Eight hours from stupid

I had 50 miles to think about the fact that I had just climbed between railcars to get past an idling freight train. I spent an hour thinking we would get arrested for the deed, and when a car went by with a flashing yellow light and then stopped, I was sure the jig was up. (It turned out to be the mailman.) Some workplaces advertise how many days it’s been since the last injury. It’s been eight hours since I last did something very stupid.

Today we had 78 miles to bike til the next town. Yesterday evening, some cyclists going the other way had waxed ominous about the segment we were facing. There were other eastbound cyclists staying with us as well, and everyone got up early, nervous about the stretch because we had all been fighting easterly headwinds for days. But in the morning, Old Mother West Wind smiled on us once again. We flew down the highway, making great time til we came to a railroad track with a freight train blocking the crossing. A line of trucks indicated that the crossing had been closed for some time. Mark and I took one look at the crew fiddling about way down the line of freight cars and decided the best thing to do was to lift the bikes over a coupling. Two other bikers had been stalled for 20 minutes, and they agreed that we could do this deed together. 

Those two had just finished their first year of medical school at U Conn, so they were no dummies. The bikes went over OK, but it was a little scary climbing over the coupling. As I was scrambling, the railroad workers started shouting “Good way to get yourself killed!” But the bikes and people were over moments before the train blew its whistle and started forward.

On the other side watching our performance was a pack of bikers lounging in sports chairs in the shade of a cargo van. It was the sag wagon serving the mid morning snack for a cross country Ride for MS.

One of the MS riders chatted to me about their ride. I said they probably wouldn’t be doing what we just did. “You got the conductor’s permission, of course,” she said. When I said no, she had nothing more to say except “Ride safe!”

We hear “Ride safe!” from many well meaning people.  I’d say that except for this train escapade, we have been riding extremely safely. The better incantation would be “May the cars and trucks ride safe!”

Now that we have left the Adventure Cycling’s Lewis and Clark bike route and joined the Northern Tier route, we see many more cyclists. Sometimes Mark can be fixit man for them, as he is for me. Here he is in Enderlin, North Dakota, replacing a fellow traveler’s spoke on Main Street. 

While Mark was doing his magic on the spoke, the town librarian came over to say she was had the job of welcoming people to Enderlin, and she filled us with facts about North Dakota history and law. Now I know that North Dakota has long had a flat tax: 14% of what you pay in federal income tax.  It’s a simple and progressive formula you fill out on an index card.

Because we are approaching the midpoint of the route, we see bikers from both directions who started biking at the popular time we did. It’s fun meeting everyone. Our trip doesn’t feel as big a deal when we meet others doing something similar or even grander, for example the guy who is biking a big U: across the north, down the Pacific coast, and then back across to his mother Florida. At first we saw many Europeans, who started a bit earlier or bike a little faster. I love that all these cyclists from Europe get a good look at the open spaces and generous spirit out here.
As far as generosity goes, last night we witnessed something remarkable. In Gackle, ND, Jason and Ginny Miller offer the Honey Hub in their basement studio apartment. Cyclists can stay for free and use the shower, washing machine, microwave, and wifi. 

Here’s the deal. Look for their reason at the bottom.

The bookshelf held “Honey Stinger” energy bars and gels for sale, as well as this book:

I started reading and found the book just wonderful: a well written profile of John Miller, who supplied beehives to farming operations in California and North Dakota. Our generous hosts were the son and daughter-in-law who had taken over the business after the son left his job at Apple. Their four little kids bounced on the trampoline with the neighborhood children while we went to sleep in our tent on their lawn.

Something is right in the town of Gackle, and not just the Tastee Freeze and the “False Hope” fitness studio the Millers set up for the townspeople to use for free.

The countryside has gotten greener and flatter. We are starting to see “potholes,” little lakes that formed from blocks of ice calved from glaciers. After so many weeks in dry country, it took us a while to believe these lakes are natural.

Sometimes what looks like water is actually a field of clover.

Aside from the cottonwoods along the Missouri River, these Bur Oaks in our river bottom lunch spot were the first naturally growing trees since Lolo Pass in Idaho.

There an older couple foraging for mushrooms stopped to chat. He was a retired professor of meat science. She was a historian. I got to ask my burning question: how do you stand the wind in North Dakota? They don’t.

I learned that this land is good topsoil over moisture- holding clay, and thus excellent for agriculture.

 

It’s cooler now, with highs only in the 80s. No longer do I lose the ability to shift gears when the heat stretches out my bike cables in the afternoons. We hope to be blown to Fargo tomorrow. And then, even tomorrow night, MINNESOTA!