Ye Mighty St. Croix River By Tandem

On this last weekend, we piled the tandem high with gear and a positive attitude and rode east to the St. Croix river valley. Wet clothed, 1 busted bottom bracket, and 100 miles later we returned to our humble abodes, dreaming of going back out again...


We left the house, after frantically packing all our gear, for northeast Minneapolis to meet Trevor for a harp choir that was to be performing that day at 11:00am. A small island at the bottom of a huge railroad bridge in the St. Croix river valley was our ultimate destination. Right now we were just trying to meet Trevor.

Upon meeting at 10:59 it was told to us that the harp choir was not performing that day, not that week, not that time, and not that month. Oh well, outwards and onwards.
The ride out, at usual, was amazing. I have never ridden in tandem before so this was a great opportunity to get a feel for what an extended tour might feel like. We both agreed that a short 3 day trip is possible, but we like the idea of being able to go our separate ways if we need to. Needless to say with a tandem you can really cruise. We made it to Stillwater, 30 miles approx., in under two hours.


We reached the point at which we planned to leave the road and hike the 100 yards of railroad track to a trail leading down into the river valley. We hiked those railroad tracks indeed. Trevor stayed and smokes a cig, Neeen and I walked out onto the bridge a little ways.


We soon found out that it's now considered a gross misdemeanor to be caught anywhere on railroad tracks in the state of Minnesota. We had no idea they were watching us. Kinda fucked up, huh? Oh well, we snagged a few photos before that info was passed along to us...

Getting the tandem down the treacherous trail involved the work of all three of us, one scout, one at the front of the tandem on brakes and handlebars, and one at the rear of the tandem with a rope attached to it. Our bag of Earls Cheesed Puffs that was dangling off the side of our rear pannier was soon ripped open and strewn about the forest floor. A little grit never hurt anybody, but it sure sounds like it from inside your skull.

Here is the High Bridge. It's very tall. We ferried our gear over to the small island in the middle of the river, near one of the pilings for the bridge. Camping is free and allowed only on the small islands of the St.Croix river. These camp sites are marked on the maps you get when you obtain the free permit.

The Alpacka raft worked like a charm. We did three trips, one with gear, one with a bike and Neeena, and one with Trevor.

It was the last trip across, with Trevor, when we almost tipped the raft: " We swayed and slowly tilted to one side. Trevor pulling back the paddle against water, and myself readjusting my position at the same time, lead us into a slow dip into the Ye mighty St. Croix. Water poured into the raft. I thought that was it. In a minute we would both be bobbing down the river, kicking our legs and holding onto the raft as we navigated our way to a passing log, or the shore. But no. After about a gallon of water rushed in over the side, the rafts buoyancy prevailed and we were pushed up through the surface and remained upright, a little wet, and afloat. Trevors cigarette continued to burn...

The night passed quickly. At one point I awoke to a huge rumbling sound. I pulled my survival knife from it's sheath and jumped out of my sleeping bag hot for action and ready to slice an opening in the side of the tent, awake my comrades, and dodge the impending wall of water that was thundering towards us. We would clamber up into trees and bust out the rope and PFD's. Flash flood. But wait.
I'm half asleep, and the sound of the flood is coming from downstream. What? I crawled back into my bag, put my knife away, and listened to
the eerie sounding, and rather short, train finish passing over the bridge 600 feet above our sleepy heads.

In the morning, it was gorgeous. A blanket of fog
thickly covered the river valley. We got up and ate.
We boiled river water and made oatmeal and spam goodness. Oh yeh, tea too. Oh what a day. An hour later we had everything packed and ferried everything back across the river, sin tipping, and loaded the bikes back up. We pushed and pulled our double sized steed up and out of the river valley, avoiding the railroad tracks, and eventually reached the road.

There was a click, clack, pop, clink, and all of a sudden Trevors pedals were suspended in air. Held up mearly by the super steady pedalling of his legs and feet. He stopped, kicked it. The bottom bracket, cranks, and pedals flopped and came to rest in a sideways, crooked position.

Trevors bottom bracket was totalled. He dropped his bike, walked over to a tree, dropped his pants, and crouched down. He sat there, apparently deep in thought, smoking a cig, still in spandex underwear, for a few minutes. We towed his ass into Stillwater only to find that the one shop was closed on Mondays...

Puppet Farm Arts

I participated in the May Day Parade today, in the "walk in section" (not part of the overall Heart of The Beast Concept), with Christopher Lutter Gardella of Puppet Farm Arts. It was, as usual, one of the most amazing experiences.






















Everytime I've had the opportunity to operate and become one of Chris' animals it's humbling. I consistently see adults become kids again, their eyes wide, there hearts beating through their chests, jaw dropped, and that look that tells one yes, they get it. Of course there are some who chose to completely ignore the 7 foot tall black bear (or wolf, polar bear, 16 foot tall stag) standing right in front of them. They are saying, "nope, not me, that's kids stuff, not for me, I am an adult and have no imagination...at all!" There the ones that get a licking (literally) or bumped, howled at, and sniffed. Within seconds they break, and reveal there heart. No one can resist.


And then there is the punk kids who push, punch, and say, "there's people in there!" As if they are revealing some hidden secret. We simply ram the little bastards and send them onto their ass. Serves em' right. Young'ins.

I met Christopher at a puppet workshop in Washburn, WI. I had seen the poster portraying bikes with fish built around them. Natch, I showed up. And low and behold the tall bike fish bike, complete with googly eyes, a brake lever operated mouth, and suckers on the sides and ass.

Chris has been making his living building puppets and teaching arts that use recycled materials his entire life. He does political works as well.























And finally my favourite and what seems to be just short of a miracle to have pulled off. This is a peace dove made out of people shot from an airplane on the frozen surface of Lake Superior. Chris ran an ad in the local newspaper saying to show up if interested. Well, people showed up and they pulled it off great! Some snowmobilers showed up as well just as the air plane was about to fly over. They did a few close drive by's, apparently trying to scare up the people, but that did not work. Peace and happiness will prevail, as it always does.

Minnesota River Raftng

I rode the Greenway west to the LRT trail and went out to Chaska, then cut across the Minnesota River on HWY 101. Right beneath an old abandoned bridge I packed the raft and entered the swirling, muddy, and slightly smelly Minnesota River for a 2 day trip...


I left Midtown MPLS at about 4:00 pm and pedaled west for about 2 hours. It was a beautiful ride. It was a relatively warm day and there were a bunch of babes on the trail so within the first hour the ride had already been deemed "worth it." I even had the wind at my back, who could of asked for more? knowing that even if I got to my predetermined rafting point and the wind was against me, the river current would still push me forward, towards my destination, was a bonus. I arrived at Bluff Creek road, hung a left, and crossed the river on HWY 101. 2 hours later, 6:00pm

The sun was supposed to set around 8:08 so I hung out for a moment and then packed my gear onto the Alpacka Raft and pushed off. Dry bags are must and I would recommend carrying something along in the raft to piss in, I found a cottage cheese container floating in the river, since urinating off the side of the raft is
pretty difficult and needless to say a
little unsafe.
The river currents run strong this time of year, very strong, and to be separated from your raft would not only mean almost certain destruction of your gear, but possible death. I wear a PFD, I carry a throw bag with 77' of 950 pound test rope, carry a first aid kit, chemical heat packs, have a knife strapped to my chest, and carry "stormproof" matches in my pockets. These things are all attached to me, just in case. The seat and back rest in the Alpacka raft inflate separatly from the outer tubes of the raft, allowing them to act as a back up floatation device.

After paddling down river for about an hour I passed a couple walking along it, obviously quite in love, or something like that. We chatted abit from shore to raft and we both agreed that yes, this is living. "Enjoy Indian Country!" He yelled as we parted ways. Another hour later the sun was setting and I pulled into a small cove to make camp. I could see the Valleyfair sign glowing though the trees about 3 miles away. That was kind of weird, but I made the best of it.
The shore was quicksand. I quickly sank up to my ankles in less then a second and struggled for a couple minutes to to pull the bike laden packraft and myself through the Never-Ending-Story esque roots, quicksand, and onlooking turkeys. There were turkeys everywhere, not to mention tons of assorted waterfowl. These kept my mind going all night long. At night, I think it was the turkeys, there were some of the most crazy sounds I've ever heard in the out of doors. I wasn't freaked out, but they had me going for a little bit. Eventually I dozed off. I woke up a bit chilled in the night. I thin this could have been prevented by slinging an extra tarp

In the morning I was greeted by a thick vale of fog sweeping through the river valley. I set up my Esbit stove and went to make my oatmeal and tea and realized I hadn't brought enough water, or a purification device. The thought of boiling and drinking water from the Minnesota river made me nervous. I scooped up a pot of water from what looked like a "clean" spot and boiled it for about 15 minutes. The recommended time for treating water by boiling is only around five, but I didn't want to take any chances. Soon I was drinking tea and munching my oatmeal down. I pre-make my oatmeal mix so all I have to do is boil water and then add my clump to the hot water, put the lid on, and voila! Here it is:
1/2 cup oatmeal
Dash of Vanilla extract
1 heaping spoon of Peanut butter
1/4 cup cashews
and a bit of Raw cane sugar
in the winter months I add a big chunk of butter and double the ration.

I packed my hammock, stove, sleeping bag, and book (Running The Amazon by Joe Kane) up and clambered into the packraft. Pushing off of shore has become one of my new favorite sensations. Your in the river, you've studied the map, yet you still have no idea whats really waiting around the bend. It's unexplainable really. All these half submerged still standing trees are neat too.

Eventually I reached a point that I thought was good to get out at. After clambering through the Tolkien-esque quick sand and muck, re-assembling my rig, and looking about, I realized I was at the western edge of the River Bottoms bike trails. What luck. There was only one thing I could do... ride!

This was one of my best days out. Biking, paddling, trail riding, coffee. I've got nothing to complain about.

Camping.

I was not able to take any pictures, I had other things on my mind, but if you like to read stories, here is a little camping story…

I rode about 10 miles up river of Stillwater, about 40 miles from MPLS, and then rode to the St. Croix river on some railroad tracks around Arcola. I loaded my packraft with my gear and plans to camp on a a little island about 2 miles down river. I figured I could wake up around 5am and paddle to Stillwater, re-pack everything, bike back to MPLS and be to work at 11:00am. The paddle to the island was beautiful. The setting sun, the icy river. Often I found myself breaking ice, portaging, or scooting up onto sheets if ice, pulling my paddles in two, and scooting across to the other side of the ice sheet. In the night the sounds of geese, small waves, and an eerie, seemingly endless train echoed off the valley walls. Not much sleep was had, the natural orchestra kept me amused till dawn. Around 12:00 I started to recognize the sounds of sheets of ice moving about. The wind was picking up from the north and pushing the flows and sheets from up stream. I turned on my headlamp and read my map. I knew that the ice was getting funneled into the narrow spot in the river ahead of my camp and that this would add considerable amounts of time to paddling to Stillwater, if not walking the shore, in the morning. I finally dozed off and awoke around 4:00am. Shivering, I frantically bustled about packing my shelter, cooking, eating, and stuffing my thermarest into the floor of the packraft. My bicycle was coated in a thick layer of ice. The temperature must have dropped to about 0 farenheit in the night. I was using a layering technique with a 55 degree bag and a 30 degree bag to save me from bringing my massive -20 bag along. This worked well until the wee hours of the morning when my body was low on fuel.
Soon I was paddling down the St. Croix through massive flows and sheets of ice. Still and dark, the icy currents and eddies swirled around my tiny little raft. My paddles struck the ice and broke through with a glass like shattering sound. I was pushed and pulled about by the ice. Reaching a certain point, I realized I could go no futher. Miles of sketchy ice lay between me and my destinaion. I thought I might take a photo, but this thought made me analyze my situation. On either side of the river there was about 30 yards of thick, down tree laden shoreline. Beyond that, sheer cliff. I remembered seeing people walking on a beach from the wayside earlier and decided a healthy buhwacking session down the shoreline would lead me to Stillwater. Looks like I am gonna be late for work. Boss man’s gonna tear me a new asshole. No. No he’s not. He’s only gonna tear me a new asshole if I get out of here without freezing, falling, and/or drowning to death. Things just became critical. No photos now. Only pure concentration.
I reached the shore and assembled my bike and gear. Fucking gears, what was I thinking? Everything was frozen solid. I bushwaked. I scouted without my bike, then came back and got my bike and trudged on. Climbing over huge downed trees, brought from up stream by some ancient flood waters. My feet were soaked and cold. I stepped in springs and sink holes. (it was still only 5:00 am after all and dark as ever) I got poked in the eye. My hands were numb, gloves soaked. I wasn’t wet from the river, but from falling and walking through streams and sinkholes I could not see in the early morning darkness. At least I didn’t have to worry about bees. Upon reaching a certain point I realized I would have to backtrack for an hour and go around a big pond. I imagined if there was a downed tree across it. Wait. Would I really walk across a tree with my bike? Low and behold a downed tree lay across the pond right in front of me. This would surely take at least 45 minutes off my backtrack…
Soon I was on the other side of the pond and staring up another big cliff with a small stream carved right down the middle.To my left was pure cliff, no walking around that. I guess I could use the raft but I don’t even know when the cliff side ends. I began to scout out a path and decided it would be wise to call Nina and let her know everything was OK, other than the fact. We talked a bit and soon the sun had rizen slightly above the river valleys edge, beaming light on the path ahead of me… as well as on a staircase to my left. I had not seen It in the darkness, yet it was mearly 50 yards away. I threw my bike over the rail and climbed the stairs to the top. Lately I have been expeirimenting with these MKS EZY quick release pedals and I love them, but I need to make a cover for when there aren’t any pedals in. The coupler was caked in ice on one side. Only one thing to do here. As I was urinating on my crank arm, soaking wet, cold, dreaming of the pie sitting at my house, I looked up and noticed a man drinking coffee in his home just a couple hundred feet away. He noticed me and soon I was biking back to MPLS.

Cheers!

Marlin

Arrowhead 135

This past half-week I participated in the Arrowhead 135. It’s an endurance race that starts in International Falls, MN. and ends in Tower, MN. 135 miles of self supported snow cycling. This was my first time participating in the event and regardless of my outcome I had a blast and can’t wait for next year! Here’s my account.

I left monday morning at 7:11 am. The first section is an “out and back” to make up for a few miles. It was a staggered start so you could leave anytime between 7:00-8:30am. I was the second biker to leave just behind Mike Reimer. We chatted a bit and would proceed to play leapfrog for the next ten miles. Not long after that a couple of guys with arrow-bars on pug style bikes blew pass me. It was a strange sight indeed. I reached the checkpoint, then eventually the starting point from which I left.My first mistake and ultimately what did me in was just surfacing at this point. The excitement (I have been waiting two years to partake in this event) and the surroundings had me so encompassed that I soon realized I was pushing to high of a gear. My knees were beginning to ache.

I stopped and ate. It was so quiet. Dave Gray caught up to me. We chatted abit, both mentioning that we were feeling alright, and he left towards the first checkpoint. I reached the first checkpoint at 2:03 pm. 35 miles in 7 hours. I felt pretty good at this point, but my knees were beginning to hurt pretty badly, especially when I had to dismount and push my bike (70pounds) up the hills. I took some ibroprufen and pressed on towards the halfway checkpoint Melgeorges Resort. I decided to just keep it in low gear and spin, like I should have from the beginning, to put off the knee pain for as long as I could. Soon the pain grew into a steady pulsing pain. At random moments a sharp and intense spike of pins and needles would shoot out my knees in all directions and force me to grunt and vocalize. I would have to say the knee pain was a result of my 4 days of almost zero miles due to a sickness leading up to the Arrowhead.

As the night fell the tempeature dropped and things became intensely surreal and beautiful. The sky was clear and the moon was very bright. I barely needed my headlamp. My jacket zipper began to cause me problems. I was keeping my food and water in a fishing vest under my coat to keep the food and water from freezing. This worked very well, but soon I was forced to remove my gloves every time I had to get food, because I couldn’t zip the broken zipper with them on. This meant that everytime I ate I had to rewarm my hands.
My layering techniques worked almost flawlessly. I was hardly sweating at all, and yet I was warm.
I figured I had gone 20 miles since the last checkpoint. A snowmobile pulled over and told me I had 28 miles to the next checkpoint, Melgoeorges Resort. That meant I had only gone 6 miles. I couldn’t believe it. I was excited and satisfied with newly presented challenge ahead of me. I was warm, had energy, and was happy. All I needed to do was endure the stupendous knee pain. Needless to say it was a very long 6 more hours of pedalling, walking, random bits of pain, and beautiful scenery engulfed in complete silence and solitude. This is why I had signed up, for adventure and a humbling challenge, and this is what I was getting.

The darkness grew thick and I began to feel a bit detached. Not delirious, just “in the zone”. The downhill sections were amazing. I would like to think I hit 30 miles an hour on some of them. I hardly used my brakes at all. Speaking of brakes…

Before the race I had completley removed my front brake. I decided I wouldn’t need it. My bike was set up with hydraulic disc brakes. I had gone through two winters with them without a single problem. In the last moment I decided to put the brake back on. A good decision indeed. Shortly into the night I was barreling down one of the hills hooting with joy. “Perhaps I should slow down” I thought as a sharp corner and a bunch of reflectors marking a bridge came into view. I reached for the rear brake. Nothing. Nada. Zip, zero, zilch. I was goin way to fast to even think about using the front brake so I just held on tight to my bar end, gave a loud woop of excitement, and leaned into the corner. A few seconds later I was calmly pedalling on the flats once again. Pugsley, your a damn fine machine.

I had originally planned on actually utilizing my bivy, sleeping bag, and stove/ extra supplies. This was, after all, my vacation and I was gonna treat it like one. Around 8:00pm I put those plans aside. My knees were fucked and I did not want to admit it to myself but I was probably going to drop out at Melgeorges. I only commute by bicycle. I don’t own a car. To completely destroy my knees and possibly cause permanent damage did not interest me at all, nor did taking the bus to work once I was back in MPLS. Nor did not riding my bike.

It was 9:00pm when I reached the second checkpoint, Melgeorges Resort.
I reached Melgeorges and walked inside. There was a few people at a table. I was offered grilled cheese and soup, hot coco and water. I said I felt good and planned on sleeping for an hour and going back out. Fucking liar. Dave was there and mentioned he was out. He had the flue. Mike had also dropped. Others would also continue to show up in either state of clarity and confidence, or stumble in shivering and staring.
I ate some soup and sat. I went up stairs to sleep and soon found myself sweating in bed and then shivering all of a sudden. I went in the bathroom and vomited up all the food I had ate while I was riding earlier. I went back and drank some water and laid down again. Soon I went downstairs and watched people come in. It was 11:00pm.
Suddenly I awoke behind the couch. I stood up and asked what time it was. I quickly sat down again. My knees felt like pin cushions. It was 6 am. I popped some more ibuprofen. The pain persisted. I stretched but still the pain. I thought about if I wasn’t in a warm cabin with support. What would I do in this same situation if I was on a self supported bike tour across some desolate region? I would be fool to press on, decreasing my chances of survival by destroying my self one painful step at a time. The riding and walking/ pushing would turn to walking and crawling, crawling and sitting. Sitting and dieing. Eventually I would become a hopeless, naked, hypothermic curled up human being. Cold as the frozen forests and iced over swamps around me. The soil would take me back in the spring. Defeated by my own stupidity and impatience.

I dropped out of the race at 8:30 am Tues. morning. at Melgeorges checkpoint.
I am looking forward to coming back next year with stronger knees, a few small gear changes, and more knowledge of what to expect. It was by far the hardest ride of my life so far, but surely not the last.

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