Big River Ride Journal (Part 2)
http://www.pedelecs.co.uk/articles/14/1/Big-River-Ride-Journal-Part-2/Page1.html
Russell Scott
By Russell Scott
Published on 09/13/2006
 | From the source at Lake Itasca I pedaled 35 miles north to a place
called Bermidji, where the Mississippi curves at its most northernmost
point and begins the long flow south to Louisiana. |
Big River Ride Journal (Part 2)
Part 2. St Paul, Minnesota, September 13, 2006.
From the source at Lake Itasca I pedaled 35 miles north to a place called Bermidji, where the Mississippi curves at its most northernmost point and begins the long flow south to Louisiana. The scenery in this part of Minnesota is pretty much the same everywhere - miles, miles, and more miles of thick pinelands and magnificent lakes (they call this state the Land of 10,000 lakes, though in fact there are 15,000 of them).
It is closing in on autumn, when the trees around here turn to blazing shades of red and gold, as if entire forests are ablaze with fire. Soon afterwards, the northern winter will set in, snow and ice guaranteed. But the people here make good use of their assets during the freeze over months. The lakes, once the ice is about a metre deep, suddenly become cities....yes, cities.
Ice fishing is big business in these parts, and they come from far and wide to participate. Entire homes are dragged onto the ice, and holes drilled into the ice from the floorboards, from where these avid anglers dangle their lines from the snug comfort of a heated indoors. Streets are formed, which then become blocks, which in turn become areas. Street names are adopted, and for the duration of the season, mayors are elected, and sometimes, mail delivered. Quite literally, hundreds of thousands of people live out their winters on the ice, partying 24 hours a day. On one particular lake, even a casino was erected.
The route south led me into the city of Walker, then through a small town called Hackensack, where every September they hold a Chainsaw Sculpting competition. Can you imagine that? Contestants are each given one log to work with, then let rip with chainsaws in an effort to carve out a piece of special artwork. From these logs emerge carved fish, birds, people, buildings, and so on. And the end result is simply astonishing.
From there I headed south to the city of Brainerd and on into Little Falls - hometown of Charles Lindbergh, America's first international superhero following his pioneering flight from New York to Paris in 1927. Entering the town, you get Lindbergh straight in the face, illustrated by my picture of the roadside mailbox simulating the 'Spirit of St Louis', the airplane in which he made his historic flight. So I went on down to the house where he grew up, where everything is exactly the same now as it was all those years ago. It stands unpretentiously by the road, the back of which slants down to the Mississippi, maybe 100 metres away.
Not only is his house still in 'good working order', so is his first car - a 1916 Saxon with a six cylinder engine. There's an amusing tale to tell here. In that same year, when Lindbergh was just 15 years old and driving licenses were unheard of, he set off in this vehicle across the USA to California. The journey took 40 days, and it wasn't without incident. On reaching the Rockies, he realised that the fuel system operated on a gravity-fed basis, so that when the car's nose reached a certain uphill angle, the petrol refused to flow. Now how would you or I go about solving this? Call the AA or RAC, I suppose. Not Lindbergh. By turning the vehicle around, he found the solution by simply reversing all the way up to the highest peaks!
From Little Falls, I carried on to St Cloud, a city by comparison, and was introduced to a lady called Jean whose grandfather had been a corn farmer in the district during the Prohibition era. For some reason, he prospered more than most corn growers, and it was eventually acknowledged, that here in John Dillinger country, he'd been selling his Grade A corn to the illicit moonshine producers, who in turn sold their product to Dillinger and his fellow bootleggers.
There is a bar just outside of town officially known as Anton's Restaurant; informally however, it's called 'Fish n' Whiskey', for this place had been a predominent outlet for this sophisticated rotgut during those supposedly-abstemious years. It was then a speakeasy called 'Ricky's', and Ricky was the son of the local police chief. Needless to add, he never got caught. In one corner of the present-day establishment stands the original still used to make the stuff, known locally as 'Minnesota 13', the best you could get. Let me tell you, that still worked day and night, every single day of the year.
Because it's now legal, they produce small amounts of moonshine today, used mainly as novelty gifts. Someone poured me a shot, which I was obliged to try. The only way to describe its raw power is to assert that this particular liquid would stand up without the glass.
In St Cloud, it was the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Most of the mourning was done by and in the media. Out on the streets and on the highway, the matter simply did not arise. It all seemed to be very much business as usual.
Which for me at any rate, means pedaling, pedaling, pedaling, with the occasional use of the eZee Torq's electric assist. To date, it is proving a terrific bike, and which brought me safely into the twin cities of Minneapolis/St Paul yesterday (Tuesday). In keeping with the theme of this ride, I am staying in one of the more unusual B&Bs...a converted Mississippi tugboat called the Covington Inn, right down there on the water. My suite consists of sleeping cabin, bathroom, and upstairs, the actual pilot house, with wonderful views of the lovely old city of St Paul right across the river, a city of parks, gardens, and splendid old houses.
The Twin cities marks the end of Stage One of this 2000 mile marathon down this mighty river. From tomorrow, (Thursday), I'll be pushing on down to Red Wing, Wabasha, Winona and beyond. Here, the river broadens out, gradually maturing into the great rolling waterway that it is. And this is where the real adventures begin.
bigriverride.com
BigRiverRide is sponsored by Ecover
From the source at Lake Itasca I pedaled 35 miles north to a place called Bermidji, where the Mississippi curves at its most northernmost point and begins the long flow south to Louisiana. The scenery in this part of Minnesota is pretty much the same everywhere - miles, miles, and more miles of thick pinelands and magnificent lakes (they call this state the Land of 10,000 lakes, though in fact there are 15,000 of them).
It is closing in on autumn, when the trees around here turn to blazing shades of red and gold, as if entire forests are ablaze with fire. Soon afterwards, the northern winter will set in, snow and ice guaranteed. But the people here make good use of their assets during the freeze over months. The lakes, once the ice is about a metre deep, suddenly become cities....yes, cities.
Ice fishing is big business in these parts, and they come from far and wide to participate. Entire homes are dragged onto the ice, and holes drilled into the ice from the floorboards, from where these avid anglers dangle their lines from the snug comfort of a heated indoors. Streets are formed, which then become blocks, which in turn become areas. Street names are adopted, and for the duration of the season, mayors are elected, and sometimes, mail delivered. Quite literally, hundreds of thousands of people live out their winters on the ice, partying 24 hours a day. On one particular lake, even a casino was erected.
The route south led me into the city of Walker, then through a small town called Hackensack, where every September they hold a Chainsaw Sculpting competition. Can you imagine that? Contestants are each given one log to work with, then let rip with chainsaws in an effort to carve out a piece of special artwork. From these logs emerge carved fish, birds, people, buildings, and so on. And the end result is simply astonishing.
From there I headed south to the city of Brainerd and on into Little Falls - hometown of Charles Lindbergh, America's first international superhero following his pioneering flight from New York to Paris in 1927. Entering the town, you get Lindbergh straight in the face, illustrated by my picture of the roadside mailbox simulating the 'Spirit of St Louis', the airplane in which he made his historic flight. So I went on down to the house where he grew up, where everything is exactly the same now as it was all those years ago. It stands unpretentiously by the road, the back of which slants down to the Mississippi, maybe 100 metres away.
Not only is his house still in 'good working order', so is his first car - a 1916 Saxon with a six cylinder engine. There's an amusing tale to tell here. In that same year, when Lindbergh was just 15 years old and driving licenses were unheard of, he set off in this vehicle across the USA to California. The journey took 40 days, and it wasn't without incident. On reaching the Rockies, he realised that the fuel system operated on a gravity-fed basis, so that when the car's nose reached a certain uphill angle, the petrol refused to flow. Now how would you or I go about solving this? Call the AA or RAC, I suppose. Not Lindbergh. By turning the vehicle around, he found the solution by simply reversing all the way up to the highest peaks!
From Little Falls, I carried on to St Cloud, a city by comparison, and was introduced to a lady called Jean whose grandfather had been a corn farmer in the district during the Prohibition era. For some reason, he prospered more than most corn growers, and it was eventually acknowledged, that here in John Dillinger country, he'd been selling his Grade A corn to the illicit moonshine producers, who in turn sold their product to Dillinger and his fellow bootleggers.
There is a bar just outside of town officially known as Anton's Restaurant; informally however, it's called 'Fish n' Whiskey', for this place had been a predominent outlet for this sophisticated rotgut during those supposedly-abstemious years. It was then a speakeasy called 'Ricky's', and Ricky was the son of the local police chief. Needless to add, he never got caught. In one corner of the present-day establishment stands the original still used to make the stuff, known locally as 'Minnesota 13', the best you could get. Let me tell you, that still worked day and night, every single day of the year.
Because it's now legal, they produce small amounts of moonshine today, used mainly as novelty gifts. Someone poured me a shot, which I was obliged to try. The only way to describe its raw power is to assert that this particular liquid would stand up without the glass.
In St Cloud, it was the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Most of the mourning was done by and in the media. Out on the streets and on the highway, the matter simply did not arise. It all seemed to be very much business as usual.
Which for me at any rate, means pedaling, pedaling, pedaling, with the occasional use of the eZee Torq's electric assist. To date, it is proving a terrific bike, and which brought me safely into the twin cities of Minneapolis/St Paul yesterday (Tuesday). In keeping with the theme of this ride, I am staying in one of the more unusual B&Bs...a converted Mississippi tugboat called the Covington Inn, right down there on the water. My suite consists of sleeping cabin, bathroom, and upstairs, the actual pilot house, with wonderful views of the lovely old city of St Paul right across the river, a city of parks, gardens, and splendid old houses.
The Twin cities marks the end of Stage One of this 2000 mile marathon down this mighty river. From tomorrow, (Thursday), I'll be pushing on down to Red Wing, Wabasha, Winona and beyond. Here, the river broadens out, gradually maturing into the great rolling waterway that it is. And this is where the real adventures begin.
Keep up to date with Quentin's travels by reading his blog here on Pedelecs, by visiting his site below or listening to the once-weekly broadcast on Radio 5 Live Up All Night programme.
bigriverride.com
BigRiverRide is sponsored by Ecover