June 20: Grand Rapids to Bemidji, Minnesota
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SOMETIMES a day when nothing happens, when you meet nobody, do nothing, can be perfect. Today was close to one of those days.
Where the army engineers forecast high wind against us, the world produced just a face-freshening breeze. There was the aggravation of being pursued and circled by every black fly - ugly, stinging flies - that an hour of marshland can produce, and there was the nuisance of three long stretches on road reduced to sand pits, on one of which Steph fell and wrenched a thumb. But they were just chapter headings in an uneventful book.
We bowled along with the road to ourselves, with the exception of the unavoidable US2 with its cracked shoulders, and we breathed the pine forest air of the Leech Lake Indian Reservation. For
hour after hour we saw nobody and nobody saw us. We were content. So content that we rode further than planned and finished in an RV park outside Bemidji. We have a small grassy patch on the edge of Tin City, the first cross-country riders of the season, according to the receptionist.
AMERICAN FLAGS SEEN: 58 NITE CRAWLER OPPORTUNITIES: 2 DRAGITS: 0
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