Like A Drowned Rat

June 3, 2016

Moose Lake, Minnesota

Three minutes after leaving the campground I crossed the St. Croix River back into Minnesota, thereby fulfilling the "wisp of Wisconsin" part of my introductory "poem." I enjoyed having that fine river as my guide for a couple of days and, yes, I did have fun in the state to the right.

Almost exactly at the point I passed the Welcome to Minnesota sign, a light rain began to fall. No problem, I simply put on my rain jacket. A couple minutes later, the rain stopped. No problem, I took my rain jacket off. Then the rain came back. No problem, I put my rain jacket back on. Then it quit raining again. No problem, I left my rain jacket on, thinking I would outsmart the rain. It didn't rain for the next 20 miles. I stubbornly rode with my rain jacket on anyway despite having broken a pretty good sweat.

After a stop at the Hinckley Public Library (another friendly librarian, but not quite as friendly as the Grantsburg librarian) the rain came back to stay. No problem, I put on my rain jacket. It rained and rained. I got wet. I'm not complaining though. Sometimes I LIKE getting wet. Like when I go for a refreshing swim on a hot summer day. Riding in this rain is just like that--except for the fact that I still have my clothing on . . . and it's not hot . . . and cars are spraying that delightful road crap all over me. (How's THAT for portraying a hardship in the best possible light?)

I took that abuse for about a mile before I reluctantly decided to move 100-feet to my left and get onto the Willard Munger Bike Trail. Highway 61 had great shoulders and nice scenery, but I have to admit to feeling a little better on the rail-trail in this rain.

The rain ensured that I'd be the only idiotic bike rider on the trail today.

This is so far north that they don't even know about Mr. Mason.

I've heard of the guy, but I couldn't tell you anything more about him--and I'm willing to bet most Willow Riverites couldn't either.

I was a little premature in assuming I'd be the only idiotic cyclist on the trail today. Soon after passing the birthplace of Ernie Nevers, I met up with a foursome of southbound riders. They had very small packs as if they were going from motel to motel. I gave them a cheerful "Hi guys!"

They barely looked up, and only one of them returned a half-hearted "hi." I gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they were just tired of being wet. Still, deep down, I knew those guys could never be librarians, nor could they ever conduct a no-complaints tour.

The big news is that I saw a pretty good variety of wildlife today. Early on, I saw a tight formation of five big white birds flying overhead. I'm just guessing here, but I think they were either snow geese or trumpeter swans. Either way, it was pretty cool. Shortly thereafter, a pheasant flew past me. Redwing blackbirds chased me away from their nests along Highway 61 between rains. I might hear their aggressive "CHK-CHK-CHK-REEEEEK" warnings in my dreams tonight.

On the Munger Trail I saw a bird that looked exactly like a great blue heron--except it was brown. And a jet-black squirrel. And two deer.

Today's ride: 62 miles (100 km)
Total: 149 miles (240 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	2
Comment on this entry	Comment	0