Up Brainerd

Brainerd to Little Falls, Minnesota Tuesday, June 15, 2021

In Fargo, this is where Marge Gunderson keeps saying where she’s from. Alas, as authentic as this iconic movie feels, there’s almost nothing in it that is true. None of it was filmed in Fargo, or Brainerd. That great accent, referred to as “Minnesota Nice” is almost never heard. I’ve been in the state now for over two weeks, and only heard it once, in that casino on my first night in Grand Portage. The receptionist had it so thick I thought she was from central casting. Oh yah, yew betcha. The opening of the film announces it as a true story, but Ethan and Joel Coen admitted that it was completely made up. It’s so brilliant, and the fondness of the Coens for their home state so obvious, however, that you forgive the mendacity.

I knew I wouldn’t find the Paul Bunyan statue, but I was hoping to at least see the sign.

I have come to accept that most American small cities have devolved into suburban sprawl, but Brainerd has made it into an art form. I had located a Costco for some supplies I needed, but had to negotiate an almost comical series of concrete barriers and on/off ramps to get there, and once there, there was of course no place to lock the bike. I had to lean it against the railing right in front of the check-in person, and hope for the best. I searched in vain for sunscreen, they were all out. Huh? The guy said everybody is desperate to get outdoors after more than a year of Covid quarantines, and these Scandinavian Minnesota types are especially needy of sun protection.

Uh oh. This could be dire. I’m a melanoma survivor myself (stage 1A), and have been slathering the stuff on religiously. Somewhat frantically I negotiated the Brainerd sprawl and traffic, and finally scored a couple of tubes at a Walgreens. Whew.

Had to take a zoom call at 2PM, figured I’d better stay in town where there was a strong signal. Needed a table and shade, found one in front of a building that looked public. An older gentleman came out and said it would be OK. 45 minutes into the call a woman came out and said I had to move, this was a senior care home and the guy was not fully compos mentis. I had to complete the call by a busy highway. So much for Minnesota Nice. Brainerd turns out to be a shrine to the American automobile. No wonder they need a pipeline.

So didn’t get rolling until 3:30, another patented Luria jackrabbit start. I can’t understand why no one wants to ride with me.

I did the last 15 miles of the glorious Paul Bunyan State Trail (sorry for a the snarky comments, Paul) and talked to a very fit Oddvar Kopischke to confirm that the next miles would have to be along highways or frontage roads. Oddvar is three years older, an Amherst grad, has Nordic skied competitively his whole life, has hung out with the likes of Bill Koch and Gary Fisher (that’s one of his original mountain bikes from Mount Tam), and served as a reminder of how out of shape I really am.

Along those highways I was treated to a bizarre sight, crop dusting. I’ve seen it in movies (most memorably in North by Northwest) but never in real life. Two planes were sweeping and twisting around the fields on either side repeatedly, and flying, I thought, dangerously close to the ground. It’s one thing to do that coming in for a landing, but what if they had a bit of windshear? It seems an awfully inefficient way to spray the fields. Sometimes they passed alarmingly close to me, I was glad for the surrounding trees and telephone wires that kept them from doing the Cary Grant thing.

Passed the slightly foreboding gate to Camp Ripley before arriving in Little Falls, just in time for a mediocre Chinese meal and a sunset ride to my campsite.

Headwind tomorrow, maybe get my butt in gear before noon?

Distance 45 miles, 2,687 total. Time 8 hours with stops. Elevation gain 331 feet.

©️ 2021 Scott Luria