A gift from Misshepeshu: Day one on the Northwest Trail 2013

Day One EP riding on Big Sandy Lake, heading toward Battle Island.

Its all just residue.  Detritus.  Layers upon layers of dirty time I thought to myself.

As soon as Eric and I hit Big Sandy Lake I was already day dreaming about what the portage must have been like 250 years ago.  If I burned all these big lake houses down and tore the signs out and ripped the roads away, all those modern layers, I would be looking at the soil all those ancient travelers staggered upon.  Its still there, that watershed, that cooridor and we were traveling on it while the modern world hummed around us.

I had thoughts like those a lot.  How ironic that the Northwest Trail actually still physically exists.  Oh it has been brutalized, tortured and raped, but due to its timeless in-accessability its core remains, tucked in between powerlines, homes, highways and railroads and Duluth's city streets.

One thing was for sure that first day.  Missshepeshu the Ojibwa Water God was smiling upon us.

Misshepeshu  The Big Cat that sleeps under the water

The ice on Big Sandy that morning was thick and fluffy with snow and hoar frost.  A weird sun and fog mix blew in and out and it only added to the mystical sense that we had entered a special place.  It was an awesome way to start the tour.

Hoar Frost rimmed the world we rode in

Big Sandy Lake,  Minnesota...layers of dirty time

The lesson learned on Day One of the tour was that those who show up get the goods.  I had a demonic smile on my face all the way across Big Sandy.  The sun was shining warmly on my body, the riding, while slow was not physically taxing.  I had all I needed in the world on my bike.  Food, shelter, booze, my camera and I had three days to do nothing but ride and explore with a like minded buddy. For a moment,  I even felt a bit sorry for the poor suckers who passed on coming...well not that sorry.

The Squiggly Savanna River

The first time I met Sandi Weller, the Park Manager at Savanna State Park, she gave me one of those looks that I seem to get from time to time.  That "concerned" look.  I am sure she gets her share of whack jobs that want to cross the Portage and I am also sure she has had to bail a few of them out. With all that in mind I am even more sure that when presented with  a sweaty looking guy, grinning like an idiot and covered in mud and snow, sporting a Fat Bike in February, she was thinking she was about to have to do it again....

Luckily this first meeting was on one of my recon rides, so when Eric and I rolled up on Day One of the tour, she was pretty excited to see us.  However, nobody was as excited as us after she told us that the first six miles of the Portage had been groomed for snowmobiles the day before.

Another gift from Misshepeshu!

Start of the Savanna Portage, Savanna State Park, Minnesota

Braaappp!!!

Ahh!  Ramen and Tuna

If there were another word for flying, a better word, one that exuded the idea of glide and the sensation of levitating, then I would use that word for how we traveled through the hardwood forest for those first six miles.  It went too fast.  We blew past and over the Continental Divide.  We darted down sharp quick downhills and shot up short smooth uphills.  Eventually we stopped and brewed up some Ramen and reflected upon our gift.

Deep down inside though, we both knew that it could not last.  The hardest part of the day was coming up soon, and we contemplated the challenge.  At some point the grooming would stop, we would leave the park and we would be at the heart of the matter.

The Heart of the Matter

Fat Bike ripping!

When looking for a partner in this kind of endeavor, you need to find a few core qualities.  Physical strength and consistent short term memory loss.

You want somebody who can take a good solid shellacking, then forget about it and move on and hopefully laugh about it at the same time.  Eric Peterson was perfect in this regard and I have to say I was really, really lucky to have him aboard.  There were moments where we were moving negative miles an hour for miles and when you looked down the trail, you were looking at an hours work or more.....pushing.  Grass, alders, tree branches, knee to waist deep snow drifts, all things that like to grab pedals and snag handlebars.  Yet we soldiered on, looking for better conditions.  Because that is the golden rule in a winter bike tour, wait a few hours and conditions will change, and heck they might even get better!  Thus the need for short term memory loss....you need to forget the pain of the past few hours and enjoy the fun for the next few minutes if you get it.

The middle of the Savanna Portage was an exercise in believing.  In having faith that all the recon and the research would pay off.  I had faith, but man there were some moments where I had my doubts.  Eventually we saw an wide open clearing and our hearts started hoping....

Pay Day:  Fantasticsh!!

Braaappp!!!

In the early 1900's a bunch of Scandinavian dreamers decided that they would move to Minnesota and create an agricultural paradise in the great swamp that the East Savanna river flows through.  The US Government decided to help them and began to drain the swamp to create farm land.  This was done by bringing in massive coal and steam belching engines to carve out "Ditchbanks".  Talk to any local in these parts and ask them about Ditchbanks and they will have a story about them.  Ditchbanks are as straight as a 2x4 and full of of the water of the swamps they have drained.

To me they were potential Fat Bike Super Highways.

My whole trip plan was hatched on hoping that these Ditchbanks were rideable.  In my earlier recon rides, I had only been able to get on the tail end of one of them and I left that ride with mixed impressions.  Now, here we were at the crux of the crossing.

Regardless of my my past experiences, Eric and I were high-fiving and giddy when we arrived at the Ditchbank.  The open scale, the feeling of space after being pinned in that tight claustrophobic trail was so amazing.  On top of that, the sun and wind had really sublimated the snow cover and the riding was euphoric.  It was perfect backcountry riding and to me this was the pinnacle of the whole trip.  To have guessed, plotted and theorized that this "could be" awesome riding and then to have worked hard and find out that it was, was sweet nectar.

This pay off was as good as any powder day I have ever had, as good as any fat assed fish I have hooked up and as good as any sweet single track I have ripped and we gulped it in like a fine beer for miles.

Nowhere to be and no need to get there

Silent wings

Looking for camp

Alas, as the golden rule of Fat Biking states, conditions will eventually change and they started to deteriorate as we neared Floodwood, MN.  The snow was getting deeper and finally we decided to make camp.

Jagged tracks mean slow going

Hardwood campfire

Camp Ditchbank

It was quick and easy to set up "home" as we had minimal possessions.  We tossed up our single walled tent and threw our bags in on top of our thick sleeping pads.  Eric started up a raging fire and we ate like animals for what seemed like an eternity.  It was a gorgeous, star filled night and relatively warm (20's).  We sat close to the fire and dried out and told tales.

We also raised our flasks in thanks to Misshepeshu for the gift he had given us on that first day of our tour.

Sleep came fast, but I had some unbelievably vivid dreams.  It was like the spirits were talking again and this time it seemed like they were warning me.

A storm was brewing somewhere on the east coast.........