Wednesday at a glance
Miles	50.0
Mph	14.5
Max Speed	26.4
Route	Lake Metigoshe State Park to Rolla via Peace Gardens, St. John.
Wind	10-20 mph from the south-southeast.
Temperature	65 to 70, mostly cloudy
Elapsed Time	3:25:46
Clock Time	7:10 - 11:15

The night didn't go as planned for one of us. Dad's atrial fibrillation kicked in sometime after midnight and his heart was still misfiring when we woke up. This was eerily reminiscent of our CANDISC week three years ago: three days in and it kicked in, and we pulled out. What to do... What to do... In short, he was content to ride the sag wagon today with the hopes that the a-fib would convert back to a normal rhythm during the day. We could pull out later if necessary. That left me with the choice of sagging too, or riding the tandem solo. Even though going into the week I knew riding alone was an obvious option under such circumstances, it still felt difficult to make.

I decided to give it a try. The tandem weighed the same amount as an old Schwinn Varsity I used to ride, but with much better components. (Plus with a much longer wheelbase, a more comfortable ride!) Plus if for some reason the ride wasn't going well, I could always sag the rest of the way too!

We surprisingly packed (for Metigoshe) a dry tent. I hauled the bags to the truck, Dad made arrangements to catch the sag wagon at 8, and I took off. Talk about a weird handling bike! But I couldn't tell if that was because of having just biked 180 miles on a tandem and then going back to a "single," or if riding solo on the tandem did feel that strange. In any event, a mile or two down the road, it felt quite under control and wasn't an issue the rest of the day.

What was an issue of sorts for me though, turned out to be all the comments from other cyclists! There were perhaps at least three dozen during the day, and the most common theme was their lack of originality: No stoker--did you know that? Left the stoker behind! blah blah blah. One did happen to make me smile, shouted out by someone with whom we were acquainted: "Sooooo, you and your dad had a big fight??"

We were biking through the Turtle Mountains, which a couple of passers-by thought really resembled northern Minnesota. I wanted to somehow take a few pictures along the stretch and capture our biking environment, but it felt like an impossible task. My first official shot of the day though was fairly easy: Salem Lutheran Church, right along the highway. It was one of four country churches in Dad's very first parish, and one of two still standing. It has recently been restored and looks pretty sharp!

Today's route included a rare "out and back" stretch, in this case a four mile north diversion to take in the International Peace Gardens. My original plan had been to skip the extra eight miles and continue heading east, as I've been to the Peace Gardens several times. But, when I got to the intersection, everyone else in sight was heading north and I got to wondering if Rolla would really be more exciting than the Peace Gardens. A bonus would be that it'd be the tandem's first international trip , so I joined in the parade.

And it felt like a parade, with cyclists heading north, and cyclists coming back at us, and cyclists all over the Peace Gardens. "Out in the middle of no where." My first attempted stop was the concessions stand to fill a water bottle, but I found a long line and behind the counter, only one worker. I wasn't hurting for water (just have that urge to top off whenever possible), so I headed out on the loop around the main portion of the park. The park is celebrating its 75th anniversary this year. It is about a 2400 acre park celebrating the longest undefended border in the world between of course, the United States and Canada. The gardens contain upward of 150,000 flowers, and woods of aspen and oaks. Severe weather had wiped out most of the flowers not once, but I'd heard twice, this summer. The response was good when the call went out for help and nurseries provided what they could and volunteers spent countless hours repairing the damage.

At the far end, I stopped at the 120' Peace Tower, and had a snack at a boundary marker display. Back at the entrance, I was going to head straight out, but I saw the sag wagon coming in and decided to see if Dad's a-fib had converted and he was ready to hop back on the bike. Unfortunately, it hadn't, and I took off by myself. I was apparently ahead of the main pack as there were now far more cyclists coming at me than when I was heading toward the park. Again, it was a neat four mile experience (in spite of pushing some wind on that stretch!).

Heading east again through the Turtle Mountains, the dreariness seemed to be increasing. There'd been some sun at the Peace Gardens, but banks of clouds that had been hanging to the south were overtaking the area. I bypassed the next rest stop as the following one was only an hour down the road.

I pedalled for several miles with no one in sight ahead or behind me. It felt good to be alone for a while. I came upon an S-curve down a hill and up another, and figured that was as good a spot to take a picture of what we were biking through today. A friend from Massachusetts was the next cyclist coming down the road, and he offered to snap a picture of me, which turned out to be the only one I was in all week! He'd been concerned about Dad. I let him know that Dad had been at the Peace Gardens and other than being frustrated he couldn't be riding, was doing well.

Farther down the road, I came upon Allan, who had bypassed the Peace Gardens. He had waited for half an hour at the last rest stop for Sarah but gave up and headed out on his own. I was able to let him know that she had decided to go to the Peace Gardens, and was taking a picture of a group at the entrance when I was on my way out. I had asked if she wanted to get in a picture too, and she laughed and said she had so many already, having grown up not too far away. Allan and I rode together out of the Turtle Mountains, and into St. John, the final stop. The SAG wagon had passed us just outside of town and left before I got a chance to see if Dad wanted to jump on the bike. Apparently he hadn't because he wasn't there waiting for me.

There wasn't much action in St. John--the CANDISC porta-potty and water jugs sitting on one side of the street, and a store or bar on the other where a few cyclists were gathered. A couple more asked about my solo adventure and I filled them in on Dad's current status. Our MA friend was there and said he was quite touched by my little story of sending in my CANDISC registration as soon as I had heard Dad had sent his. He said his father passed away before he had realized that one simply needs to make time to do these things together, and he has regretted the missed opportunities ever since. (I was wolfing down a couple of fudge Pop Tarts at the time which seemed a little inappropriate, but hey, he certainly understood. )

The great red Cannondale tandem and I took off on the final seven mile stretch to Rolla--straight, a very slight down grade, and into the wind. It went more quickly than I'd anticipated. Looking back over my shoulder (well, in my rear view mirror), the Turtle Mountains didn't stand out on the plains nearly as well as approaching from the west and south. I didn't stop to take any pictures.

Rolla! We had been here eight years ago on CANDISC, and the Dairy Queen we had stopped at that afternoon was still on the main drag. But given the weather, it didn't feel like it had nearly as much appeal this time through. The camping was at the city park on the east end of town, by the school. I cruised around the park a couple of times looking for Dad, but never saw him. I cruised by one more time to push the daily miles up to 50.0. There's something magical about hitting that half century mark.

I didn't see him so I stopped at the bags and tried to find them. I couldn't. I eventually decided he must have gotten them in spite of his a-fib. He had. I spotted him on the north edge of the park (with no street along it) getting help setting up the tent. He'd dragged his bags over, but hadn't seen mine, so we headed back. In short, the camp chairs were off in some other little pile, and my main bag was upside down with no tags visible. So it goes! Later on, a local climbed up on top of the truck and with some assistance on the ground, helped locate bags for others. Sometimes they got it right the first time, and others were wild goose..er..bag chases.

Showers were at the school, or fifty feet away in the Great ND Watershed, with no waiting. I chose the latter, of course! Afterward, we decided we couldn't make it all afternoon without something to eat, so we headed downtown on foot. Allan was right behind us with the same goal, so joined us. It was looking pretty dark in the west from where we had come, so sitting in a cafe was sounding appealing. And as Allan had put in his time the day before, he was more than happy with that too. Eating is one of the essentials on CANDISC, and I find it interesting what my body "craves." Right at that time, it was a good cup of coffee, a caramel roll, and a hamburger. A pseudo late brunch?

We more or less hung out the rest of the day. The wind was strong and it was cloudy with occasional sprinkles, so Dad preferred to set up a chair in the tent and read. I was content to read outside (under a shelter when it sprinkled), walk around a bit, shoot a few pictures, and get in on some visiting. It sounds like we early arrivers fared quite well in comparison with the majority. One fellow said it just poured at St. John (seven miles away) and they had to hole up for half an hour. Others had strong head winds those last seven miles and it took them forever to bike into Rolla. I was feeling quite fortunate to have missed it all (thinking back to a severe storm two years ago on CANDISC I experienced in its full glory, out on the prairie).

Supper was a taco bar in the highschool across the street. It went down pretty easily. The entertainment was a Native American who made flutes. He told some stories and demonstrated various flutes that he had made.

That evening while we were visiting with Allan and Sarah, Dad got some good news: his heart had converted back to a normal rhythm. Whew! When I first had gotten to the baggage area, a welcoming committee..er..person asked if I wanted a map of Rolla. She rattled off a few of the things that were on it, including the hospital, and that got my attention. I explained what was going on with Dad, and she was quick to offer any assistance necessary. She also pointed out where the ambulance was located in the park for the day. And later, she swung by our tent to see how he was doing. It was reassuring (for me, at least), to have that assistance so readily available if his a-fib hadn't quit on its own.