March 21, 2009

It isn't perfect weather, but it's as close as you'll get for this time of year. Sunny with just a hint of chill in the air. Out for a group ride on a Saturday and of course lots of others have the same idea. It's my most frequent ride – from the traffic circle on Minnehaha straight up the creek, skirting Lake Hiawatha and Lake Nokomis, then around the west sides of Lakes Harriet and Calhoun before grabbing the Midtown Greenway and cruising back east toward home. I'm surprised to see that the lakes are still covered with ice except for the edges, and there are still some remnant ice shelves on shady bends in the creek and some ice and snow patches down in the valleys as well.

At Harriet the growing crowd is agog over a lone possum in a barren tree at the lake's edge. One biker in my party says that opossums were unheard of here in decades past, that the harsh Minnesota climate kept the range of these creatures limited to more southern lands. I note that sightings in Iowa were not uncommon at all, and in my memory this is the first I've seen in the Twin Cities. The poor creature looks out of its element, and I wonder why it is out and active, scaling the branches of this tree so out in the open during the light of day.

We take a break over at the "Secret Spring," located near the Northwest corner of the lake, roughly across the road from the main facility and parking lot there. I've heard plenty of folks attest to the quality of this water and have often witnessed folks pull up in cars to fill jugs and even large tanks from the hand pump here. Today is no different. The first is a middle-aged couple with perhaps a half-dozen well-worn and yellowed plastic gallon jugs.

The second is a mother and son team with about two dozen jugs of the same shape and size (only cleaner). As we talk with them it becomes evident that they are first and second generation immigrants (from Russia or Ukraine, I guess). The mother tells us she has been coming here for this water for 40 years now, and that she drinks nothing else but this water ... only this water ... and beer. The son, who looks to be in his fifties, explains that she boils the water and strains it through cheesecloth before considering it ready to drink.

He also tells us about the spring over by the Glenwood bottling plant where people would line up starting at 6 in the morning on Saturdays to fill up their jugs until "they closed it." I found this story most interesting as I was excited a number of years back to come across that bottling plant up by Bassett Creek on a bike ride, but had never heard about the public spring. I want to investigate this story further and must remember to research it.

Lots of joggers, skaters, strollers, and whatnot flood the trail up around Lake Calhoun. What a beautiful day. We hop on the Greenway and just sail along back east, finally up and over the new bike bridge at Hiawatha. The ride ends back in the neighborhood where I show my friend the spot where storm sewer pressure created a continual problem that resulted in a manhole cover flying off and a geyser of water shooting out, with the eventual tragic result. The neighbor who had been putting it back by hand repeatedly out of sense of civic duty and safety was sliding the cover on yet again and was struck and paralyzed when it shot back off. We take a look at the new infrastructure that the city has installed, with multiple vents and manholes on both sides of the street in a short stretch of maybe 50 feet or so. It does look very odd, but it's not something one would likely notice just passing through in a car, on a bike, or even on foot, so visually insignificant that I even forget to photograph it. It's a lovely day and hard to imagine such a terrible incident occurring on this spot. We part ways until this evening, where we will see each other at a friend's party back uptown. That's right, the party is today because it is the first day of Spring.

March 15, 2009

The idea is to get across the Mendota Bridge and down the old Snake Trail into St. Paul for some good nature/river riding. But as soon as I'm out the door, I'm wondering if I got out too late, and before I even hit Minnehaha park I notice it is again noticeably "cold" in my shorts and pullover. I stop to take a peek at the falls, thinking they might be breaking up a bit (I was here two days earlier and it was all solid ice with a small stream flowing back behind the ice mass and emerging down below). I'm floored – it's wide open with the creek just pouring down into the little channel that workers have created while they try to repair/reinforce the old WPA-era retaining walls.

Lots of folks are walking on the trails and I'm happy to grab the road heading south toward the back entrance of the park; its pavement always offers a nice, smooth, fast ride. But I have to stop and do a quick 180 when I spot a lone wild turkey pecking improbably in the grass at the edge of the road. Friends have told of sightings not far from here and I've read many accounts of seeing larger groups of these wonderful ancient birds down on Pike Island, but this is a first for me. Strange that he is not skittish and allows me to approach quite closely – usually when I come across turkeys in the woods they are quick to flee.

The fading sun and "cold" air make me quickly reconsider my ride, but I figure I'll blast on across the bridge, take in a piece of the Snake Trail and then turn around rather than attempting the long loop. But I'm seized by an instantaneous and spontaneous alteration to the amended plan when I see the gate to Cold Spring wide open. In my experience it is normally closed, which doesn't keep one out if one wants to climb a fence or crawl through a torn gap in same, but it always prevented an approach by bike.

I had heard that the old Bureau of Mines complex was being abandoned, but didn't realize that would mean unfettered access to the Spring. The main building looks in good repair if not current use, but the other facility in the back has already been ransacked (by adolescents, I presume).

Last time I was here, it was the dead of winter and the little pool at the spring was full of mallards, but today it's empty. Another fellow on the scene tells me that there are carp swimming around in there, though (I take his word for it, too interested in the rapid degradation of the buildings to go have a look in the water). He's wearing headphones and a hoody and riding one of those little BMX bikes, the kind that make even grown men like him appear childlike (to me, anyway).

It's somehow very pleasant down here. I park my bike in a snowbank and poke around the grounds for some time, observing the spring snowmelt and wondering what will become of the buildings and the site. I've heard that a local Native American tribe is trying to lay claim to it and I hope they get it, although I doubt they will. I don't know all the ins and outs about treaties or whatnot, but figure the federal government basically took it from them in one way or another. I also suppose there is less chance the land will be "developed" if they get the land back, but I could be wrong about that.

March 14, 2009

I finally decided to bust the crust and get out there for my first real ride of the year. Still some snow and ice patches on the trails. Blasted straight north through the neighborhood to latch on to the Greenway. Plenty of ponds and not a few ice puddles that are difficult to negotiate. In particular the sidewalks at Brackett Field where I access the Greenway are consumed by enormous ice puddles. I follow the tracks of others into the soupy baseball field as a workaround. My plan is to take it easy – not a speed ride or a workout but pure exploration and taking a look around. I figure I'll do an easy old favorite, my downtown-uptown-midtown loop. Just easily sliding down the Light Rail Trail towards downtown. I notice that it is actually a little "cold" in my shorts and single pullover, and let's face it, I feel weak as usual on my first ride out. So I pull up lame at the end of the LRT and decide to go right, not left, and just jaunt over to the Stone Arch Bridge for a quick look and then head back home. A short outing is good enough.



On the bridge I'm surprised that there are not more people, and those who are there are still fully clothed with coats on. I stop for a couple of pix, in particular a tree stranded in a shallow pool of water and ice shards that has an unbelievably powerful graphic quality. I'd drink in that image even longer if not for the stiff breeze coming up the river. Just as I pull the camera away I notice the dark shape of huge wings. Shadow? Goose? Bald Eagle.

For the next 10 minutes I study this big bird as he lands on the tree and patiently explores, heron-like, the shallow pools around it. No fish today, but I do seem him take a couple of drinks of good Mississippi River water.

Stunning encounter. It's turning into a crisp but great ride. I decide to slide on over and head up river a bit. Across the cobblestones on old Main Street and over the old bridge to Nicollet island. I get on the main road there and find my stride, loving the smooth pavement and powering past a bus (o.k., it was parked and idling). Not sure that I like the new athletic field and the newly cleared spot across the road (just piles of bricks there now, but I suspect they are preparing this to be a parking lot).

The area has been cleaned up quite a bit, and it's now much easier by bike to cross the railroad tracks and access the old trail to Boom Island. This is one of my favorites, as it is wooded, along water, and is not paved. Today, though, it is an active riverbed. The snow and ice melt from the hillside is coming down and forming a swift stream down the trail bed. I take the challenge, which is a pretty good one for an old guy like me, and bike down the center of the stream. Most of the trail is still coated with ice under the running water, and it's impossible to tell how much is slushy vs. slick. A good, exhilarating challenge on a skinny-tired cyclocross bike, and I make it to the end without a spill. Down below the stream falls off to the right and empties into the river backwater. Boom Island is cold and breezy ... still plenty of snow on the trails and some folks in the soggy grass are flying kites. Breezy and chilly, but I stop for a moment to take a look at the downtown skyline over the river.

Before long I decide to complete the loop and poke out and head back west across the Plymouth Avenue bridge. There's no doubt that I'll take the road, not the trail, back south – I'm done with ice puddles and that trail is notoriously bumpy and dominated by joggers (they do have their own designated path, but I decided long ago to give up on understanding runners, why they run on the bike trail, in the wrong lane, facing the wrong direction, etc.). The road provides false security, though – under what looks like a normal, small puddle is actually a deep pothole. The shock sends my front wheel sideways, and I swear that either the rim or my hand or both are broken. My bike is an impressive beast, though, and fares much better than my hand and wrist. They'll be OK, too, in time. What a great ride. I set sail back south, loving the day and the city – the only downside, as I slide back down river road, is being forced to observe once again how hideous the new Guthrie is.

March 7, 2009

It was still too "cold" out (translation: I didn't have the proper motivation) to get the bike out. But it was Saturday, so I decided I needed to get out of the house, and I went ahead and broke that 4-month streak and went over to Electric Fetus to shop for CDs. I really soaked it up, taking my time to browse slowly and carefully, and ended up walking out with three nice surprises. To make the morning even more of a treat, I wound my way to and back from the record store through random neighborhood streets, relishing the diversity and character of South Minneapolis, snapping pictures along the way. The images (and the whole experience) would have been better from a bike, but it was still pretty great, and it whetted by appetite for the season of exploration to come.