Every time I come home to southern Minnesota I pray that I might someday get called back to this area. I absolutely love it. I love the people, the fields, the small towns . . . .
Tuesday I went canoeing again, this time with my uncle, Dale, on the Zumbro River. We paddled seven miles (+) from Zumbro Falls to the village of Hammond. It was a beautiful drive through farmland under overcast skies. I keep the window down perpetually - I don't think I've had to use the A/C since I got back. The water was moving pretty good as it rained fairly hard Monday night. The water is always muddy, so it's hard to tell if it was higher from runoff. The water is so silty that you couldn't see the bottom even if it was less than one foot deep. The Zumbro twists through the limestone and sandstone valleys of southeast Minnesota, eventually running into the Mississippi south of Wabasha (of "Grumpy Old Men" fame). We saw a couple bald eagles - one immature, one, well, mature. Shortly before we pulled out at Hammond, the sun broke through. We had parked my uncle's pickup outside the Hammond bar and dropped in for a cold one before going back for my truck. (Aside: my observation has been that bottled beer is generally preferred to tap beer among my friends and relatives - and the locals I've observed - back home in Minnesota and Wisconsin, by and large. I find this surprising, since I prefer draft beer, and, you can get a Bud tap for $1.75 . . . at least a dollar cheaper than most large cities I've visited. Enough about beer.)
Wednesday evening I met some college buddies (George, Zach, Tupy, Brothen and Brothen's girlfriend, Allison) for dinner at TGI Fridays near the Mall of America. I love those guys and don't see nearly enough of them.
Thursday, around noon, I pointed my motorcycle southwest to go visit a high school friend, Finny, near Albert Lea. First, I had to bust out the electrical tape and slap a bandaid fix on my left turn signals. (I still have not repaired the damage from my Memorial Day wipeout.) There was some trepidation as I gently turned my bike from the gravel onto the pavement for the first time since my accident. After two and a half hours through the fields and county roads of southern Minnesota, I had regained most of my confidence - and a keener eye for debris on the roadway. It was a beautiful ride. Well worth the time to go and visit a friend. This afternoon, we ate a late lunch at Perkins before I meandered my way back to Red Wing. I didn't have a map, but knew I just needed to keep moving East and North and eventually, I'd hit highway 52 at or near Rochester. Less than 30 miles after I left Glenville, my speedometer/odometer conked out, so I spent the rest of the ride trying to gauge my speed by the feel of the bike and the few cars I encountered. Three hours later, I was back home.
It's Friday night and I'm not at CRAVE. But, I find myself, ironically, in a coffee house. Tonight, I'm drinking a half-caf brewed coffee at Caribou Coffee in Red Wing; after this, I'm going to go visit my friend, Ole. I've composed the last few posts here. It's a beautiful chain coffee house in a renovated train depot. The depot used to house a train-themed Hardee's restaurant. I don't think there's a kid from Red Wing in their 20s or 30s now who didn't have a train-themed birthday party here (picture kids in birthday hats singing, "chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga, Har-dees! Har-dees!"). It was an institution! But now they have good coffee and free wireless. Progress?
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