Just as I was leaving Zumbrota, I had a chance encounter with one of the owners of Aromas, the town's espresso shop, and he knew all the right buttons to push to entice me to stay in town an extra day. First he (Dave) had a computer so I could download some pictures, and free up some space in my camera. Next he offered to lead me out into the countryside on a bike ride. Then his wife offered me a bed in their house for the night. It was all too enticing, and since one of the sub-rules of my trip is that there is no schedule, I accepted in an instant.
I spent most of the day in Aromas, banging away on his computer, posing for the customers, but generally trying to be unobtrusive, while getting some much needed work done. When I had finally finished, I rode to their house and met 10 year old Lauren, a budding artist, and 5 year old Logan, a science and nature enthusiast.
A plan was hatched whereby Dave and I (and another spokehead friend) would do a ride ending up in Northfield, and Pam would meet us there with the kids and we'd have supper. I knew I was in trouble when Dave rolls out his bike, whose wheels were so skinny as to cast no shadow. But in the end they had mercy on me, on my lumpy, fat bike, so I was able to take in some very serene country. It is very idyllic here at this time of year.
Today I met yet again with a town reporter for another take on the trip. Then back to pack up, have a leisurely breakfast, and depart. About 10 miles out of town I was hailed over by Dave who couldn't resist a few parting shots. Zumbrota is lucky to have them, and they are lucky to live in Zumbrota.
The next town down the road, Mazeppa, is where Dave practices dentistry, and, like their dentist, the town has a very good nature about it. I decided to have an early lunch and the cafe was filled with good cheer and awash with characters, It is heartening to see a table full of dairy farmers, rejoicing in all the hard work they do, Mike, the local letterhead (signpainter), came racing in with a t-shirt for me. It was a lunch I will long remember.
I soon crossed the Mississippi River, with its many channels and broad floodplain.
The terrain quickly became quite severe, with several category 1 climbs, in the grandmother gear. The saving aspect is that the climbs end at about 1400' so there is never more than a mile or so of hard going. And the countryside is every bit as beautiful and bike friendly as I had anticipated.
I did meet my first mean dog, but after inspecting my calves at close range, he decided that there weren't any tender bits to be had, and so he lost interest. Tomorrow it's the DAZER.
I got to Arcadia just as light was fading, and raced down to the countryclub to get the last of the all-you-can-eat buffet dinner.
89 miles, in heaven, and reluctant to move on.
Dennis
P.S. So far I have seen nothing of the sand which turned Babcock and Turner away from Wisconsin. They had some interesting riding near Dubuque:
At Dubuque we crossed the river, and as far as Galena found some of the hardest, roughest road of the entire trip; there are rocks enough in the roads to thoroughly macadamize them, if they were properly broken, but they are altogether too large in their natural state. In leaving Dubuque we crossed for a few miles into Wisconsin, and were in three states within thirty minutes. As we crossed the line we saw a large signboard with an immense finger, and as we neared it, the inscription became legible:
"THIS WAY TO GET MARRIED"
Of course we dismounted at so novel a sight, and we hoped some resident of the neighborhood would come along to enlighten us upon the subject. We discussed the problem. Did that road lead to a community overstocked with maiden ladies, or did it take its way to some place where many bachelors had lonesome houses? Or, as was probably the case, was some country magistrate advertising his ability to tie matrimonial knots? We had seen many signboards pointing the way to all kinds of places, but this was a novelty. The road was well traveled, and I told Turner that it didn't seem to go much out of our way, but he overruled my cautious suggestion and we passed on, missing the only opportunity we have had to travel a real matrimonial road. It would have been interesting to compare it with railroads, mountain trails, corduroys and cowpaths, but it's useless to ponder over it now. At the next town we inquired about the sign and found that both Iowa and Illinois have marriage license laws, while in Wisconsin no license is required, and this justice of the peace so near the boundaries of the states reaps a goodly harvest of fees.
It is instructive to recall the while Mr. Turner was married, it was to be almost a decade until Mr. Babcock would take a wife.