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Part 03: La Crosse, Wisconsin. September 18, 2006.
The headwinds have been atrocious over the past few days. They blew, blew, and blew - until finally I blew myself, screaming at the invisible foe to give me an effing break. But except for that, the weather has been gorgeous; sunny, 75F, accompanied by luscious Minnesota greenery and scenery.On leaving St Paul last Thursday, I headed for the riverside city of
Redwing, some 60 miles to the south, worrying about the bike's battery
capacity as I slogged through an enemy so powerful, that it was
impossible to pedal without resorting to electric assist. Power had to
be utilised for (almost) the entire journey, and the gauge was showing
signs of running dry when, 12 miles out of town, I had the first
puncture of the ride, caused by an industrial-sized stapler sitting out
there on the road. I mean, what the hell was a stapler doing there
anyway?Once that got resolved, and after a quiet night in the pleasant city of
Redwing, I carried on to lovely Mississippi river port called Wabasha
(pronounced 'wobashaw'). Here I checked into a 12-room hostelry known
as the Anderson Heritage House, where I got taken slightly aback by a
sudden question from the receptionist.
"D'ya'wanna cat?"
"Excuse me?", I replied after a brief silence.
She
met my blank, uncomprehending stare head on. "We've got a load of cats
here. They like to sleep with the guests. So d' you wanna cat or not?"
I
accepted, on the grounds that animals are generally preferable to
humans, which was possibly a mistake on my part. A huge black tom spent
the night purring on my chest. There is an intriguing establishment in Wabasha known as the Eagle
Centre. It's a kind of RSPCA for these symbolic birds of prey, which
tends and cares for wounded eagles, so prolific in Minnesota. Two of
them were traffic casualties, and another just plain careless by
falling out of its nest (an eagle's nest can, by the by, reach four
tons in weight, which tells you something about the immense power of
these birds). 
I peddled on down Highway 31 towards Winona, fighting a blasting
headwind as usual, and noticing an abnormal amount of motorcycle
activity on the road. Saturday, it seems, was the annual 'Fall Flood
Run' for motorbikes, a charity event and an excuse for bikers to meet
up in various cafes and bars along the way. Thinking it wise to stop
somewhere myself and give the battery an hour's boost, I pulled into a
place called Buck's Bar in the tiny town of Minneiska, up on a bluff
overlooking the big river. Within half an hour the place was teeming
with these two-wheeled warriors, literally hundreds of them, average
age around 50, men and women both. The men seemed to have a penchant
for bald heads and bristling moustaches, the women surprisingly gentle
and feminine.  The first house turned out to be a late-night lap dance den, beer
cans littered everywhere, yet all quiet on this Sunday morning. Two or
three houses later, a gruff old bloke of 70 let me in. A quick phone
call solved the immediate problem, and I spent the next hour or so with
him, watching the Green Bay Packers take on the New Orleans Saints. The
Saints won, which I hope was some small boost for that battered city.
I'm now heading towards Iowa, from where I'll make the next update in a couple of days time.
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
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