Moose Lake (Leaving)
After a few miles I came to a highway crossing. Across the way was a large sign describing the "SOO Line." Apparently this was 114 miles of abandoned railway line that had its rails removed and been improved for Snowmobile and ATV access. The sign did not say anything about bicycles so I headed down the trail I immediately turned off on a spur that indicated the town of Barnum (not Burnham) was 6 miles away. The trail was wide and made up almost equal stretches of large gravel, dirt, mud and grass. It was relatively flat and ran through some heavily wooded areas. After turning down a few miles of turning down dead end paths that ended at campsites filled with mostly beer cans and gallon vodka and orange juice bottles, I headed back the way I came.
I was hoping to find a way into Moose Lake the city and quickly disocovered that had I not turned off on the SOO line I would have been on a nicely paved path to that very destination. As I rode through the streets I was reminded of that city in the TV show "Northern Exposure" where they open the show with a moose walking down the main street. It was a quaint little town with a huge park right on Moose Lake and the Moose Horn River running near by.I found it had a self-service carwash with a brush even.
I quickly found the library in one of the many two-story brick buildings near the large school building and sent out some email on one of its three computers. The houses were all small with large yards and lots of Oak and Pine trees. Around 1 pm I headed back to camp. As I left the city I found that the bike tyrail I had been using was actually a spour from a much larger trail known as the "Willard Munger State Trail" or the "Minnesota State Trail." The trail was paved from Hinkley (where I had been caught in a thunderstorm the night before) to Duluth 70 miles to the north. It was 40 miles from Moose Lake to Duluth on the trail. I decided to come up with a plan for trying at least part of the trail later that day or the next morning.
Back at camp I had switched my diet from PB&J sandwiches and Trail Mix to Beanie Weenies and Pringles. After lunch I worked on my journal until my computer was almost dead, then went in to town to let it charge off my car battery while I washed my car and bike and used the ATM. By 6:30 pm I had accomplished all that and finished my journal entries. My mood had soured. I was blaming it on the dog attack story. I guess I wish I would have calmly reprimanded the owner for not having his dog on a leash and for encouraging his dog to defile a monument to a historical person. I am not sure if I used this in an earlier journal entry or not, but I have observed that dog owners seem to feel the most appropriate place to have their dogs relieve themselves is any historical marker along the highway. And never have I seen them with a pooper scooper or plastic bag to clean up after them.
I headed for the lake's swimming hole but was dfiscouraged by the number of toddlers rightfully occupying it. The mosquitos were biting and I hoped the fish were too, so I headed down to the lake with some new sppons I had bought since I lost my only lure a while ago. I had no luck. There was lots of small bluegill near shore that would nibble at the lure, but none taking. The seaweed and fish was reminiscent of the pond we grew up with.
After a dinner of more pringles and beanie weenies (I always loved that product name), I took a shower and looking qat the map decided I would try to make it to Rockford, Illinois tomorrow, Toledo, Ohio the next day, then on to Bangor, Maine. I did not feel good about the decision. I was lost. I went to bed wtih those thoughts and the nosie of someone riding a mortorcycle without a muffler just outside the park running through my head. Before I fell asleep however, I got the map back out and revisited a possible trip back to the west coast. North Dakota had nothing to offer. I looked a little closer at South Dakota and found both Badlands and the Black Hills with mount Rushmore appealing. I changed my mind I was headed back west.
I slept in until almost 9:30 am the next day. It had been a colder night than I thought and my blankets only policy was not quite enough to keep my feet warm, so I slept a little restlessly. By 10 am I was headed south down Interstate 35 with visions in my head of the scene from "The Homecoming" where John Boy is driving the truck to pick up his father in the middle of the night in the driving snow. "John Boy! Do you hear me John Boy!?" "I'm coming daddy."
I turned west on Highway 23 towards Saint Cloud then Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The whole drive was nothing but rolling hils of alfalfa and corn dotted with a small farmhouse with a few barns and silos surrounding by a small forest of luscious trees every few miles and small towns about every 50 miles.