Perrot StatePark to Wabasha, 162km, 8hrs, total 2044. Fine tail wind 33℃
An indication of the time I arose was that I only walked 2m from camp to survey the day and perform another necessity.
Having slept so well, a glance at the tent revealed it was pitched on an ever so slight slope, my head had been at its upper end. A point I noted.
A cup of coffee and oats was prepared and enjoyed. The gear was packed, I had had grown accustomed to the ritual of setting up camp and breaking the same. Each could be carried out within 20 minutes at a liesurely but methodical pace.
The trip to Onalaska was on a disused rail line topped with limestone, 18 miles of shaded bliss crossing numerous sloughes. Leaving the park, a T intersection indicated a wildlife sanctuary to the left, Choosing to check this out, the only wildlife observed were persistent March Flies and clouds of swarming midge like insects. The migratory birds that use this major flyway had obviously not yet fronted or found richer pickings elsewhere along this umbilical cord that norishes so much life.
The trail was great, other cyclists were out for their morning rides or whatever. Greetings were immanent upon approach. Feeling hungry after 15 miles I asked a guy about eateries on the trail. He was helpful and gave me directions to a couple this side of Onalaska.
Choosing the Lakeview Restaurant, I pulled in, took a seat, had the bottomless coffee palnted on the table and promptly ordered what to date has been the best breakfast, it consisted of cut steak on a green salad with italian dressing liberally bathing the fresh vegetables. So nice, mind you I ordered a follow up pancake.
Passing through Onalaska the next town was La Crosse, WI. Here I had a good look about. I tried to find a bus or train back to Hastings, MN, to no avail.
I came across a bar, Nutbush City Limits, their garden bar was 2 sand volley ball courts, a couple games were under way, with players dressed in swimmers. A dj was playing some musely so I thought I’d ask him what was on the boil around here, a couple of the songs he mentioned are included, country is the general genre.
The purpose of this last couple of days was to ride down the WI side of the MR, its scenic beauty I was told should be taken in. Upon doing that one should ride up the MN side back to Hastings, anyway I thought a bus back up would be better, that way I could sleep, not taken in the scenery and ride back once I got to Hastings. Noting that this clockwise direction kept me on the river side of the road. I decided to cross the river to MN and ride north up US 61, a famous road.
Stopping at Winona, (I had arranged a warm showers stay here months ago), but I now know the best plan is no plan. Anyway stopping, I pulled into Walmart, they had a subway within, a few Moutain Dews were consumed. I bought some fruit and a half size towel for the handle bars. All the bottles were replenished and a full cup of ice was removed from the premises. Perspiration was a major issue in the ensuing heat as the sun crossed the sky.
About 12m out of Wabasha another rider John caught and rode with me, this was great, the two of us yakked the whole way to Wabasha making the last 20k of 160k slide by. Among other things we talked about, he gave me directions to the local council park.
Prior to arrival I pulled in at an Irish Bar, ordered a swarnarama with fish and chips. The first beer fell into a void another was ordered and enjoyed with dinner.
It was a balmy evening, I located the camp, the manager pointed to a spot to camp. Another touring cyclist, Owen from London was there. He was doing the northern tier or a version of it, west to east. We immediately got on well and swapped experiences, all the time pestered by mozzies. He was on a 8 week ride.
His experiences associated with the generosity and friendliness of people were similar to mine. We both agreed it was contageous and desirable to catch.
A rythmic but purposeful sound was heard from the river, 30m from our camp. It was dark, I walked to the waters edge and in the centre of the waterway was a boat with an elevated bridge pushing a couple of hundred foot flotilla of barges upstream. It took 5 minutes to navigate its way past the park frontage, all the while a powerful spotlight allowed the master to keep an eye on his push. The pace and purpose of this event, the waterway it was on, my surroundings and the balmy night all combined to form a special Mississippi moment.
We chatted for a while, kept an eye on each others gear as each of us showered. Having both ridden 100m that day, the mozzies and knackerdness drove us to our respective tents for a kip.
An indication of the time I arose was that I only walked 2m from camp to survey the day and perform another necessity.
Having slept so well, a glance at the tent revealed it was pitched on an ever so slight slope, my head had been at its upper end. A point I noted.
A cup of coffee and oats was prepared and enjoyed. The gear was packed, I had had grown accustomed to the ritual of setting up camp and breaking the same. Each could be carried out within 20 minutes at a liesurely but methodical pace.
The trip to Onalaska was on a disused rail line topped with limestone, 18 miles of shaded bliss crossing numerous sloughes. Leaving the park, a T intersection indicated a wildlife sanctuary to the left, Choosing to check this out, the only wildlife observed were persistent March Flies and clouds of swarming midge like insects. The migratory birds that use this major flyway had obviously not yet fronted or found richer pickings elsewhere along this umbilical cord that norishes so much life.
The trail was great, other cyclists were out for their morning rides or whatever. Greetings were immanent upon approach. Feeling hungry after 15 miles I asked a guy about eateries on the trail. He was helpful and gave me directions to a couple this side of Onalaska.
Choosing the Lakeview Restaurant, I pulled in, took a seat, had the bottomless coffee palnted on the table and promptly ordered what to date has been the best breakfast, it consisted of cut steak on a green salad with italian dressing liberally bathing the fresh vegetables. So nice, mind you I ordered a follow up pancake.
Passing through Onalaska the next town was La Crosse, WI. Here I had a good look about. I tried to find a bus or train back to Hastings, MN, to no avail.
I came across a bar, Nutbush City Limits, their garden bar was 2 sand volley ball courts, a couple games were under way, with players dressed in swimmers. A dj was playing some musely so I thought I’d ask him what was on the boil around here, a couple of the songs he mentioned are included, country is the general genre.
The purpose of this last couple of days was to ride down the WI side of the MR, its scenic beauty I was told should be taken in. Upon doing that one should ride up the MN side back to Hastings, anyway I thought a bus back up would be better, that way I could sleep, not taken in the scenery and ride back once I got to Hastings. Noting that this clockwise direction kept me on the river side of the road. I decided to cross the river to MN and ride north up US 61, a famous road.
Stopping at Winona, (I had arranged a warm showers stay here months ago), but I now know the best plan is no plan. Anyway stopping, I pulled into Walmart, they had a subway within, a few Moutain Dews were consumed. I bought some fruit and a half size towel for the handle bars. All the bottles were replenished and a full cup of ice was removed from the premises. Perspiration was a major issue in the ensuing heat as the sun crossed the sky.
About 12m out of Wabasha another rider John caught and rode with me, this was great, the two of us yakked the whole way to Wabasha making the last 20k of 160k slide by. Among other things we talked about, he gave me directions to the local council park.
Prior to arrival I pulled in at an Irish Bar, ordered a swarnarama with fish and chips. The first beer fell into a void another was ordered and enjoyed with dinner.
It was a balmy evening, I located the camp, the manager pointed to a spot to camp. Another touring cyclist, Owen from London was there. He was doing the northern tier or a version of it, west to east. We immediately got on well and swapped experiences, all the time pestered by mozzies. He was on a 8 week ride.
His experiences associated with the generosity and friendliness of people were similar to mine. We both agreed it was contageous and desirable to catch.
A rythmic but purposeful sound was heard from the river, 30m from our camp. It was dark, I walked to the waters edge and in the centre of the waterway was a boat with an elevated bridge pushing a couple of hundred foot flotilla of barges upstream. It took 5 minutes to navigate its way past the park frontage, all the while a powerful spotlight allowed the master to keep an eye on his push. The pace and purpose of this event, the waterway it was on, my surroundings and the balmy night all combined to form a special Mississippi moment.
We chatted for a while, kept an eye on each others gear as each of us showered. Having both ridden 100m that day, the mozzies and knackerdness drove us to our respective tents for a kip.