8:48 a.m.
We are waiting for the tent to dry. Again. John had turned it upside down to dry while we ate breakfast and packed a few things. A small poof of wind, and the tent rolled into the backwater full of duckweed. What a mess. The duckweed clung to the tent like paint on a wall. John broke his own rule: the wind will blow—stake it down.
Shelly and her boyfriend didn’t visit last night. But, a gentleman motored to our campsite in his side by side to ask the standard questions. Again, I was embarrassed to admit we were on the river only nine days.
I look at the river and yearn to be there. Yet, I know the wind is picking up and paddling would be strenuous and sometimes dangerous. I miss my river life already. I miss moving Ripple with the stroke of my paddle. I miss the bald eagles yelling at us. I miss the graceful pelicans. I miss the sights seen only from the river. I miss the sand between my toes. I miss… I miss… I miss…
When will I return? Will I return?
The tent is dry. Now to brush off the duckweed and finish packing, Dennis should be here in an hour and a half.
Since we will drop Dennis off in St. Paul, we’ll miss the quaint river towns on Highway 61. Oh well. At least we’ll see Lake Itasca.
9:00 p.m.
I am sitting on the bed in our hotel room. No more camping on this trip. As much as I enjoy staying in a hotel, I prefer my tent on a beach—the waves splashing on shore lulling me to sleep.
After we cleaned and packed the tent, we placed our gear into Ripple so John could use the camera on his phone to record how we loaded her. You think you’ll remember, but in reality, you know you won’t. Once he was done, he walked to the shower house. I unpacked Ripple one last time.
As I leaned my paddle against the tree, a fit-looking couple walked up. Her smile was perfect. She said, “We noticed your Nova Craft and wanted to come over and say hi. I’m Meredith. This is Chase.” She pointed at the canoe strapped to a car by the beach. “We paddled from here yesterday with our friends. Someone just brought us back to get our car.”
“Were you with Scott and Sam?” We have been following a father and daughter on their journey from Lake Itasca to the Gulf and discovered they had stayed at this campground on Friday night.
“Yep. You know them?”
“No, just following them on Instagram. But, I feel like we do. What a small world.”
After John returned, the world got smaller. Meredith and Sam were part of a group called 6 north of 60. In 2018, we followed the six women on Instagram as they spent sixty days on six rivers sixty degrees north. They are heroes of ours.
The world shrank even more when the focus switched to Chase. In 2019, he and five other men departed from Rainy Lake, Minnesota, and traversed Canada by canoe to the Arctic Ocean. We followed The Source Runs North on Instagram as well. More heroes.
We shared stories and our love of river life. Something we can do with a select few. After hugs, we watched our new friends drive away.
Dennis watched as we loaded our gear into the car. (It’s easier to place everything where it belongs without the help of others.) With red Ripple attached to our orange Crosstrek, we drove the highway along the route we had paddled just days before. We located the road view of the thousands-of-cormorants area, the land entrance to Bass Camp, the road over the Minneiska tunnel, the overlook of Lake Pepin, and the historical section of Red Wing.
The 20 miles of Lake Pepin went on, and on, and on. Paddling the lake took an entire day, but as I focused on only the surrounding area, the miles shrank. Today, Lake Pepin seemed larger from the road. I guess because I was now focused on the whole rather than on each piece. From the road, the river is a different river.
As we drove through Red Wing, Dennis gave us a history lesson. Although Red Wing is well known for its shoes, for over a hundred years, it produced pottery. Unfortunately, The Redwing Stoneware Company closed after a labor strike in the 60s.
At Dennis’s recommendation, we ate lunch at King’s Place Bar and Grill in Miesville, Minnesota (population 125). As we walked across the stone parking lot, the wind blew dust in our eyes, affirming our decision to stay off the river today. The restaurant touts the best burger in Minnesota. That is a bold statement. Even if they aren’t the best, the over 100 burgers on the menu require creativity. Most of the names represent a term in baseball, such as double-header, easy out, bench, etc. They combined ingredients that most people don’t put together like “The Buzz”—jalapenos, peanut butter, sweet chili, pineapple, and pepper jack cheese.
Even with the options, John ordered a plain hamburger with cheese, onions, whole lettuce, and mustard on the side. He likes his burgers the same way he does his ice cream and eggs—plain with no added ingredients—boring.
Angela wrote his order on her pad, and asked, “Fried or raw onion?”
No one has ever asked John this before when he ordered a hamburger. “Pardon?”
“Fried or raw onion?”
“Raw.”
I ordered the special—cottage cheese, marinara sauce, mozzarella, and jalapeno. Our waitress, Angela, described it as “lasagna on a bun.” I added a side of potato salad. I rarely order potato salad because not all potato salads are created equally, but Angela recommended it because it was homemade I ordered a Bloody Mary, the drink of the day.
Angela delivered our drinks. Three waters, a soda for Dennis, my Bloody Mary served in a canning jar, and a four-ounce glass of beer.
“I didn’t hear you order a beer,” I said to John.
“I didn’t.” We stared at the wayward glass.
While we waited for Angela’s return, I ate my meal-on-a-stick (pepper cheese, pepperoni, cucumber, three olives, pickled hot pepper, and dill pickle). Later, I realized I committed a faux pa by not tasting the salted rim. (I don’t order a Bloody Mary very often.)
When John caught Angela’s attention, he asked, “What is the beer for?”
“It’s a chaser for the Bloody Mary.” She cocked her head. “Where are you from?”
“Indiana.”
“That’s how we drink a Bloody Mary in this part of the Midwest.”
“What kind of beer is it?”
“Hamm’s.”
I had never heard of Hamm’s, but when I tried the Midwest tradition, I was hooked. This summer, I canned 46 quarts of hot tomato juice. I checked to see where I can buy Hamm’s in my area. Apparently, it’s more common than I knew, because they carry it at a small grocery store two miles from my house. I can see a Bloody Mary with a beer chaser becoming a new tradition in my corner of the world. Every time I chase my Bloody Mary, I’ll have fond memories of Angela saying, “Where are you from?” I should try ordering a Bloody Mary with a beer chaser at home and see what the reaction is. This will be fun.
After dropping Dennis at his house, we drove to the Hilton Garden Inn in St. Cloud, Minnesota. We arrived at 5:30, just in time to catch the last thirty minutes of happy hour (buy one, get one free) at the attached Maverick’s Steak and Cocktails. We dismissed the idea of showering before dinner but did change out of our paddling clothes.
After our drinks and appetizers, we returned to our room and took a much-needed shower. Now to bed.
Good night. Tomorrow we see the source of the Mississippi!