Tangled up in blue

Chisholm to Swan Lake, Minnesota Wednesday, June 9, 2021

Turns out, Moonlight wasn’t hard to find, there is a mural right in the center of town, at the Mesabi Trailhead. He caught WP Kinsella’s imagination as he wrote Field of Dreams, as a right fielder who only played one inning in 1903, and never got to bat, but went on to become the beloved town doctor for Chisholm, and lived another 62 years. In the movie, he was played by Burt Lancaster in his last role. I’ll be stopping by the Field itself in a few weeks.

Another 7 miles took me to Hibbing, the reason I came up here in the first place. There was a steep gravel road (I had to stash the bike and walk) to the largest iron mine in the world. I’ll let the pictures tell the story.

So I got a bird’s eye view of the town before I descended, home of Roger Maris, Celtics great Kevin McHale, and of course, the Jester himself from American Pie, Bob Dylan, née Zimmerman.

Before I got to his house, I came upon the Greyhound Bus Museum, which was just closing. I didn’t realize that the famous company began as a local bus service in Hibbing.

In three miles, I came to an iconic blue house on the corner. You can just see the other side was tangled up in scaffolding, and I could hear hammers pounding.

These few blocks of 7th Avenue were renamed Bob Dylan Drive, and as I was gawking and taking photos a character, who had perhaps smoked one joint too many, accosted me with a diatribe about how he lived on the avenue, and tried to get his driver’s license to reflect Bob Dylan Drive in the address, but nobody in the goddamn DMV would listen to him etc. etc.—when an older man came out and rescued me, sent the other guy on his way.

My savior turned out to be Bill Pagel, and he gave me his card

Bill is a retired pharmacist who bought both of Bob’s childhood homes, the one in Duluth and this one, which he was restoring to its 1950s appearance. He came out because he was intrigued by my bicycle, I didn’t seem like the usual tourist, and also to rescue me from that guy. Would I like a tour of the house? Um, yeah. (!!!!!!!)

This Easter egg just trumped the Chicago penthouse! I couldn’t believe I was going to see where the Jester grew up! He asked me not to take any pictures inside, as he hoped to open it as a museum someday. He showed me his small bedroom, the knotty pine rec room where he wrote songs instead of studying, the one car garage where he and his buds practiced over the complaints of the neighbors, the linoleum floor in the kitchen that was identical to the floor in my house in DC (!) and, crème de la crème, the many places where he had carved his initials B.Z. I had to keep pinching myself. Talk about getting some cred with your son, the Dylan disciple!

Actually, I have mixed feelings about Dylan. No question he was a genius, and wrote some of the best rock ‘n’ roll and folk songs ever written. But he was a prickly personality, I thought it was incredibly arrogant not to go to Sweden to accept his Nobel prize, and Jason and I attended a very pricey concert a few years ago that was just awful, only a few songs, he barely acknowledged the audience. Jason in particular was furious that his idol had feet of clay.

Anyway, the tour and visit lasted over an hour. I was so fascinated that this mediocre student developed into this outsized figure, right here in this modest house. Neither of his parents were particularly musical. Bill had me sign the guest book, and had many questions about my trip. I left walking on air, realized I hadn’t eaten all day, and bolted for the nearest Subway.

While wolfing down my steak and cheese, I saw ominous thunderheads on the horizon. Other patrons suggested I get a motel room right here, but every room was booked, on a Wednesday. The pipeline workers were in town (hadn’t I just heard the Keystone Pipeline plans had been abandoned by the owners?), and all accommodations had been gobbled up. It was 6PM, as usual, and I had to go 25 more miles to a campground. Roger and Kevin (Maris and McHale) would have to wait.

Thankfully, the thunderheads passed without incident, and the Mesabi Trail was glorious for those miles. I was so high from that Dylan thing I don’t think anything would have thrown me. The Swan Lake campground was beautiful, and there were some other bike tourists, Tom and Karen from Alexandria MN.

Tom is a family practitioner who, though 10 years younger, is “old school,” doing 12 hour shifts in the ER, intubating patients and managing them in the ICU, doing minor surgery; and Karen is a preschool teacher. Between bikes, teaching, and medicine we could have talked for hours, but I had arrived at 9:15, it was getting dark, the bugs were coming out. Another thoughtful camper warned me about thunderstorms overnight, and pointed out that campgrounds here have storm/tornado shelters. Yikes. I pitched my tent extra carefully, and ditched the Tyvek footprint. By morning, I discovered it was all teapot and no tempest.

Distance 37 miles, 2,404 total. Time 8 hours with stops. Elevation gain 946 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria