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