Tuesday at a glance
Miles	69.5
Mph	16.2
Max Speed	31.2
Route	Towner to Lake Metigoshe State Park via Upham, Souris.
Wind	10 mph from the south-southeast.
Temperature	upper 50s to upper 70s, with the latter after the fog dispersed around mile 55.
Elapsed Time	4:16:20
Clock Time	6:40 - 11:50

Tuesday morning. It was pretty foggy outside the tent on what was supposed to be a sunny day. Maybe it'd burn off shortly. We were biking from the plains to the Turtle Mountains today. Given the flat terrain we'd be on most of the day, I was hoping to get some pictures of the hills on the horizon. The camera was coming along!

We got going at 6:40, a little earlier than normal because of the 70 miles ahead of us. The wind was sort of a tailwind starting out, and that helped move us along. At times the fog was dense enough that visibility was down to a hundred yards or so--not so great for sight seeing along the way! Once we left Towner, the next twenty miles were completed in just over an hour, and with no break in pedalling. We finally hit a (very) slight downhill and I asked Dad if we should stretch our legs. He agreed, so we coasted a few feet and started pedalling again. Upham, the first stop, came fuzzily into view a couple of miles later.

The stretch to the next stop at Kramer was relatively short--about ten miles. We were passing through some pretty prairie pothole country, and lamented the fact that the out-of-staters on the ride weren't able to see it in its full glory. Heck, we were lamenting the fact that we weren't able to see it either. The other thing we failed to see in time was the sign at Kramer pointing out the turn into the little town. We sailed passed and then stopped at the next intersection to figure out what to do. Some riders coming from the stop said that the caramel rolls were great and well worth the stop, but since we'd just snacked at Upham, we decided to keep rolling through the fog.

We both saw them coming up from behind. A paceline. For the speed they were going, we expected them to blow by us, but they latched on instead. As the wind was sort of at our backs, I didn't think we'd be making enough of a difference for them, but the four of them hung on. We weren't particularly thrilled with it as it took away some of the leisureliness of the ride for us ("Do we have to pedal continuously?" "Can we slow down a bit to check out that...?"), but we kept up our pace. It looked like the train was getting longer. We had a slight jog in the route and could see even more riders behind us. We finally turned into Souris, another rest stop, and several pulled up alongside us to let us know how appreciative they were for the help. There was more praise at the rest stop for us and "the red Cannondale." A couple of guys said that they were glad Souris had come when it did because they were having problems hanging on. All in all, we pulled at least ten riders into Souris. Any thoughts of animosity had quickly disappeared. That afternoon and even a couple of days later, some riders swung by the tent and said thanks. Dad and I got a chuckle out of The Red Cannondale's reputation.

But, our few minutes of fame was over. Souris marked the start of The Climb into the Turtle Mountains. It was still foggy and drizzly so we couldn't actually see that there was now an uphill grade, but we sure weren't making the kind of time we had coming into Souris. We headed east sort of into the wind, then north with it, and then a right "up," into it again and the final climb of 700 feet. It was work, and we could have used a lower gear on the tandem. I was about to the point of needing to pull over before my legs totally gave out on me, when we rounded a bend, and there was the entrance to the Mystical Horizons scenic point. Given the weather, it was more Mistycal Horizons. It was the location of the last rest stop, and a little off the main road. The climb was even steeper, and the pavement broken up, so we bagged the riding and pushed the tandem up the hill to the overlook with a great view of the prairie we'd just left. Except all we saw was fog, which was rather disappointing. And, there was the modern Stone Henge--a large sundial (doesn't account for Daylight Savings time, the sign said ), a tube pointed toward the North Star, and rocks and walls situated to mark the solstices and equinoxes. Dad had been there before and played tour guide for a few riders, explaining what they were seeing. All in all, it was worth the little hike up from the road, even though the spectacular prairie view was hidden from us.

Our legs complained a bit when we got going, especially since we weren't quite to the top of the hill, but they loosened up. And then the sun came out! I guess it was better late than never, and it was during the prettiest part of the day--in the Turtle Mountains. We now had some rolling hills, but nothing like the initial climb. There was an intersection marked "Century route!" for an extra jaunt down to Bottineau (literally, as Bottineau is down on the prairie) and back up in order to complete a 100 mile day, or a Century ride. Dad gave me a stern warning, "If you turn right, I'm jumping off!" I didn't, and he kept pedalling.

The final few miles were around the west and north shore of Lake Metigoshe. It was very fresh asphalt. Our trip guide had had a "final 3 miles is gravel" hand-written in, and that was weighing on my mind a bit. I grew up riding on gravel streets, but if it was loose gravel....

Somewhere on this stretch Dad got to thinking about this being Day 3, and three years ago it was the night of Day 3 that his atrial fibrilation kicked in. We had some discussions about it, throwing in some "what if" scenarios. One of them was having him sag for the day and me riding the tandem solo. "That'd be sort of like the riderless horse then, wouldn't it!" came the dark-humored response from behind me...

But back to the more mundane topic of gravel: the worrying was all for naught, as we had pavement the entire way.

It was approaching noon when we rolled into Lake Metigoshe State Park. There was an arch to ride through, lined with a soaker hose spraying us, and people handing out lemonade and bags of treats and Freezees. The usual followed: finding and hauling bags, setting up the tent, showers in a great newish facility, hanging out, etc., etc., etc.

Supper was in the dining hall--all-we-could-eat ham sandwiches and salad, and a very special treat: Juneberry ice cream! I didn't know such a thing existed. (As a kid, I remember picking June berries from the bushes behind our house and getting to eat them with a little sugar on them.) We ate with Allan and Sarah and a couple of other familiar faces.

That evening, we took a walk over to the Metigoshe shoreline where there was going to be a water ski show. We were facing west, into the setting sun, and the setting sun reflecting off the water, so we decided to keep walking. On our way back to Tent City, we ended up at Rory's outpost. He's the official CANDISC mechanic and "holds court" each evening while fixing bikes. We got in on a few stories from others and headed back to sit outside our tent.

We were on a main drag and had several people stop and chat, including a couple more from this morning's draft party. And then, "Are you Jeff?" I certainly was! And asking was Bill Abeling. We'd exchanged emails but had never met until now. It was good to put a face to his name. Two years earlier, after the CANDISC featuring the severe storm we rode through west of Mott, I'd sent an email to the National Weather Service in Bismarck to see if they by chance had a radar video of that storm. The fellow who replied said they didn't, but a co-worker of his had been on that ride and wondered if I'd mind if he contacted me. Heck no! It was Bill. And a friend of his did put together a radar video for me and sent that along.

A food note: The June berry ice cream went down really easily, but so did the egg salad sandwich in Souris!