. . . is like 2 ½ weeks of pedaling on the ground.

Joey here.

Today Nancy put us in a car to LaGuardia Airport at 5:20 AM.

After leaving NYC, we saw only clouds for hundreds of miles.

Then:

Our friend Jim, who took us to the airport last May, drove us back to Golden Valley. He and his spouse Larry were wonderful stewards of the equipment we left with them a year ago.

Jim and Larry invited us to lunch and to stay over. They are delightful company. We were tempted. But we have a lot of ground to cover in the next 2 ½ weeks.

Jeffrey reassembled, tested, and adjusted our gear.

Ready to go!

We hit the road.

Our first task was to fix our headlamp, the only malfunctioning item that Jeffrey couldn’t repair. Jeffrey phoned ahead. Two shops told Jeffrey that they couldn’t help us. The third shop was the charm.

Meet Bill, at Watt Cycleworks.

Bill is an ace mechanic—and kind and thoughtful. His professional niche is taking cases (like ours) that other shops refuse. He helps poor people who need good bike transport. He has taken week-long bike trips in Minnesota and understands the lure of the open road.

Outside Bill’s shop, we met Dominic, a whiz who chose tech over law school after taking the LSAT. We’ll share his “Selfie With Cyclist and Kangaroo Court Puppet” if he shares it with us.

Dominic grew up in northern Minnesota. He went to school with farm workers’ kids. He has only good things to say about people who are trying to make a life for themselves.

The Minneapolis-St. Paul bike lane network often was better paved than the motor lanes.

Our route took us through Fort Snelling.

Plaques recounted stories of murder and betrayal of the Dakota and Ho-Chunk nations. The local perpetrators were the government and the people of the United States.

The plaque defines “concentration camp” as “a place where people are imprisoned not because they committed any crimes but because of who they are.”

Like members of the Dakota Nation in the 1860s.

Like Americans of Japanese ancestry 80 years later, in the 1940s.

Like migrants seeking refuge in the USA 80 years after that, in the 2020s.

We thought about this cycle. Is 80 years how long it takes to forget the lessons of history? Can we learn . . . to learn?

Then we rode on.

We pedaled only 21 miles today. It was enough for us to start to find our rhythm.

Tomorrow we’ll put more miles in the bank, heading east and south, deeper into the American heartland.