Day 6 - Fergus Falls, MN

We awoke to a cloudless sky. The temperature was chilly, but the sun was beaming. Nothing could be colder than our last leg through Canada - the previous chill had set the bar.

As we were going through our morning ritual, we noticed a man with a motorcycle up on a trailer. He noticed us too, and came over to chat. His bike had broken down - after years of a strange instance where one cylinder would go, then the next, as though it were out of gas, then the bike would start back up and ride no problem, it had finally refused to restart. His wife had driven up with their car and the trailer in tow to bail him out. He shared stories for awhile, one of which involved a young guy killed and his girlfriend seriously injured on a bike minutes ahead of him. Not ideal. He advised us to stay away from North Dakota - "all corn fields and howling winds. Nothing at all to see" - and instead head towards South Dakota, to the Badlands. We had already decided that with our new trajectory, Glacier National Park wouldn't be in the cards, and gratefully accepted his advice. We were southbound.

At the gas station, a man came over and started up a conversation. He was stricken by the "beauty" of my faring, which I found interesting if not comical - the faring has quite a few scratches, a missing bolt on the windshield, and the front headlight is held in by a sock. Inside, the folks recommended Cascade Lodge as a quick place with great eats. They also had, in their hunting section, socks made from organic wool, which I procured in a heartbeat.

Grand Marais is a beautiful little town. Unlike most of the state, northern Minnesota is small mountain terrain overlooking Superior. And the foliage was stunning - we hit it at just the right time. As we were admiring the view, Cascade Lodge crept right up on us. Snake hit the brakes quick, and cruised over the grass to make the turn; I was not so lucky, and did a big no-no, braking and turning simultaneously. As I turned in, the bike tipped over, right near two parked Harelys. It - and I - were totally fine, but I was hoping the owners of these bikes weren't seated by the window. We parked, I did a check of the bike and the gear, and two couples came over to start up yet another bike conversation. The folks in this area are incredibly friendly, but I felt mixed emotions. I didn't want to rush them, as I am conscious of the stereotype of New Englanders as being cold and non-engaging, but it had been almost two hours and we hadn't yet made the breakfast table. The flipside to this is that a lot goes on in the Boston area that these folks may never have been exposed to. A larger, more diverse community of people, and one brushes up against a lot more. I wondered if these folks would be as friendly were our skin a different shade. Nevertheless, these folks were too kind to walk away from, so we engaged them yet again. They saw our tents, and told us that the area was rated by various hiking magazines as being some of the best hiking in the country, "if not the world." Additionally, there were a number of German towns in the area, and that meant one thing - Oktoberfests galore. We would have loved to stay, but the road called. Even the excellent adventure has limitations.

At this point, breakfast had become lunch, but nevertheless it was fantastic. I ordered a side of one blueberry pancake, as it was recommended by the folks outside. It reminded me of home - my dad is famous for his pancakes. Theirs were damn good, but nothing can touch his. Regardless, the nostalgia of home made me feel all warm inside. And the fresh ground coffee did too. As I was jotting down notes in my little notebook (which had moved up the ranks from stow to faring to jacket pocket) and Snake was scanning the map, we saw our Goldwing friends from the North cruise on by. Wonder where there excellent adventure would end up.

We stepped outside and started suiting up. As we were, yet another gentleman came up to chat. Snake gave me the "Oh God" look, and I concurred. We had a beautiful day, and wanted to take full advantage of it. Fortunately he was brief, and wished us well. As we hopped aboard our faithful steeds, I heard Snake utter an "Oh shit." As we were chatting with the folks before brunch, he got distracted and left the bike on. The battery was dead. Snake summoned the last guy who we had politely shooed away, and he came out with another portly gentleman. We tried pushing the bike in the short distance of the Lodge driveway enough to pop the clutch, but with no luck. We thanked them for their help. As they went in, the cook from the Lodge came out for a cigarette, and noticed our quandary. He too was a biker, and leaped at the opportunity to help his own. He went inside and dug up from the basement a charging unit that had just enough juice to get the bike going. As Snake popped it on and the chef lit another one up, yet another guy came over who was also a biker. He too, lit one up. There we were, Snake and I, with two onlookers smoking cigarettes and evaluating every move. While Snake was starting the bike up, the other guy between drags commented to the cook how great breakfast was, although he had expected sausage links instead of patties. The chef clarified that sausages were patties, and links were links. I interjected that breakfast kicked ass. The engine purred, we thanked them, and prepared to hit the road. As nice as it would have been to stay, we were a bit cursed in this parking lot. I remembered that I hadn't rubbed Moose yet today, and promptly gave his belly a tickle. Snake summed up the situation succinctly: "Beautiful place... let's get the fuck out."

The cruise down 61S was more gorgeousness. We passed through tunnels burrowed in mountains, with a panoramic view to our left of the sunlight refracting off of the lake. Today was a good day. We rolled into Duluth in search of gas, but several of the stations were closed due to a power surge that had scrambled everything and resulted in a half hour outage. The only place open was a BP; we were ethically unsettled, but necessity prevails. We chatted it up with another husband and wife biker couple. They recollected the joys of their own experiences in light of the excellent adventure. They had been all over, but the Superior route was their favorite by far, and this time of year in particular. "We still can't believe it's here in Minnesota." I could see why - the sun was beaming, the foliage was spectacular, and the air was crisp. A perfect fall riding day. They also relayed a story about a guy getting hit. The tales of danger and misfortune were beginning to blend into one; but the lesson to take was that danger is inherent in virtually everything done. The degree of danger corresponds to a degree of demand for focus. And that's largely what the excellent adventure was all about.

We passed numerous bikers out for a Saturday cruise, nearly all of which gave "the wave." Note to non-bikers: the wave is the unspoken biker code. You'll often see two bikes pass, and a left hand go down and out. It is the mutual acknowledgement of the cruise. Depending on where you go, not everyone does it; but I've found it a good practice in general to always err on the side of respect. It's affirming when that is reciprocated, instead of disappointing when it's not.

The hilly terrain receded as we entered farmland. I have a tendency to romanticize about the rural life. No doubt it is often hard, impoverished, and solemn; but there is a serenity and a connection to the earth that I cherish. Passing the cows and rolling fields, I was in heaven. The road was a textbook rural cruising route, and I did my best to take it all in. As we approached our evening destination, the sun setting across the sky, Mars was visible to the right. We pulled into a Comfort Inn right at dusk.

As we were emptying the bikes, I noticed two missed calls, one after another. One from my brother, and one from my mother. This usually isn't a good sign. The news was broken to me: my grandmother, after suffering for years, had finally passed. I was crushed that it had happened while I was away - the greatest fear of being apart from loved ones for a period of time - but was affirmed by my mother that Voa (my grandmother) would have wanted me to carry on... to live all the more. She was unwavering with this, which was the only reason I declined to accept my cousin's offering of his frequent flyer miles to come home. I gazed upon the North Star as I wept, with a mix of pain, awe, and a strange sense of peace. I would never see her again except in my mind, but every time I looked at the stars, I would think of her. The trip had a renewed sense of purpose. Among all else, I was now riding for Voa as well. Without taking too much time to try and sum up how much she meant to my, I decided instead to copy and paste the letter I wrote that will be read Monday evening at her wake, because the Catholic church will not allow a eulogy. It is below:


"First, to my mother - if it weren't for your unwavering encouragment to keep on going, I would be there right now with all of you, even though it would contradict what I feel very deeply in my heart to be Voa's wishes. I love you indescribably for your continuous support and guidance. Thank you so much.

To all present, thank you for your understanding. We have a beautiful family, and I am especially reminded of how lucky we are at times like these. Zack, Emily, Alyssa, Jake, and Scott - if it seems strange or wrong to you that I am absent during this time, I hope when you get older that you'll understand why it was the right thing to do, and know that my absence was only physical. I am fully there in spirit, and I will do my best in this note to capture that.

This has been one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make. Aside from my parents, Voa was my guiding light. She possessed a wisdom that only comes with age; but beyond that, she showed atonement at the end of her life that gave me further incentive to live every day I awoke. If someone who had lived the life that she had, now alone in her room nearly blind and in chronic pain, could say with confidence every time she was visited by loved ones, "I've lived a good life, and I have a beautiful family," than I knew no matter how bad things may seem, no matter how unbearable life felt, there was always light at the end of the tunnel. After all she has taught me, and how much I adore her, to not be present at this time is a pit in my stomach that will take a very long time to digest. But to abandon what I'm now doing - and, more importantly, the reasons why I am doing what I am doing - would be something from which I don't think I could ever recover; for the very reason that Voa's lessons have been the beacon guiding me to where I now am, and I would be betraying what I have learned from her that has now become such a part of me. Her famous maxims - "one day at a time," "do what makes you happy," and my personal favorite, "what will be will be," could easily be taken as empty statements of false comfort and assurance were they printed on a card or said by someone else. But leaving her lips, they were as ripe with meaning as any statement could possibly be. She had lived these statements - they weren't just hollow words to try and convince others that things would be fine, but echoes of her very being, born of strife and suffering and now uttered from a point of calm, complacent resolution. Despite all she had been through, Voa had made amends, which is all any of us can ever ask as the sun sets on our own lives.

Voa was, without a doubt, the matriarch. She was the nucleus of our family. Our family is by no means a conventional one; if it were, if we were a family that abided by the traditional expectations of what is right, what is wrong, what should be - I for one would never have been born. Love is infinitely more powerful and more divine than convention, and her radiance was the living proof. Voa's uncompromised acceptance of all of us was because she knew undoubtedly that the heart is stronger and more beautiful that anything the world may expect from us. Our family is a testament to that, and truly something to be celebrated - I love all of you so much, and am so proud and so grateful to come from and be a part of such a wonderful group of caring, loving individuals. The nucleus does not die with Voa - it lives on in all of us, in what she has taught us by example, and in the assurance that the heart speaks unutterable truths that, although they may seem perplexing or unconventional to others, never stray from what is most important in life. It is because of all this that I have decided to carry on. To return just to be physically present because I feel obliged, or because others think it is the right thing to do, would be a direct violation of all Voa has taught me. I know that all of you have all the support you need from each other, because that is how our family operates. And, in the grander scheme of things, despite never hearing a "Jesiiiiiiiiiisch" again, never seeing that beautiful face light up when you were close enough that she could actually see you - I know she is now at peace, and despite the inevitable sadness of loss, I too feel at peace. I hope that the course of events in the next few days celebrates her life as she would have wanted, and as I will every day that I am on the road, and every day forward for the rest of my days. One day at a time, following the heart. I love you all."





Nothing short of death with stray us from our path now.