Valley City, North Dakota

 

It was seventy-one miles from my last Carnegie in Minnesota to the next in North Dakota in Grafton, a mere hop after long jaunts of 178 and 133 and 303 and 163 miles between the last few starting with Two Harbors in Minnesota to Thunder Bay in Canada.  But those seventy-one miles were all into the strongest wind of the trip, a twenty-miler,  making it the most demanding stretch of all. 

At least I managed to reach the Carnegie in Grafton during its limited Saturday hours, though just twenty minutes before it closed at two after opening at ten.  The lights were on in the building but with just one car in the parking lot off in a corner I feared it was a typical small town library with no weekend hours.

But praise be, there was an open sign on the side entrance to the addition that had replaced the original entrance.  The elderly librarian was just a part-timer and had to look up the password for the WiFi—flynn006.  I couldn’t get it to work, as she thought the F was capitalized.  After several unsuccessful attempts, two with her looking over my shoulder, she went and got the slip of paper with the password on it.  I could see the F was lower case.  

She hovered about me pretending to be arranging books during my entire stay to make sure I behaved myself.  I had to sit at a table in the addition, as the Carnegie portion of the library was crammed with book shelves.  I would have much preferred to sit under its semi-dome on the comfortable couch in front of the fireplace with Carnegie’s portrait above it, but there were no electrical outlets nearby.  

My delay in connecting to the WiFi meant I had to sit outside in the cold to book my train home.  I had waited until now, not sure when I could reach Fargo, now less than two hundred miles away. I would be turning south and would have the wind with me, so could make the Monday night train.

That Monday night train was fully booked and the next night too.  That wasn’t all bad, as it meant I could make a leisurely ride of the home stretch, something I had yet to afford myself in these travels, as I’ve been maximizing my time on the bike to complete my circuit with it getting colder and colder.  I realized several hours after I booked my ticket it was fortunate my first choice wasn’t available as I’d miscalculated my day of departure.  That Monday night three a.m. departure was actually late Sunday night bridging into Monday morning. If I’d showed up Monday night the train would have been long gone.

After crossing the Red River into North Dakota the terrain became wide-open vast pasture lands with just clumps of trees here and there.  The traffic thinned to almost nothing.  It should have been just me and vast herds of buffalo, but there were none to be seen.  Where oh where had they gone?  Such a sad tale.

My first night of camping in these wide open spaces was along a fringe of trees separating a field of corn from the road.  There was a packed dirt trail into a corner of the field for farm equipment, making it an easy entry.  There was a farmstead across the road down a long driveway with no one stirring in the cold and near-dark.  No one could have seen me or been aware of my presence.

After about an hour, well after dark, while I was still eating, a dog started barking.  It was nearby.  I doubted the owner was giving it a walk in the sub-freezing temperatures, but just in case I turned off my lantern and ate in the dark.  The dog crept closer and closer and barker louder and more fiercely.  No flashlight came within sight, which I almost wanted, as if the dog was accompanied he could be curbed.  

I didn’t have anything much to fend off the dog should he come clawing at the tent.  My mini-pump would have been useless as would have been the knife on my leatherman tool.  The best defense measure I could scrounge up was a pannier with a can of baked beans and a glass jar of marmalade to smash into its nozzle.  My heart was pounding.  The farmstead was so far away I doubted anyone would want to be drawn to see what had stirred their beast of a dog even if they heard the ruckus.  If they could even hear its frenzy, they’d assume it was in reaction to some critter.  At last, after several minutes the dog having made its point and failing to draw me out crept away, still barking.

An hour or two after I had gone asleep the dog returned and was barking even more viciously and even closer to the tent, as if challenging me to come out and fight.  I feared he had returned with a full attack in mind. I regretted I hadn’t rummaged for a stick to ward him off if need be.  Would he go scurrying away if I gave him a pop or would he battle to the death?  After what seemed an eternity, he retreated once again.   

I was intent on an early departure before he was back on the prowl.  It was still dark when my alarm sounded at seven.  It was the fastest I had broken camp in a long time.  Thanks to the early start and a good tail wind for the southerly portion of my ride I had my first one hundred mile ride of the trip arriving in Valley City just as the sun was giving its goodbye to the day.  There was just enough light left in the sky to illuminate its Carnegie Library, giving it a little extra luster. 

I asked a couple of dog walkers if there was a cheap non-chain motel in town.  They said the last privately owned motel had turned into an Super Eight and that it was probably the cheapest.  It was one of a cluster of three motels along Interstate 94.  I might have opted for the town campground even with the temperature dropping into the teens, but it was vacant and the restroom was locked.  I really needed a good wash before I boarded the train and also needed to sort through my clothes and let them lose their dampness.

The Super Eight had actually closed, so I settled on the nearby Econo Lodge.  It was cheaper than the last motel I had stayed at two weeks ago and came with breakfast and also had good hot water, not something the other motels I have stayed at had, economizing now on water temperature.  A motel every once in a while is a wonderful luxury despite my preference for being in the tent. And with it a Sunday I had a football game to watch and didn’t have to wait until Monday to learn all the scores.  

I emptied my four panniers on the second bed, not sure if the clothes were damp or just cold.  I was hoping I’d find my Garmin cyclometer as it had gone missing since the Walmart after the snow storm where I spread out my tent to dry and other gear to dry.  It didn’t turn up, evidently swiped by a passerby.  It wasn’t a total loss, as it had started to malfunction with its battery having difficulty to hold a charge. It had served me well.  I have most missed its thermometer and the altimeter a bit.  It was an older model that will be easy to replace on eBay with many people upgrading, how I managed to come by this one thanks to Ralph.