Just What Petite Was Asking For!

[Razors Edge ★]

...an adventure in her neck of the woods!!!

I never heard of the "Driftless Area" but it sounds BAD AZZ!

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IN SOUTHEASTERN MINNESOTA – We left the pavement early on the morning of Day 2, crossed the Root River and came face to face with a mile-long climb on a slurry of mud and gravel.

It was late May. Our group of five was a few miles south of Houston, Minn., and immersed in the Driftless Area, an ancient landscape of deep coulees and high ridges connected by long, snaking roads. Formed by 500 million years of wind, rain and snow melt, the region would define every aspect of our 230-mile ride from Winona to Lansing, Iowa, across the Mississippi River, and back through Wisconsin. We would feel every foot of elevation gain as we each hauled 30-plus pounds of bikepacking gear from valley floor to ridge top on a mix of gravel and paved roads. And we would experience more than the usual fare of that landscape-defining wind and rain.

But our immediate concern was the climb. Before long, all of us, including Tom McDowell, the strongest, and Pablo Armas, the youngest, had dismounted to push our bikes toward the summit. For Nina Clark, who used her 28-mile round-trip commute as the base for her training, it was an opportunity to see more of the wildflowers lining the road. The rest of us raised our heads reluctantly and admitted they were pretty.

 

 

The summit offered a new challenge: a sudden, driving rain powered by wind gusts reaching 50 miles per hour. Kristen Paulsen, who toured extensively in the Appalachian Mountains with her husband before taking time off to raise a family, felt herself being blown toward the ditch. Tom showed early signs of hypothermia. We needed shelter and found it in a farm’s machine shed. At the far end, a section of sheet metal roofing lifted in the wind, then slammed hard on the rafters in a rhythmic clanging that didn’t stop until the wind died and the rain backed off to a drizzle. We rode on, leaving tire tracks in the gravel driveway to baffle our absent hosts.

Day 1 had been so different: Delicious $5 burgers at the Witoka Tavern, a photo shoot with kids at the Houston Nature Center, a private tour of the International Owl Center, and, to the southwest, a night at Outback Ranch, a campground for horse people.

We reset on Day 2 in Spring Grove with an extended lunch and a detour to the local car wash where we lined up our rides, plugged in quarters and sprayed grit from five crud-encased bikes. The weather reset as well. By the end of the day, with nearly 40 miles behind us, we were rolling down a shaded gravel road, past a couple of trout fishermen enjoying a beer on the tailgate of their pickup, and into Dorchester, Iowa. Tom secured a campsite across Main Street from Wings Supper Club.

--- the rest and photos here.