that first ride was what glorious weather we enjoyed.
It being the 20th year of this event, the majority of participants seemed to be long-time veterans, which led to a wealth of stories from their archives about the trials and tribulations of carrying all their camping gear on the bikes in most of the earlier years, as well as the varieties of difficult weather they endured on multiple occasions.
In 1994 we had it easy. It was dry, with pleasant temperatures, and on the few days with wind, it was at our backs.
That helped to plant the seed of inspiration that led to our eventual return. However, the real kicker that sealed my fate of riding again with Jim’s group was the fabulous people we’d met that first year and the amount of fun they had together as a riding and camping community.
This amazing collection of people have become extended family for me. In the middle of June, I do everything I can to be among them again, no matter what the weather dishes out.
Tomorrow… Who is the very first couple we meet?
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Perfect Weather
I am visualizing perfect weather for a week of bicycling and tent camping. It could happen.
This morning I will hope to get the property mowed at the last minute so the grass shouldn’t be too long when I return to cut it again next Friday. This afternoon I will load up my bike and gear in the car and depart for a week of vacation.
This trip may not offer much chance to catch up on sleep, but I will have ample opportunity to take a mental break from the daily grind, and I will eat and laugh heartily with some very special like-minded cycling friends. This trip is a wonderful mental vacation because I don’t need to make any major decisions. The daily meals, the route, and the camping locations are all predetermined.
I just show up and ride. Oh, maybe I will waffle over what jersey to put on each day, but that’s about as complicated as it will get. Last night, I laid out gear and clothes while trying to imagine the usual routines of the week, in attempt to prepare for everything.
I would do myself a favor to now review the choices I made and divide it in half. I don’t think there has been a year where I ever needed everything I usually pack. Last year, I tried traveling lighter than my usual. This year, I would like to improve on that.
Just hoping the days near Lake Superior won’t complicate things. That massive body of water is a very effective air conditioner and can drop the temperature dramatically if the breeze flows from the direction of the lake. Warm clothes and packing light conflict a little when it comes to my wardrobe.
Over the years, I’ve heard tales of a wide range of essential items being forgotten by participants. I would like to avoid making an unplanned purchase of a critical item, so I will be working off a cheat sheet. Oddly, it seems I have filed away my master list from the many prior years I’ve done this trip.
Making a new list. I can remember to bring everything on my list, but did I remember to put everything I want on the list? Yeah, that’s the trick.
As long as I have my bike, both wheels, my cycling shoes and helmet, tent, sleeping bag, and pad, I’m good. Other than some clothes, the rest is all non-essential. I will bring my guitar this year, though, since the weather is going to be perfect.
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Tight Tenting
On Wednesday, our bike trip destination was Lake Bemidji State Park. We arrived in time to eat lunch there, before the baggage truck had even delivered our gear. Since this park did not have a group camping site large enough to house all our tents in one location, ride director Bob divided us into two groups.
Even at half the number of campers, it looked like we would barely fit. The tents were going to need to be set very close together. Luckily, this group knows how to do close.
Since we didn’t yet have our bags with the tents in them, people began to claim their plot by laying down their bicycles in the spot where they hoped to erect their tent.
By the time the truck with our luggage arrived, impending rain was beginning to threaten its arrival. The area behind the truck took on the appearance of an airport baggage claim station as folks took turns stepping in to grab their gear the second it appeared.
In a flurry of expert efficiency, our tent city popped up very quickly.
In this situation, it was going to be very difficult to achieve much in the way of the isolation we value for reducing auditory sleep interruptions that happen at close quarters. Tent fabric is a very poor sound dampening wall material. We share every cough, sniffle, burp, fart, hiccup, and snore that human bodies are prone to do.
Actually, the more onerous irritant often doesn’t come from our bodies, but from our equipment. Tent zippers, noisy sleeping pads, and plastic storage bags can make an incredible amount of ruckus after it gets dark and voices have grown hushed.
My friends, Rich and Doobie, got creative and tucked their tents with mine between some bushes on a teeny strip of green between driveways.
Any port in a storm.
We were so close that our rain flies were tied to each other to keep them from sagging onto the tent walls. It is a good thing we didn’t get much more rain than what fell, because there wasn’t a very good route for water to drain away from the middle spot where three rain flies all sloped together.
I’m happy to boast that I don’t have much trouble with these tight conditions, because I am always so exhausted by sunset that I fall unconscious asleep very quickly and miss all but the most egregious clamoring that sometimes can occur in the middle of the night.
When I do happen to notice a particularly loud snorer, I tend to return to sleep easily while pondering how in the world individuals who make loud snoring sounds don’t wake themselves up when they are so close to all that noise.
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Almost Gone
Today is my last day of work before my week off to go biking and camping. That produces a natural desire to wrap up loose ends and clear my head of as many lingering issues as possible. Already, the biggest burden has been lifted. We learned yesterday that a significant meeting that had been scheduled to happen during my absence, ended up needing to be postponed. I won’t have to miss it after all.
Tonight, I hope to cram in as many ranch chores as possible before diving into the challenge of deciding what needs to be packed in preparation for tomorrow morning’s departure. Will it be hot, cold, wet, windy, or a little of each over the course of the week?
This year’s itinerary for the Tour of Minnesota will be:
June 17th – camp in Brainerd
June 18th – bike to Walker
June 19th – bike to Park Rapids
June 20th – bike to Itasca State Park
June 21st – day off while camped in Itasca
June 22nd – bike to Bemidji State Park
June 23rd – bike to Pine River
June 24th – bike back to Brainerd
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At least I don’t have to worry about what to bring for a snack.
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Mixed Results
There has been enough progress from my last application of organic weed killer to see where it works, and where it doesn’t. I’m getting mixed results. Close inspection of the image will reveal some remaining leaves of poison ivy that are very green and healthy. Either they are new sprouts since I sprayed, or I missed them completely.
It is possible that I missed some leaves, because there are so many other growing plants in the vicinity, it is hard to see. I wasn’t about to reach down and move things out of the way to get a better view. When I spray poison ivy, I do so at an arm’s length.
When the weed killer hits the mark, it works very well. I will just make a point of returning at the next opportunity to apply another dose. It gets easier each time to spot the leftover plants remaining. I learned last year that more than one application would be required, after new growth sprouted in place of the first batch I had killed.
I never got the chance to do that follow-up application, and instead focused on readying ourselves to make a fresh attack this summer with the new sprayer and a new gallon of concentrated citrus-based weed killer.
On another subject, speaking of mixed results, I mentioned to Cyndie that I was considering creating a custom sweet and salty trail mix to take on the bike trip this year. She had me make a shopping list of ingredients so she could pick some things up on a grocery run yesterday.
What a bounty of choices I found on the kitchen counter when I got home from work! I concocted a bizarre combination of items, measuring each to calculate a rough sugar-grams-per-serving value so I would know what I’m getting when I dive in ravenously after a day’s ride.
When we arrive at the evening destinations, the first thing to be dealt with is finding the best spot for our tents. In that weary moment when helmets get dropped, bike shoes come off, and our baggage has been claimed, I find it an incredible pleasure when one precious friend or another shows up with something to munch on.
A primitive part of my brain is usually begging for sustenance to replenish the deficit it perceives after the day of pedaling. I don’t know why the body can’t just use up some of my extra middle inches for fuel at that point, but it never seems to work out that way for me.
It’s too easy to gobble up some new deliciousness before the body ever gets around to trimming the belly. I definitely gain fitness over the week of biking, but with all the eating we do along the way, the results are usually mixed.
An oft-used byline for the collection of folks who form the core community of this ride is… we are an eating group with a biking disorder.
I resemble that remark.
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Pedaling Upwind
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Seriously, we agreed to go, and even paid for the privilege of riding bicycles in a region that is so windy that they hold National Championship windsurfing competitions and power companies put up wind turbine farms.
What were we thinking?
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Maybe more of us would have thought twice about dealing with that wind if we would have known that the region was also going to be soaked by repeating waves of massive thunderstorms creating flash floods that closed roads, destroyed crops, and trapped a lot of cows.
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We witnessed innumerable fields with large amounts of topsoil sediment dropped in the lowest draining corner, and even more fields with massive amounts of previous year’s dead stalks and debris pushed into piles where it flowed over roads, or dropped in winding patterns when flood waters receded.
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Luckily, the camaraderie and shared accomplishment of like-minded friends proves to be a superb distraction from how miserable we might otherwise feel were we to endure such dreadful conditions alone. Riding while chatting —when the winds aren’t gusting so severely as to make that impossible— is a great way to cover long miles and not notice how far you’ve actually gone. We had opportunities to experience a little of both situations on this year’s ride.
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To Pipestone
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The way my mind works, I’ve got the perception that it rained on us every day except the very last, but the opening line of my journal entry for Tuesday, June 17 is, “Did not rain during the ride.” This was the day that our ride leader, Bob, got up extra early along with a few others and set out on a scouting mission to ascertain the integrity of our planned route. Also from my journal entry: “Only 1 detour required due to flood.”
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When I left home for the start of this trip, I was in Wisconsin. We drove across much of the width of Minnesota to reach the departure for the bike ride. On Sunday we rode a stretch into Iowa and back again. Now, Tuesday, we crossed into South Dakota, reaching Devil’s Gulch Park in Garretson. I achieved 4 states this week! I’m glad we aren’t required to have passports to traverse state borders.
The park wasn’t actually open, but they were kind enough to accommodate us and our bikes, even though staff were in the middle of trying to reconstruct the entry road that had been washed out by flooding. We enjoyed quite a spectacle in seeing the gulch at a time when flood water was raging through.
The myth associated with this gulch is that in 1876 outlaw Jesse James spurred his horse to leap across the 20-foot gorge, escaping a posse that was after him. I’m in the camp of those who consider this myth to be a tall tale used to enhance the allure of the park. It’s really not necessary when the water is high. There was some powerful water energy raging through that ravine while we were there, making our visit well worth the diversion.
Our lunch stop in Jasper was at a park. Most everywhere we paused for a snack or meal we found ourselves forced to navigate standing water around pavilions. This park offered the added adventure of trying to use picnic tables that were engulfed in the branches of a fallen tree. It seemed so darn appropriate for the type of week we were having that people simply carried on as if it was a normal everyday thing.
When we arrived at Pipestone and showered, I was feeling pretty lousy with my sore throat and developing cold symptoms. I passed up a chance to go see Blue Mounds State Park and took a nap in my tent, instead.
When I awoke, I discovered that my tent neighbor, first-year rider, Doobie, had landscaped his front yard and assembled a welcome mat. Priceless.
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If there is any truth to the familiar advice to “feed a cold and starve a fever,” I was a champion of feeding my cold this night. After a complete meal with ice cream for dessert, I accepted an offer to walk to another restaurant for pie. Luckily, Julie shared bites of hers, because there was no way I could eat a piece by myself. I was stuffed.
Even though we didn’t ride in rain this day, that doesn’t mean it didn’t rain. My journal entry for Tuesday closes with: “Lightning show with thunder and rain while I was writing this in tent before sleeping.”
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Lovin’ Luverne
My journal entry for Monday, June 16th contains the words ‘storm’ or ‘storming’ three times for the one day: “storm coming;” “storming intensifies;” and “still storming.” It was also the first indication of illness for me, as I awoke that morning with a severe and entirely unwelcome sore throat.
It was our off-day from riding and we were in Luverne, MN. I don’t think there is a better place we could have been for our break from riding on this trip, despite Luverne seeming to be the epicenter of the repeating waves of rain soaking thunderstorms inundating the region. The Chamber of Commerce and people of Luverne treated us like royalty.
Sunday night’s dinner was at Blue Mound Banquet Center and included live music. Transportation shuttles were made available to us day and night by Luverne Trolley LLC. There was the drive-in theater party room, and the following night a meeting room at the GrandStay hotel for watching USA in the World Cup. A handful of us met there and ordered pizzas delivered from The Pizza Ranch while flooding rains poured down outside.
We started the morning with a breakfast at Vinnie’s, a place that is deceiving from the outside, and thrilling on the inside, with walls decorated by album covers from my youth and metal lunch boxes hanging from the ceiling. The menus hang on a spring-loaded chain overhead and the breakfasts were home-style-cooked diner delicious. After a walk to a drug store for supplies, we visited “Those Blasted Things” gift shop to check out the rocks and gems, where I got Rich and Mel to pose with the buffalo statue out front.
I was particularly thrilled by the Rock County Courthouse Square gallery building that contains a superb military museum on the upper floors and a gallery of Jim Brandenburg’s photography on the lower levels. Just down the street from there we took a tour of The Hinkly House, built in 1892 by the Mayor at that time, and spectacularly restored and maintained as a National Historic Site.
With the convenience of the Trolley service, we were able to navigate the crazy, intense weather and still take in at least that much of what Luverne has to offer. I was happy to be able to return to the school between a couple of our excursions in time to tighten up the tie-downs on the rainfly of my tent just before one particularly wicked, rotating cloud formation rolled into town at full force.
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Spectacular Solution
The Sunday of our ride falls on “Father’s Day.” After breakfast this day, we received a special treat: the daughter of our baggage handler and her friend sang a song they composed for the occasion. It brought tears to the eyes and received an immediate and emphatic standing ovation.
It wasn’t raining when we started out, but it was soaking wet from non-stop overnight thunderstorms. We were provided a police escort out of Worthington which moved so fast ahead of us that we could hardly keep up. Out on the open road, we eventually ride into heavy rain again.
Our lunch destination was far enough away that two rest stops were established ahead of it. The 20-plus miles to the first stop seemed long. The 20-some miles from there to lunch felt even longer. I think it was the wind. Rumors could be heard that flooding was causing road closures
Despite the hardships, I had several opportunities to visit with other riders, which is one of the most precious aspects of this ride, and helps toward achieving miles unnoticed. By the time we arrived at our lunch stop, the sky cleared and we were able to enjoy warm sunshine. It felt disorienting, because all around us there seemed to be standing water, and rumor had turned to fact, as news of a dam breaking on the Rock River was confirmed as the cause of roads being closed.
Under the beautiful blue sky, our freshman leader was forced to ad-lib a solution to a very fluid problem. Roads that might be open one minute, could close in an instant. He plotted solutions with 4 different agencies simultaneously, sometimes receiving conflicting reports from each. For a while, even the interstate highway was shut down.
In the middle of that drama, an isolated squall passed by, making sure we stayed aware of the fact we remained at the mercy of momma nature. Then a most spectacular solution unfolded before our eyes. One of the local support people called in a favor and rousted a brother with an 18-wheel tractor/trailer rig. They would put our bikes in the truck, and the riders in buses and cars, to shuttle us around the flooding in order to get us where we needed to be.
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I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been standing right there. The truck arrives and the trailer has “Cycle Country” painted across the side. The driver didn’t seem to notice, reporting that he bought the used trailer simply to haul junk and scrap that he rips out of demolition jobs. A random few of us hop up to catch bikes being lifted up, handing them forward to others who took initiative to delicately position the precious cargo for best protection and fit. A hundred-some bikes, tangled together so there was nowhere for them to fall, filled the trailer right to the end.
The truck pulled away to a smattering of jokes about the probability of the cargo being sold off to the highest bidder in some other town down the road. 
Someone showed up with beer to add to the festive feeling of the unfolding events, and we awaited the arrival of shuttles.
Even before it had completely played out, this day was becoming legend. No matter what else happened to us during the rest of this ride, we already had one very unforgettable event that would join famous stories from the prior 39-years of this biking/camping group.
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Riding Wet
Last week I posted little snippets that describe some aspects of my annual June bike/camping trip. Much about it is the same every year, in a general sense, but each trip has its special moments that go down as memories that stand apart. I will attempt to describe my adventures of this year’s Tour of Minnesota, looking back at it from the comfort of now being warm and dry.
It was a wet year. Here are some headlines for the week from my favorite weather blog, Updraft: “Warm front sets the stage for stormy period,” “Flooding rains drench parts of Minn.; more on the way,” “Severe threat unfolding tonight; tornado watch west,” “Epic flood threat and severe risk continue,” “Uncle! 2014 is wettest year on record so far.”
I have done this ride when there was no rain for the entire week. Other years we have been able to ride dry every day, and rain fell only at night. Often, there will be one or two days when we must endure the inevitably wet day. It was overcast on the Saturday that we started our ride from Jackson, MN, heading for Worthington. I didn’t put on a jacket because I tend to overheat when covered up. It didn’t exactly rain on that first leg, but you could feel a sprinkle of wind-blown wetness that was falling. The sky ahead conveyed the obviousness of the source.
I was thoroughly enjoying chatting with another rider about my new adventure with horses, as the wetness increased and our first rest stop loomed an unknown distance away. She stopped to put on rain gear, but I elected to push on. Real rain was just beginning to fall as I navigated my way beneath the pavilion. Everyone after me was riding in a soaking rain.
During our rest stop, the thunderstorm rolled over us in full force, unleashing a bolt of lightning and crash of thunder that elicited shrieks. We extended our stay under the roof at this rest stop for a bit longer. Ride leader, Bob Lincoln, was monitoring radar and knew there would be no ‘backside’ of this system. He held us in place until the first hint of a reduction in intensity, and then sent us toward our lunch stop.
There are portions of this year’s ride of which I will have no photos to offer. For much of the trip, my camera was bagged and buried in my trunk to keep it dry. We rode through a blustery downpour that continued to be peppered with startling bolts of lightning and cracks of thunder. At this point of soaking wet riding, you suck it up and just accept it. Once you get wet, you don’t need to worry about getting any wetter. You hope to get it over with, paying these dues in search of drier days ahead. Little did we know at the time…
Lunch was under another pavilion, but sitting in the breeze, soaking wet, people were getting chilled. They opened a school for us. There wasn’t as much lightning, but the ride from lunch to Worthington was still pretty wet. The wild weather had forced a change in venue from camping in the park to getting refuge in their school. As I led a small group in search of the new destination, we came upon the National Championship Windsurfing regatta and witnessed all the vendors that had been forced to close down their booths.
Following directions from locals, we pedaled into neighborhood roads that were flooded, forcing us to ad-lib alternate routes. It was only our first day, but by the time I settled into my sleeping bag, perched on the landing of a stairway in a dark hallway in the school, I felt like we had been battling for several.
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Relative Something 