64 miles

I got up at 4:20 am. We stayed at Patterson Lake Rec Area on the outskirts of Dickinson, ND last night. We were able to get on the road early—I slept in my hammock last night, which expedited the morning packing for me considerably. 

We went to Walmart for some groceries. I found peanut butter in a squeeze pouch—I had no idea they made this, but it’s perfect for bike travel. A man in the parking lot came over and gave us each a Powerade as he was loading his car. I’m starting to think that if we ever ran out of food and money, as long as we were at a gas station, rest stop, dollar store, etc., we would be totally fine out here. Everyone has been so generous. It’s very odd to have a lot of strangers offer you help you didn’t ask for, and it makes me think about the people who I regularly see panhandling in those same kinds of places back home.

Today, riding-wise and mentally, was tough. Maybe the first really tough one for me. My body is tired. It was 90° and sunny all day. I drank at least a gallon of water, and kept my bandana soaked, but I still feel like a wrung out sponge. It didn’t help that we rode into a headwind all day, or at least for the last part, which is all I can remember. It kept getting stronger until we arrived here, in the town of Glen Ullin. We got to the grocery store just as they were closing. They are right on the other side of the time zone, so we’re in Central Time now.

The mental challenge for me today was probably largely that when we took a lunch break, I started looking at how far we have left to go, totaling up the miles. It felt important to do. I wanted to know if we were on track, time wise. But then I tormented myself with thoughts of the future, while I was tired, hot, and achey. I wanted to stop and rest, but I didn’t want to be taking longer. I feel like having a goal of where and when to be at the end of the day/trip drags me out of the present, and I’ve been so at peace with the present lately.

The last 15 miles were so hard today. Then…at some point, I realized that the crawling pace gave me time to notice the wildflowers – every shade of purple, and sharp slender yellows, and reddish grass bobbing in the wind. There were fields of something deep green, planted between rows of trees, a configuration that looked exactly like an imagined landscape in a painting I made once. Just before Richardton, I stopped for a moment to just watch a huge green field rippling in the wind, looking exactly like an ocean.

We passed through some fields planted with purple flowers—I have to find out what they are. It looked like some kind of clover, and nearby, someone must have been keeping bees. There were hundreds of them, zooming back and forth across the road in the crazy wind. I loved it.

So, during those last few miles, it finally dawned on me that the wind that had absolutely shredded and tormented me all day was the same wind that gave me all those little moments of peace, and as soon as that connection occurred to me, I felt it click, and I felt better. Interconnectedness is the perfect reframe. I started thinking about how none of this would (could) exist without the wind, so because I love the bees, and the scent of flowers, and that grass ocean, and the coolness of my wet bandana, and the way the shadows were dancing on the pavement…I suppose, however indirectly, I also love the wind.