So hard to leave the palacial Comfort Inn...
But there is a fair wind blowing warm out of the west over my shoulder, guess I'll set a course and go... (who can name the tune from which this line was stolen?? Answer revealed tomorrow)
Under greying skies, after cruising the 18 miles of cornfields to Groton on SR 12, we get off the main and jog north, then back east thru tiny Pierpont to Roslyn. Some scary and scaly, grey and engulfing cloud formations seem to be moving in from the south. Some light rain. Clouds separate, sun peeks and then recedes, then more odd formations above me. I keep looking around (sorta hoping, sorta not daring to hope) to catch a funnel on film. You know, one of those "Look mom, no brain; I got to watch a tornado come at me. I'll just lie in this here ditch while the cows and houses blow over; it'll make a great story at the Wedgewood Broiler!"
But no luck; I made it to Roslyn just fine.
Now, I did notice on my roadmap that Roslyn is the home of the (popular!) International Vinegar Museum, so I had to put it high on the morning's stopslist. I was in a bit of a pickle timewise, but what the heck. Three Senior Sitizens on a front porch in town directed me to the appropriate address and concluded with "Hope you didn't come all this way just to go to the museum!". And I assured them that I had INDEED.
Unfortunately, museum days were Thursday- Saturday and today was Wenzday. Dejectedly, I settled for a photo of the doorway and lunch across the street at Jim's Cafe. The meal was nothing special, but oddly, when I asked (naturally, I thought) for oil and vinegar dressing for my salad, I was told that they didn't have any vinegar! I thought best to not press the issue...
Pushing northward under more grey skies, I reach the crossroads town of Eden under deteriorating conditions, then go east toward the Buffalo Lakes. The expected cloudburst, accompanied by a driving south wind, chase me under a large, lime green road grading machine for 20 minutes til skies clear again. Squirming around under the belly of the beast got grease and oil all over my otherwise spotless cycling wear. (Black grease shows well on flourescent yellow, my friends...Oh well, another step lower on the sartorial scale.) The Buffalo Lakes are little blue gems, but are surrounded by rows of abandoned and dilapidated cabins and the remnants of a onetime quaint resort, and the only sign of life appears to be orange-spotted turtles trying to cross the road. (I did usher a few along for fear for their lives). Back on busy SR 10, I finish the last 10 miles into Sissento into a nasty, dark grey cloud and another soaking rain. But there is still spirit alive to stop at DQ for a large choco-choco chunk blizzard before reaching the Super8 Motel dujour.
40 days and 40 nights, isn't something special supposed to happen now?
I entered Roberts County, South Dakota and passed 2000 miles today.
Guess we've reached the Promised Land.
In answer to the quiz question of the first paragraph: Wooden Ships, written by David Crosby and Stephen Stills, most notably performed by Crosby Stills and Nash and Jefferson Airplane. Thanks to you, I'm listening to it now.
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