After two days riding from dawn to supper, nearly a hundred miles each day, I made Monday a half-day ride, not quite 60 miles, from Storm Lake to Okoboji.
Having slept, really slept, in a regular motel bed instead of on my inflatable pad and pillow, I didn’t get rolling until 7-ish. But I have to remind myself: I’m on vacation, so what’s the rush?
After two days of weekend riding, Monday felt like playing hooky. The gravel is just as quiet-crunchy, the corn as dry and rustly, the sky as blue on Sunday as on Monday. But there’s still a vibe in the highways and towns of people working, going where they need to go, putting in time on someone else’s clock. Amidst that Monday vibe, there I was, alone on two wheels, clicking gears and pictures, stopping to drink or snack or stretch my legs, to check my bearings and fill my bottles, but not have to be anywhere or do anything all day long.
The September sun stoked that hooky feeling. The late summer light slants more, and the couple-three degrees of latitude I’ve gained pedaling mostly north since Saturday tilt the sun farther, putting me in mind of the golden rays gleaming in the school bus windows and casting longer shadows on the gravel as we walked the driveway home to Hostess pies and Captain 11. This is the sunlight of the first month of school, but I’m not in school. I’m out goofing off, where these last great days of summer can shine on me every minute, uninterrupted by lessons and law.
Sioux Rapids is a pretty little town in the Little Sioux Valley. From the south, I dropped out of the farmland grid into a swoopy, shady gravel road that popped me right out to Casey’s and Highway 71. After a proper snack—cherry pie and orange juice—I wove through town, over the bridge, and out on the gravel North Sioux Road, which took me through and even cozier valley lined with trees and old farmsteads and maybe some hidden stashes of the James gang’s loot. I’d show you more pictures… but I’m just not that good of a travel-logger. I like taking and sharing pictures, but mostly, I’m just on the bike and the road for the ride, for the joy of moving. The hardcore onliners (I suppose everyone else’s term is “influencers”, but I can’t accept that term, since anyone so branded with that modern term probably isn’t really influencing but is just a medium for the influence of their corporate sponsors—they’re ad people) must stop, set up their drones and remote cameras to recapture in more perfect angles steps they’ve already taken. A lot of their pix and vids aren’t showing you their trips; they’re showing you staged reënactments,
Me, I just want to ride. I want to be in these flowing moments. I want to enjoy that shady, curvy climb up from the Little Sioux, and then, at the crest of the valley…
…pow! Back in the fooded flatland, beans and corn, scattered shelterbelts in the distance.
And I keep cranking, because cranking is good. Pedal pedal pedal…
Over bouncy rock and grader ridges and occasional washboard, my gear stayed remarkably snug on my bike. But along the gravel north of Greenville, heading toward Spencer, I felt a thunk on my frame and heard a hollow tappa-clunk on the road. Sunglasses? Frame pump? Butt lotion? What essential gear had shaken loose and abandoned ship?
I hit the brakes and walked back. I saw one small, dark, shadowy mass bigger than the strewn pebbles.
Whew! False alarm. Just a piece of wood flipped up by my tires. Nonetheless, I patted my pack, verifying the presence and snuggitude of gear before continuing my northward trek.
Spencer has a nice trail running south to north through town. And north toward Okoboji, the country road I took was designated as a bike trail.
When I hit Milford, I found the Great Lakes Spine Trail, a dedicated multi-use path that runs among the lakes all the way to Minnesota. Good pavement, off the road, just for people traveling under their own power, with trees to shade the way. America, build more paths like this, and plant more trees!
Around high sun noon (around 1:30 p.m., sun due south at its highest), I found my stopping point for the day: Minnewashta Campground, a city park t ramp on the north shore of Lake Minnewashta, the smallest of Okoboji’s five-lake complex.
I parked my bike and pitched my tent 20 feet from the water, showered in the bath house (good hot blasts of water, 20 seconds at a time), and went walking around Arnolds Park.
