Golden Valley

Joey here.

In the pilot’s seat.
We left Buffalo. It was windy, of course. The wind mostly went our way.
Huge bird’s nest in an actual tree.
On the Great Plains, rush hour meant a few extra pickup trucks. In Twin Cities suburbs, motors drowned out the wind.
Our destination.
A comforting sight.
Stephen read our sign. He stopped to talk and to offer his support. Other motorists seemed not to mind navigating around him.
Aloysius was supportive too, but company policy didn’t allow us to check into the motel at 10 AM. He kindly let us leave our bags. We went off to explore.

Our bicycle chain has been through a lot in the three weeks since we left Eden, Utah. At a hardware store, Jeffrey found a cleaner/lubricant. While he cleaned the chain in the parking lot, Minnesotans came over to chat.

Noel patiently took the time to get many details about the Ride and about Human Rights First. She supports both. Her son is considering a career in law. Jeffrey now regrets having talked only of the frustration of some government lawyers. Lawyers of conscience do meaningful work in government roles.
Norbert is a thoughtful photographer and a generous man. He handed Jeffrey a donation for HRF and coached Jeffrey on how best to take a photo. He admired Jeffrey’s eyeglasses.
This nice guy congratulated us on having reached our 2023 destination. Jeffrey is ashamed to say that he asked the man to spell his name, then forgot it before writing it down. If our new friend contacts us, we’ll put his name in lights.
Lyle is from northern Minnesota, where (he said) everyone has a Scandinavian name. He served in the U.S. Army in the 1950s. Lyle has little patience for people who resist accepting refugees. He says every family emigrated from somewhere, often under duress. He said the Lord must be watching over us if we survived 15,000 miles on the road. (What’s that old saying about Heaven loving drunks and idiots? Neither of us drinks, so … )

Others had kind things to say as they passed by. “Minnesota nice.”

We entered Minneapolis to look at the skyline. Trees and buildings blocked the view. We asked passersby where we should go.

L to R: Penny, Tristen, Codi.

Penny does dog things. Tristen works in tech. Codi is a compliance official for the University of Minnesota. Texas transplants, they are happy to live in Minneapolis. We had such a wide-ranging conversation, Tristen repeatedly had to remind Jeffrey of what led him off on a tangent. They have subscribed to this blog and support HRF’s mission.

We took Tristen and Codi’s advice and pedaled to Bryn Mawr Meadows Park. Construction kept us out. Yet we saw the skyline.
After we left the park, Mark said, “Did I just see you bike the other way?” We gave him our calling card. He wished us a safe journey. Camera-shy Marley (at left) said nothing.
Back at the motel, we met Merky, who insisted on being photographed by his company’s logo. Jeffrey complimented the music in Merky’s English. Turns out that Merky speaks eight languages. An ebullient citizen of the world, he has roots in the USA, Haiti, and Aruba, and family in New York. He pocketed one of our calling cards.

This evening we took inventory and organized our gear.

Tomorrow we’ll bike to the home of our friends Jim and Larry, who kindly offered to store our things until next year’s Ride.

Then we’ll let fossil fuel propel us home.

It may not be tomorrow night, but we’ll be in touch again soon.

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