Today we bade dear Arthur goodbye, our dual citizen chum from London, known for his quads — both the muscle and the amount of bear mace canisters he purchased after hearing local grizzly horror stories. Our 21st century Oscar Wilde made us laugh with his wit and whimsy, bringing many laughs per minute to lighten the load. Farewell, chap and good luck at Berkeley.
Now seven Trekkers remain. Our Bismarckian rest day began slowly with bike maintenance plus curbside breakfast. Once we could check in, we went our separate ways. Some explored museums of dino bones backed by Big Oil, others rooted out trading card decks in hobby shops, still others retrieved lost credit cards returned via kindly gas station employees a state back.
We waterslid indoors like Augustus Gloop sans chocolate, and all laundered odiferous garments, tossing everything in together to make the world’s worst detergent-based ghoulash.
Stew wasn’t on the menu, however. Rather, a Chinese buffet with racks of rice, noodles, pies and meats lined up like Terracotta Soldiers. Patiently waiting our turn to fill plates and distend our bellies in Midwestern fashion, we gorged like pythons on gazelles, unhinging jaws and inhaling dumplings as if it were summer of ’69.
Once stuffed like taxidermy, we slunk the block home to absorb the mindless bliss of Family Guy and take an inspired group photo, part Annie Leibowitz, part Ansel Adams. All Across America. Almost halfway. We are shooting for two consecutive 95ish mile days to reach Fargo, and ultimately Minneapolis, where we’ll say goodbye to our most cartographically fluent, Dane.
Wish us luck, and sugary dreams of extra maple syrup drizzled on the Bisquick batter in the morning. Tally ho. 