Grand Rapids, Minnesota - For some reason, the beautiful library here is closed on Saturdays, so I'm bogarting some Web time from the local Chamber of Commerce. Hence the terseness of this message.
After Minot, I continued heading southeast to Fargo, North Dakota, right on the Minnesota border, where I spent the Fourth of July. (And may I say, after suffering through about a week of trying to sleep in various city parks while people were setting off fireworks 1/4 mile away, thanks goodness that holiday's over.) I really enjoyed Fargo - it has an attractive downtown area, a huge number of bike trails, and the world's largest sporting goods store - though I didn't make it to the latter.
Fargo sits right on the Minnesota border, and I crossed over it a few days ago. It's more than just a state border, though: I immediately phased from West to Midwest, from Plains to woods, from red state to blue state. Minnesota simply feels different. There are hills, and curves on the road. There are more people on bicycles than in big honkin' pickup trucks. And the trees! Forests everywhere!
I spent the last two nights staying in a hostel (an actual hostel!) in Itasca State Park, a local attraction that boasts as its highlight the headwaters of the Mississippi River. They've got a little spot built up where you can walk right across it, as its about 10 feet wide and a foot deep at that point. Since then I've crossed the Mississippi about five times, and the route actually parallels it as it flows southward for the next few hundred miles.
I'm now stuck in Grand Rapids for the moment, as the rear wheel on my bike has gone massively haywire and needs to be replaced. As I'm about halfway through the trip, I'm crossing my fingers and hoping this is my major mechanical malfunction for the journey. It should be ready in about half an hour, after which I intend to take the afternoon to bike the 35 miles or so to Hibbing, Minnesota, birthplace of the Greyhound Bus, Boston Celtics legend Kevin McHale and, most importantly, Bob Dylan. Apparently there's a walking tour where you can see where Dylan had his Bar Mitzvah. Now that's history!
After Minot, I continued heading southeast to Fargo, North Dakota, right on the Minnesota border, where I spent the Fourth of July. (And may I say, after suffering through about a week of trying to sleep in various city parks while people were setting off fireworks 1/4 mile away, thanks goodness that holiday's over.) I really enjoyed Fargo - it has an attractive downtown area, a huge number of bike trails, and the world's largest sporting goods store - though I didn't make it to the latter.
Fargo sits right on the Minnesota border, and I crossed over it a few days ago. It's more than just a state border, though: I immediately phased from West to Midwest, from Plains to woods, from red state to blue state. Minnesota simply feels different. There are hills, and curves on the road. There are more people on bicycles than in big honkin' pickup trucks. And the trees! Forests everywhere!
I spent the last two nights staying in a hostel (an actual hostel!) in Itasca State Park, a local attraction that boasts as its highlight the headwaters of the Mississippi River. They've got a little spot built up where you can walk right across it, as its about 10 feet wide and a foot deep at that point. Since then I've crossed the Mississippi about five times, and the route actually parallels it as it flows southward for the next few hundred miles.
I'm now stuck in Grand Rapids for the moment, as the rear wheel on my bike has gone massively haywire and needs to be replaced. As I'm about halfway through the trip, I'm crossing my fingers and hoping this is my major mechanical malfunction for the journey. It should be ready in about half an hour, after which I intend to take the afternoon to bike the 35 miles or so to Hibbing, Minnesota, birthplace of the Greyhound Bus, Boston Celtics legend Kevin McHale and, most importantly, Bob Dylan. Apparently there's a walking tour where you can see where Dylan had his Bar Mitzvah. Now that's history!
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About me
I'm Tom Moran, a bicyclist from Fairbanks, Alaska. I'm spending the summer of 2006 riding from Anacortes, Wash., to Bar Harbor, Maine.
Tom?
Didn't you take a job in the Great North Woods,
Workin' as a cook for a spell?
(But you never did like it all that much,
And one day the axe just fell)...
But now your going back again,
You've got to get to her somehow.
All the people you used to know...
They're an illusion to you now.
Some are mathematicians.
Some are carpenters' wives.
I don't know how this all got started.
I don't know what they do with their lives.
But now you're still on the road,
And heading for another joint.
We always did feel the same,
We just saw it from a different point...
of view.