Our 98 miler became 85 due to high heat that would make Sammy Sosa blanche, on top of a rather languorous start made all the more tardy by early morning Jaenisch gambits on the hotel lobby Compaq Presario desktop.
Once we cut power to the hotel and snapped our bungies twice for good luck, we flapped our flippers into a picante pneumatic porridge which Coriolis left unstirred.
It was hot today, so we opened our post-breakfast fast with a Dairy Queen’s gambit. Blizzards kept the hounds of heat at bay and we puttered onward between towering bluffs and the broad Mississippi. We then rocked up to Bluffs Bar and Grill for water refills, where we met Tracy, who filled our bottles and then our hearts and tummies with pizzas she insisted on buying. We left with hugs and forged onward to Pepin, our amended final destination and the birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder. The moment we hopped off our bikes, an air raid (tornado) siren sounded mere feet from us, scattering us like hapless infantry in the Red Baron’s crosshairs. Now there’s nothing left to do but rook at the stars and greet the knight.
Lacrosse is in our sights tomorrow. Check you then.