Day 33. Glyndon to Park Rapids, 73 miles

The day started very Minnesota: I was supposed to wake to a few hours of morning thunderstorms—Sara had let me know the showerhouse was concrete and I was welcome to take shelter in it—but when I woke up at 5 there was no sign of them.

The wind was to be turning in my favor, so I packed up a bit more slowly than usual and didn’t get out until around 7. I spent the first half of the morning back on SR 10, the busiest road I’ll be on in Minnesota. In fact, Googlemaps was so averse to putting me on SR 10 to get to Buffalo Creek State Park yesterday that it told me there was no way to get there from here, and I had to call the park to confirm it was accessible by bike. The confused-sounding guy who answered (on a Sunday morning! I love Minnesota!) told me that yes, cyclists stay there frequently, and it’s right off 10. It’s not the prettiest or quietest road, but its shoulder was wide, and frankly it was kind of thrilling to be on a road with towns and gas stations and other signs of life. And I turned off it after 30 miles and onto a much quieter and lovelier county road.

Sara had mentioned to me the enjoyable and uncommon flatness of my previous day and warned me that was valley topography, not my life forevermore. But she said it so nicely! And indeed the road began to rock and roll again just a few miles in, ultimately giving me a day of 1600+ feet of climbing, with 300 feet less of descent. But there were TREES! Trees shading the road, trees cutting the wind, trees cooling things off, trees being lush and gorgeous. And lakes! So much water again, creeks with currents and big blue lakes. Minnesota, could I love you more?

There were charming turnoffs and trailheads, and I resisted few of them, stopping for a quick bite or some water or a butt rest.

My mellow was harshed in the last twenty miles when someone decided to rumble strip the center of the relatively narrow shoulder nearly right down the middle, but a little closer to the berm, so I was forced to ride between the rumble strip and the white line. Grouse. I always try to imagine the logic behind the idiosyncratic rumble-stripping methodologies I’ve encountered, but this one was special. I also thought to call ahead to the campground, even though it was a Monday and it could not possibly be full, and somehow it was. Minnesotans love to recreate, and I can’t be mad at that. I ended up at the much less charming Super 8, which at least gave me a chance to dry my shoes, which got soaked in a thunderstorm that hit in my last eight miles. But whatever, I’m in Minnesota! And it had the nicest view I’ve ever gotten in a crappy motel.

So, after checking out the scene in Park Rapids, I hung out at the motel and washed some clothes and took care of other business before settling in for the night.