Early morning pinballing round Fargo bike shops gave us a chance to warm the legs to the tune of 10 miles. Shaun fixed up his bike, Grace bought a new one and we then cracked off at noontide like frozen ropes from Roger Maris’ Louisville Slugger, adding 75 more miles to our little AM jaunt.
Spirits lifted like the Kon Tiki’s sail as we kissed the interstate goodbye like a violent pet chimp… It had its strengths but ultimately was a bit stressful to be around.
So now we’re on bike paths — The Central Lakes trail, which is scenic but a bit bumpy. We look forward to the mirror pond smoothness of Lake Wobegon Trail tomorrow.
In other news, we’re experimenting with new approaches to answering the scripted dialogue we so often elicit from tootling townies, as the hundredth iteration of the following can be grating when we’re tired and trying to move.
“Where y’all going?…”
New York.
… “How many days?”
Et cetera et cetera.
But they’re all so kind, the script must unravel as surely as our tents in the evening.
Perhaps we should have them visit a website with our info, place banner ads on it and generate passive income as we travel. Or maybe sell merchandise which shows our route… The saddle hours afford lots of opportunities to think of new approaches to problems. One of biking’s many charms.
Tomorrow maybe we’ll find a nice lake to swim in, but til then, it’s time to let fall oars in our Ozark Trail longships and sail for the Valhalla of circadian rhythms. 