Author: Mark

Today was another scorcher. It’s not been as tough to cycle in 100 degree F heat as I imagined, because you create your own breeze and it’s possible to stay hydrated by stopping at regular intervals and buying cold drinks at gas stations. But I will be glad when things cool back down in a couple of days.

I have had more than my fair share of blue skies and sunshine this summer, which is wonderful. I promise I am not complaining. But it requires the application of copious amounts of sun cream every morning, which further delays my usual slow start. It really isn’t a choice. I don’t want any part of me getting burned. I enjoy the AC at every stop and often drink a bottle of root beer in the shop before I go back outside. There is almost a routine to my stops, which generally include a cafe for lunch and somewhere later on for ice cream, interspersed with gas station stops whenever they arise. Sometimes that includes food as well. It depends how I’m feeling. The gaps between places have reduced, but can still be close to a couple of hours. So you plan ahead.

My journey today took me along the West Bank of the Mississippi River for more than 90 miles, and it was a pleasure. This is rewarding country, a mixture of wide flood plain, open river channel and high, tree covered, sandstone bluffs on either bank, far apart but visible. It never got boring. The roads were quiet and there was usually a boat or two to watch, as well as the now customary freight train action on the riverside railroads, one on either bank.

My lunch stop was in LaCrescent, MN, the self-styled apple capital of Minnesota. In a popular cafe in town, I proved a hit with a group of teenage waitresses. They sat me at a counter by their till and we chatted about my strange accent, my ride and where in England one of their cousins lives. It was great fun. They were quite surprised to learn that they, too, have accents! They served up a very good Eggs Benedict, too, and a passable mug of tea. So I left feeling upbeat about the world, despite the heat.

Two hours downstream, I collected my 48th US a state, Iowa. Just two more to go. I think I only passed through four small towns in Iowa; but I left favourably impressed. Lansing was my favourite. Here I stopped at a very popular ice cream cafe. It was in an old gas station. You ordered at a window and sat under the canopy at picnic tables, which was OK in the shade. They brought you your sundae to the table. I had a view of the river and I was pretty pleased with the whole thing. A welcome sign to the town said “Lansing – where eagles soar”. I looked up to the sky and there they were: half a dozen eagles wheeling high up on a thermal.

The last 20 miles got hilly and I had to overcome some long climbs and enjoy a couple of exciting descents. And then I had one last big bridge to cross and I was back in Wisconsin and my ride’s end at the town of Prairie du Chien. Tomorrow I will leave the Mississippi behind, rather reluctantly because it has been a good friend for more than two days of great riding. One lady today told me of another British cyclist who recently passed through pulling a trailer in which they kept a tuba. They apparently traveled like this right up the Mississippi from New Orleans to its source, playing recitals along the way. Maybe I missed a trick.

The Mississippi River has dominated proceedings today. I have never been far away from it, and I have crossed it twice: first into Wisconsin in the morning and then back over to Minnesota late afternoon. Actually, strictly speaking, I crossed from Hastings this morning without leaving Minnesota, because just across from Hastings, at the town of Prescott, Wisconsin, is the place where the impressively large St Croix River joins the Mississippi. From here to the north, Wisconsin and Minnesota are separated by the St Croix River, and from here to the south, by the Mississippi River. Anyway, it was all lovely and I arrived in Prescott ready for breakfast after watching all kinds of water craft messing about in the sunshine on both broad stretches of water.

Hastings

Little Prescott, with its clock tower and large, lifting bridges for both road and rail, was a busy place this morning. I found a cafe on the Main Street and enjoyed their loaded hash browns and a cup of tea, while I watched large numbers of ageing motorbikers come and go on their Harley Davidsons. Today was the Saturday of Labour Day weekend, and it must have been a special day for the local bikers, because they were everywhere, all day long. Here in Prescott they seemed to gather under a huge American flag just over the road from me. As well as the more traditional bikes, quite a few riders were on 3 wheel versions, some with 2 wheels at the front, others at the back. Route 34, which hugged the Mississippi on the Wisconsin side, appeared to be a draw for them. It is a designated Scenic Byway, as well forming part of the Mississippi River Trail cycle route. I didn’t mind them. More importantly there were absolutely no trucks out today. The bikers often waved to me. Most of them had a pillion rider, generally their female partner, and hardly any wore helmets or leathers. They were all enjoying the warm breeze in their faces, and very warm it was, too. The high was about 97F, although mercifully the sky clouded over later on, which helped.

The Mississippi River was a fine companion today. I couldn’t always see it; but it was never too far away. It is a huge expanse of water, even this far north in its journey. For about twenty two miles today it took the form of an even larger, natural lake, Lake Pepin. This was created behind the natural dam made by glacial deposits from the adjoining Chippewa River. It is up to two and a half miles wide and a haven for boats of many kinds.

Along this stretch I passed through a series of delightful small towns. I especially liked Stockholm, decorated in Swedish yellow and blue, and home to several enticing small cafés and live music. I stopped at the “General Store and Pie”, and enjoyed a slice of blackberry and raspberry pie with ice cream. It was very good. That kept me going until it was time to cross back over the Big river to Wabasha, which was decked out in German flags. As I rode over the high bridge, an enormous procession of conjoined barges passed beneath me. This is very much a working river and each barge is huge on its own. Tied together three abreast and four long, it created a vessel about a quarter of a mile in length. All this was being pushed slowly from the back by a tug-like boat. It seemed quite a feat to me to steer and manoeuvre all of that with any degree of close control. You needed a lot of space!

Back in Minnesota, I thought Wabasha was quite lovely, even though its Main Street was completely dug up. I still managed to find a place to buy myself a delicious Rhubarb crumble ice cream to fuel up for the remaining 30 plus miles down the river to Winona, today’s biggest town. I arrived at my motel just as the sun was setting over the miles of lagoons and lily ponds stretching across the Mississippi River valley, filing the wide space between the rocky bluffs on either side.

I will spend all of tomorrow following the Big River further down stream and then cross it one last time. The heat and the constantly chirping crickets make it feel more like the steamy lower reaches in the American South. A quick look at the map shows I am much closer to Canada. Either way, I am coping with the heat, drinking huge amounts and taking regular breaks. In this part of the country, it seems I’m never too far from the next place to pause and recover. Which, on balance, I am only too happy to do!

Today it was time to move forward with my ride. I did so, initially, in the welcome company of my friend, Chris, who saw me off the premises and a couple of hours into my journey from the farm, along quiet country roads and bike paths. We paused after an hour for coffee and cake at a new place in the attractive small town of Carver, which sits on the Minnesota River at what was its highest navigable point. Here we attracted the attention of a group of friendly Jehovah’s Witnesses, also having a coffee break from their work, and I was asked a lot of questions about my ride, including things like what do I eat, and where do I sleep. Fair questions; but easily answered. One I often get is what do I do as a job that makes it possible for me to make a trip like this. That takes a little more explaining and I have to simplify my answer; but it also reinforces my sense of good luck and privilege.

After passing through the town of Chaska, Chris turned back for home and I carried on alone towards downtown Minneapolis. It was a bit fiddly; but an hour or so later I had navigated my way along bike paths and quieter roads into the middle of the big city. I stopped for lunch on a street that offered seemingly endless food options, and enjoyed a coal-fired pizza. I chose a lemon-flavoured goats cheese version with spinach leaves that kept blowing off in the breeze. The waiter insisted on bringing me replacement leaves, weighed down with a tea spoon. It was good. What a different world!

After riding just a couple of streets from the tallest buildings, I reached the banks of the Mississippi River at a historic bridging point, just above the place where today there is a large weir and a big lock. The banks are lined with old flour mills, some of which are now repurposed as fancy urban dwellings, with modern glass juxtaposing with deliberately half-ruined shells of old industrial buildings. The overall effect, looking back over the water from the historic Stone Arch Bridge (1883) – now a pedestrian and cycle bridge- was pleasing, and worth the detour I was making from my straight line.

On the eastern side of the river is the University of Minnesota, a large complex of grand buildings, old and new, on the bluff above the broad Mississippi. Several other impressive bridges spanned the blue waters, carrying different type of transport. This was easily the biggest place I had seen since Portland, perhaps at all, on this ride. But as large as it was, it didn’t feel overwhelming and I enjoyed cycling along its bike-friendly streets and paths. I followed one south along the river bank until it emerged up on the bluff near the start of Summit Avenue.

I was now in Saint Paul, Minneapolis’ twin, and a place I had once spent a few weeks with the same friends in a different house back in the summer of 1992. I had fond memories and I was keen to revisit the same streets and see how it looked today. Summit Avenue is a very grand, leafy boulevard that runs east from the Mississippi several miles into downtown Saint Paul. It is lined with improbably large mansions and houses and must have been the address to have a century ago, just as it surely is today. It now has a bike lane all along its considerable length, so it was a good choice of route. Parallel to Summit (which is strictly residential) is Grand Avenue, where all the upmarket shops, bars and restaurants can be found. I nipped over and found an ice cream shop, since I still had a good few miles ahead of me. I sat outside in the shade and enjoyed the surroundings. It was all just as nice as I remembered.

A mile further down Summit Avenue things open out and you find yourself on a hill overlooking downtown Saint Paul, with another – slightly less impressive – collection of tall office buildings. But what it lacks in modern skyscrapers, it makes up for with the classical architecture of the pink stone cathedral of St Paul, a large, well-proportioned domed church with twin towers on a lofty site. On another eminence less than a mile away, this is reflected, but not copied, by the gleaming white dome of the imposingly grand Minnesota State Capitol building. Both grace the city from above and make it a better place.

Minnesota State Capitol

Saint Paul is also right on the Mississippi River and has bridges that leap out over the gorge directly from downtown. It is more than 2,300 miles and 16 days on a ship from its delta in New Orleans; but already this is a big river, requiring impressively long and high bridges. The one I crossed had an American flag on every lamppost, making it very jazzy indeed.

My last two hours today used up most of the remaining daylight and got me as far downstream as the quaint old town of Hastings, which demands further exploration in the morning. It is the sort of place I might just get a decent cup of tea with my breakfast, if I’m lucky. Then I have another new state to explore, over on the eastern side of the river valley. Wisconsin awaits, on what is expected to be a very hot day, the first of three to come. It can’t be helped.

I will start cycling again tomorrow, so there was plenty to do today in preparation for the next three weeks. My bike has been given its health check and is back and ready for action. I feel fully rested. My clothes are all clean and dry. And I have passed a peaceful day on the farm working out my next moves.

I know some of you like to know where I will be going, so here is the rough plan. It breaks into three parts, each about a week long. First, tomorrow, I will head into the middle of the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St Paul to see the sights and pick up the Mississippi River. Then I plan to follow the banks of the Mississippi southeast for a couple of days, briefly entering the state of Iowa, before heading east along the Wisconsin River valley to the larger cities of Madison and Milwaukee. This is a change of plan brought about by unforeseen transport challenges. But from Milwaukee I will be able to take a ferry across Lake Michigan.

Part two then takes me across the centre of Michigan and above Detroit to enter Ontario, Canada via a small ferry. I should point out that neither of the ferries I am taking to enter and leave Michigan are the ones I was originally planning to use. However, these are both out of commission for the foreseeable future due to mechanical damage, one of which occurred quiet recently. It has meant a rethink to my route; but it’s not a showstopper. In fact, despite a few more miles, it could make it better.

I will then continue east across Ontario until I reach Niagara Falls, where I may allow myself a day off. Then, the final 8 days will be from Niagara Falls to New York City, in the company of a friend from home, which will be very welcome. That section promises to be largely traffic-free.

All in all I expect that what lies ahead will be quite different to what lies behind me, and should contain plenty of variety along the way. I’m looking forward to seeing it all.

Of course that is not the end of the journey; but we will deal with the final sections in the fullness of time. There is plenty to think about in the next few days. I have accommodation booked for the next three nights, and after that we will see what possibilities emerge. It doesn’t do to over plan an adventure like this, because, as we have seen, things change!

Believe it or not this is my first proper rest day since I left the shores of the Pacific Ocean in Oregon more than 3 weeks ago. Since then I have cycled about 1,900 miles across this enormous country to reach approximately half way. More than half way, in fact, if Google maps is to be believed. I probably have less than 1,500 miles of the USA and Canada left to go. Symbolically, though, I will feel like I have left the western half of the country behind only when I cross the Mississippi River, which lies in between the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St Paul, still 50 miles or so ahead of me.

We went in to the affluent southern suburbs of Minneapolis today to drop off my bike at a local bike shop, where it will be getting a new chain and replacement bearings. I found myself back in a different America that I hadn’t seen at all since Helena and Missoula, and not in any major way since Portland, Oregon. This was a world of trendy coffee shops, leafy streets with bike lanes, sophisticated-looking restaurants and cool, arty, people, all of which have been conspicuous by their absence for many days. It underlines the two very different sides to this country that coexist but view the world very differently.

As I head east into Wisconsin, Michigan and beyond, I will be interested to see which way things lean. But for now there are practicalities to deal with. I need to get all my clothes clean. I have a lot of route and accommodation planning to do. The weather is supposed to get really hot again over the coming Labour Day holiday weekend. So there is plenty to consider. I’m about a day ahead of my original schedule so there is no desperate hurry; but I will have to get moving again by the end of the week I think, whether I feel like it or not.

In the meantime, I am sharing this lovely old farm with my friends, their dog, two cats, 8 hens and a rooster. The blue super moon was spectacular this evening and I am about as relaxed as can be, listening to the crickets chirping away. A rest was overdue and it feels good!

A feature of trans-continental adventure cycling is the need to remain healthy. I have so far been very lucky, so when I woke up at 3am with a sore throat and a cough, it was both a surprise and a concern. What was going on?

A good, long, hot shower sorted me out before I began riding this morning; but I still have a little tickle and it seemed odd. Now I think I know why. Apparently I have been breathing in smoke-filled air from the Canadian wildfires for the last day or more. The air quality in the Dakotas in particular has been low. Or so I am told, and it makes sense. Hopefully that will pass.

Either way I don’t have to cycle tomorrow. I have made it to my half way stopover with old friends who live on a small farm just west of Minneapolis. I was last here something like eighteen years ago. It is a beautiful spot and I’m looking forward to unwinding for a couple of days and formulating a plan for the next chunk of my adventure. I had only really thought it through this far!

My cycling day from the Fiesta City Motel in Montevideo was unremarkable and similar – in landscape terms – to what came before it. Minnesota definitely feels busier and more developed than South Dakota. There is more traffic around, especially trucks, and more roads leading more places. The towns come along more frequently and have more residents. But the same patterns remain: straight roads, fields of crops, big grain elevators and a railroad for company. It has been pretty flat all day, too. So nothing particularly new to report. I kept seeing signs for Minneapolis; but it’s still almost 50 miles away, despite the 108 miles I covered today, mostly eastwards.

To add to yesterday’s collection, a couple of today’s small towns declared themselves capitals of something. First, Renville – home to an enormous sugar beet factory – announced itself as “The Cooperative Capital”; and then Olivia declared itself to be the “Corn Capital”, complete with large ear of corn on the park’s gazebo.

I also passed a few unmissable and memorable religious commandments on roadside billboards and signs outside churches. The Ebenezer Presbyterian Church had a couple of snappy messages at the front of their very rural place of worship. On one side they had “This is your sign to come to church” while on the other it said “We have a prophet sharing plan”. Clever. Another church, close to where I am staying, had the quote “Don’t make me come down there – God”. And then there was a colourful billboard with a very concise quote from the bible (John 3:16) in huge letters that simply said “Jesus…” !

But these uplifting moments were small highlights in an otherwise largely forgettable day of just getting there: covering the final miles in the first half of my crossing of the continent.

Tomorrow I am taking my bike to a bike shop to see what preventative maintenance it requires for the next 2,000 miles. It has been magnificent over the first 1,900 miles and I want to have that peace of mind going forward, too. The nice people at Alpkit sent me away with mostly new moving parts. Wear and tear means that nothing lasts forever. It is time to check. If only I had applied the same attitude to my other bikes over the years! Better late than never.

Today I left behind the Dakotas and entered my seventh state of this coast to coast ride. It has taken three weeks to reach Minnesota and I was reflecting today how the first two weeks were quite different every day and full of changing scenery and things to remember, while the last week since Helena has really been nothing but miles and miles of empty space and mostly very long, straight roads, in some form. It feels like it is now starting to change again, although it is a gradual process. The border between South Dakota and Minnesota was not at all a fancy affair and might easily have been missed if you were not expecting it. I crossed the small Minnesota River just as it flows out of the bottom of Big Stone Lake, through which runs the dotted line on the map. It was quite a pretty place. On the Minnesota side was the small, rather quaint town of Ortonville, which had a pleasant lake front park, where I sat and watched a group of twenty or so pelicans.

This was also the place where I said goodbye to Route 12, my companion since Washington state. We have spend many days together and it brought me hundreds of miles. This has been a cycling experience like no other for me so far, and route 12 has played a big part, for which I am grateful. But my way now took me along a different path, to Milan and Montevideo, where I am spending the night in a cheap motel.

Milbank, SD

The landscape hasn’t really altered greatly and the road, state route 7, while smaller and less busy than route 12 this morning, is still straight and mostly flat. But the towns today have been interesting on either side of the border. I liked Milbank, SD, where I had my best lunch in a long time. As well as its cheese factory, there is a real surviving windmill here: Hollands Grist Mill, built in 1884 (and completely reconstructed in 2009). It looks the part.

Watson, MN

Milan, MN was a small, sleepy rural place with a wide, empty Main Street. It is the self-proclaimed Norwegian capital of the USA and a sign says “Velkommen til Milan”. Today, however, around half of its residents are from Micronesia, 3,500 miles across the Pacific Ocean. More specifically from one island, Romanum, which is less than a square mile in size. The first immigrants arrived in 2000 and over time have offset the decline in the native born population. There can’t be many places like this in the world!

Spot the geese

Just down the road and past a large lake, even smaller Watson, MN, is the self-proclaimed Goose Capital of the USA. I did see evidence of this. It was that golden hour between 6pm and 7pm, the road was quiet and I was cycling fast and enjoying the conditions when, several times, large numbers of geese flew overhead in V-formation, honking as they went. It all added to the generally wonderful atmosphere in the summer evening calm of a beautiful day. I knew I was almost there, and sometimes being on a bike in a moment like this can be truly rewarding.

A shorter day but otherwise, honestly, not dissimilar to yesterday. Green fields, a flat landscape, straight road, and some kind of small town every hour or so, always lying in the shadow of a collection of grain silos, with the railway running in parallel. I passed blue lakes with ducks and grebes swimming among the reeds. There was enough wind to create small waves, mostly blowing from the south across me, although it seemed friendlier as the day passed.

Two of today’s small towns were big enough to have a branch of a recognised fast food chain, so I decided to make the most of it, since they were both symbols of small town America. The first, in Groton, was a Dairy Queen, which does a decent burger and fries; but is special to me for its Blizzard ice cream sundaes, which are, in essence, ice cream with your favourite chocolate bar all liquidized and frozen together. I went for a nostalgic Heath Bar Blizzard, which you will just have to try yourself one day. They tip it upside down before handing it to you, to prove it is properly frozen.

32 miles later I reached journey’s end for today in another small town, Webster, that is home to a branch of A&W. That name is synonymous to Americans with root beer, which, as you know, is my beverage of choice on these shores. This time, to complete my trip through nostalgic Americana, I went for a very large root beer float, not because I needed it; but because I could. When in Rome. For me this is a combination of two of life’s finer things (root beer poured over ice cream) and it makes both twice as good. Which is saying something. And all guilt-free because of the many miles of cycling I have accumulated. To be fair, you need to break up the monotony of this landscape any way you can. Today, this seemed the best thing on offer. I wasted very little time thinking it over.

I am staying tonight in the most unlikely and bizarre place. It is basically the end section of a large speedboat showroom, separated by an internal wall. Here there are a few rooms for people who are staying over to hunt, shoot and fish locally. I’m the only person here, so I get the big lounge and TV to myself. There are gaming tables and places to store what you have killed. I’m glad it’s just me or I think I would find the whole thing quite uncomfortable. It very much goes with the territory though. Different world to the one I know. I haven’t yet perused any of the copies of “South Dakota Hunting and Trapping Handbook”, or “Ducks Unlimited”, or “Fair Chase” that are on the table in front of me.

South Dakota – in large part – is an enormous, green, empty space filled with farmers’ fields and not much else. Such is my analysis after two full, long days of cycling across it. Today I followed the straightest of straight lines due east for 100 miles, with barely a deviation. You could generally see very far ahead. I would be lying if I said it was the most exciting of all of my days of cycling so far. The very long and straight nature of the route, which lacked in real variety, meant it was, in truth, verging on being a little boring and dull. Even the big skies went grey for a while, as if they agreed. I wouldn’t fancy cycling today’s route on a regular basis. That’s the Great Plains for you, I guess.

The holy trinity

That said, it was a mostly beautiful day again, and the road was broad and quiet, with a safe, wide shoulder should I need it. I had a slight headwind blowing in my face today, so that meant harder work. There were just about sufficient refreshment opportunities along the way: the small community of Selby after about 20 miles had the Dakota Maid diner for a late breakfast; then after another 35 miles was Ricky’s Restaurant and Lounge, for a late lunch, in tiny Roscoe. In the interest of time, I didn’t stop in between at the small town of Bowdle (home to South Dakota’s tallest water tower, or so it claimed); but I did take ten minutes to pop into a supermarket in Ipswich, an hour after Roscoe, to take on energy for the last 30 miles to Aberdeen. These mundane facts were actually some of the main highlights of an adventure that was turning into more of an Ag-venture!

Visible from outer space… probably

What all of these neat communities had in common was their enormous grain silos, visible from far, far away. I might see a sign saying, say, Bowdle 7 miles, and see far ahead along the dead straight road the glint of silver towers that looked about two miles away. No, that can’t be Bowdle, I thought, it’s too close. But it was, and seven straight miles and half an hour later, I would reach these hulking silver masses that provided the main interruptions to today’s distant horizon. This pattern repeated itself several times.

One other brief highlight was what appeared to be an aeronautical display in the early section of my ride. A small plane kept diving low behind the near horizon, caused by a low rise ahead of me, and then reappearing on the other side, twisting around and repeating the manoeuvre. It was only when I was almost underneath it that I realised the plane was spraying a field of crops every time it dived low down, coming back around for regular squirts on different parts of the same field. It looked a lot of fun.

When Aberdeen finally arrived, it turned out to be quite big, with a collection of important looking buildings in the main downtown area, including a domed courthouse and a huge YMCA. It is the third largest city in South Dakota, apparently, although there are fewer than 30,000 inhabitants. Two of these, however, are my very kind and welcoming hosts from the Warm Showers community, my third such overnight stop in someone’s home. Chuck has already cycled coast to coast in 2017 and we had fun comparing routes and looking at his map collection. They also provided a delicious home cooked meal of spaghetti bolognaise followed by ice cream. I was mighty impressed, and very grateful.

After more than 750 miles in the last week, I have given myself a relatively short day tomorrow. I think I have earned it.

Crossing the Missouri

Today was a great day for cycling. The temperature ranged between cool in the morning and mid 70sF in the afternoon, and the breeze was helpful. The roads were quiet and wide, and there were just enough refreshment stops to keep me going across the wide empty spaces of South Dakota, which I entered with the minimum of ceremony just a few miles after setting out. I cycled, fully loaded, for 125 miles like this, averaging almost 15mph, and arrived at the broad Missouri River before 6.30pm, Mountain Time. That quickly became 7.30pm Central time as I crossed the mile-long bridge into the small riverside town of Mobridge, easily the day’s biggest settlement. But what’s an hour between Dakotans? South Dakota straddles two different time zones, with the impressive Missouri River – which cuts the state in half up the middle – providing a sensible (and very physical) dividing line.

After a breakfast of Frosties, milk and a banana, bought the night before at the Kum & Go gas station and convenience store in Hettinger, I set out knowing that I had much work to do. It felt good from the start, and I knocked off the first 25 miles to the pleasant little town of Lemmon with minimum fuss. South Dakota has been green and verdant, with most of the land put to agricultural use. There were many combine harvesters at work today, and I also passed large fields of sunflowers. This means there was plenty of evidence of human settlement throughout the day; but still very long stretches without anything that offered a retail opportunity. So when one arrived, you took it. I therefore enjoyed a “scramble bowl” in the bakery in Lemmon before the next barren stretch, 29 miles, to the tiny town of Watauga (population 17). It may not sound much; but here is Brenda’s Tumbleweed Cafe, which turned out to be a Godsend.

The cafe is well named. I have never seen anywhere quite like it. It is small and simple, and the counter is piled high with huge numbers of old newspapers. Brenda is a character: locally born and bred and happy to be far away from the masses. There were a couple of farmers inside, taking a break from baling hay. Between the four of us, and the newspapers, we pretty much filled the available space. I chose from a rudimentary hand-scrawled menu and found that Brenda is not only quick to produce a meal; but does it generously and of a standard that outdoes her more basic decor. We chatted about various matters, not least the lack of any other cafe between here and Mobridge, still 70 miles distant. Brenda’s view is that no one wants to work any more. She described all of the settlements I would pass through and told me what to expect. The furthest away, and largest, was McLaughlin. “Don’t stop there, just keep moving. Enough said!“ she asserted. I thought I might not have a choice. “Well, be careful and watch yourself and your things, “ she warned. Hmm.

Brenda gave me a fridge magnet to remember her by. I intend to carry it home with me. But I had to press on. The next stop was a rare gas station in McIntosh. I bought root beer and ice cream and ate it while I chatted to the people in charge. They were pretty surprised by what I was doing. Some discussion took place about whether the hills before Mobridge would be a major obstacle. It was decided I would mostly benefit, and I think they were right. I had a quick look at the main drag in McIntosh. These are small places and there was no other remaining shop in town. These rural main streets can be quite depressing sights. But even in a place like this, it seems, there is always an open branch of a local bank and a US Post Office. How different things are compared to home!

I had about 60 miles still to go, and one more gas station half way. This came at a road junction in the town of McLaughlin, which I could see ahead of me for about five miles. It is utterly dominated by huge grain elevators from which the very long freight trains are loaded up, one wagon at a time. There was also a very tall water tower with the town’s name written on the side. When I finally arrived, it quickly became clear what Brenda was concerned about. I was in part of Standing Rock Reservation, and the local population in McLaughlin seemed to be majority Native American. They didn’t look very affluent; but everyone was friendly. An old man came up to ask me where I was going. He also wanted money for beer and I think he was quite drunk; but he wasn’t pushy. He performed a kind of blessing or prayer to the Indian Gods and told me that now I would travel safely. I was quite touched.

Another man at the gas station introduced himself as the local Indian Chief. He said he could offer me a cabin to stay in. Again, I was touched; but declined his offer on grounds of time. We shook hands. A woman from inside a waiting car wished me safe travels through the window. Despite the obvious hardship in this run down town, and the outward signs of poor health, I felt welcome.

The last part of my journey today was more scenic and more hilly. There was one descent in particular, off the higher plateau toward the Missouri valley, twenty miles from the end, that was exhilarating. This was proper “Dances With Wolves” undulating grassland. No farms or cows here. After a few more ups and downs, the full majesty of the Missouri River opened up before me, bridged by both the road and railway. It was a broad, blue expanse, perhaps a mile wide. Bridging points are around fifty miles apart, so you plan your route carefully. The Meccano-like bridge itself was narrow, with no shoulder, so it wasn’t a place for stopping and taking photos. But I got what I could from either end and enjoyed the moment as I pedalled across. Like everything else here, it is on an epic scale.

Going down…

I enjoyed an excellent Mexican dinner tonight. So nice to have a change. Tomorrow I head for the much larger city of Aberdeen, 100 miles away, on what appears to be a dead straight road. All the roads on the east side of the Missouri – unlike the west side – run in straight lines. And there are many more of them. This suggests a change of topography. Currently my plan runs out in Aberdeen, still 250 miles short of the Twin Cities, so I need to address that urgently. But after crossing two of the continental USA’s four time zones by bicycle with an evolving plan, I am confident my approach can get me there. Minneapolis is about half way across the country. I think I am about four days away.