I pulled out of the Harbor's Edge Motel about 5:30 AM and easily made my way on to Hwy. 13 W with the intent of taking the scenic route to Duluth, MN on my way to I-35 South to Minneapolis. It did not register with me that I would be traveling through some very rural areas of northern Wisconsin for about 65 miles. This became a concern when my gauge on the dashboard told me I had about 72 miles before my tank would hit empty. When I started out, it never occurred to me that finding a gas station early on Sunday morning would be an issue. Well forget the time of day, the issue was that there was only one gas station between Bayfield and Superior Wisconsin, which thanks to the helpful directions of a jogger, I found the resolution for my thirsty tank in Port Wing. It was little town on the west side of the Bayfield peninsula deeply involved in its weekend flea market event. The very pleasant woman who ran the convenience store was delightful and gave me a whole new cup of coffee when I pressed the wrong button on the machine and ended up with a vanilla latte, which if you know me, I cannot drink. We had a pleasant chat, and I thanked her for being so happy and helpful so early on a Sunday morning. As I was leaving the store, I met her husband Dave and I told him about my petroleum concerns. He looked at my Connecticut plates and engaged me for the first time that day in a conversation with and unknown person about my travels, where I had been and where I was going. He invited me to stop for awhile in Port Wing for the flea market opening a little later in the morning. I declined, told him I had to be on my way, but thanked him for the the invitation and the pleasant conversation. Little did I know that I would have several other random encounters over the next several days that jogged my recollection that one of the goals of this trip was to initiate or engage in more conversations with people whom I do not know. It is not a behavior that I easily perform. Driving down the road, I was thankful for the full tank and the rather pleasant opening to my day with two people I will never see again.
My ice green Ford Escape continued merrily down the road passing Duluth, picking up I-35 with a clear destination for the Twin Cities. With only a cup of coffee consumed since I left Bayfield, thanks to Dave's wife, I decided that I would stop for a larger breakfast about 100 miles north of Minneapolis. I took the Willow River exit because the blue sign claimed that there was food nearby. The arrow pointed me to a right turn and I ended up in the little town of Willow River with a railroad track and several older establishments. The streets were quiet, and I assumed that I was not going to find a place to stop, eat, and rest for awhile. So I found a place to turn around and that is when I discovered Peggy Sue's Cafe. It was open, it was local, and I could tell from the cars in the parking lot, a few people were already enjoying the fruits of Peggy Sue's Sunday morning breakfasts. Peggy Sue happens to be one of my favorite Buddy Holly songs, I was hungry, and I saw another opportunity to encounter Americana. I walked in and saw a number of groups having breakfast. I sat at the empty counter. Julie, my waitress asked me the usual question about coffee and she gave me a menu.
I cannot remember how it all started, but Julie and I became engaged in a conversation about my trip when I asked if there was really a Peggy Sue? She responded by pointing to the kitchen and saying Peggy Sue was the owner and was in the kitchen slinging the hash. We continued our conversation for a little longer. My impatience was beginning to show, because it appeared that very little food was coming out of the kitchen for any customers in the cafe. Julie asked me if I was in a hurry and I said not really. She checked, I presume with Peggy Sue, and told me that my order was almost ready. In the meantime, a couple had walked in and wanted to sit in a booth. There were none available. They stood next to me to wait for the next booth to open. My recollection is that I asked them if they were from the area and Carma said yes, they had moved to Willow River some ten years ago for their retirement. Willow River was clearly a summer vacation spot. There are two lakes close to Willow River with signs for camping nearby. Later, when I was leaving, I would see the paved bike path that ran parallel to the railroad tracks in the back of the restaurant. She and her husband Chuck, a retired pastor, had moved to Willow River from LaCrosse, Wisconsin. I then had this great conversation, mostly with Carma, because Chuck was a quiet soul. For the next ten minutes we talked about my trip, why they liked Willow River, and other random topics. I asked Chuck if he was doing any filling in for vacationing ministers in the area. He said that he used to, but not so much anymore. I wish I could remember all the details of the conversation, but Carma's willingness to talk about herself and listen to my ramblings, caused me to forget about the breakfast that Julie had delivered. I started to eat slowly as I continued to listen to the story of Carma and Chuck. Their booth opened up, I finished my breakfast, and Julie brought me my bill.
I asked if I could meet Peggy Sue and take her photo? You have to know that these are not normal behaviors for me. Julie went into he kitchen, and soon Peggy Sue appeared. I told her how much I liked her cafe and the delicious breakfast. I took her photo with my iPhoto camera. Julie told me that she was Peggy Sue's older sister and earlier, she had told me that Peggy Sue was born the same year that Buddy Holly released the song. I thanked them for making my morning so pleasant and then walked pass the booth where Carma and Chuck were sitting. We exchanged a pleasant goodbye. I took their photo sitting in the booth. I asked for permission from all of my photo buddies to put the photos on this site and they were OK with it. This is where I should have given each person a card with my email and url addresses. Well the homemade cards that I prepared before I left Connecticut were buried deep in one of the bags sitting in my car. I wrote down the information and left Peggy Sue's Cafe for the one and only time I will ever be there. What a great, uplifting morning driving from Bayfield to Minneapolis, on a clear warm day of summer. Engaging strangers in conversation can produce some of the great moments on the trip. As I drove off, I realized that I had given Carma my email address and not the url. Later, I called Peggy Sue at her cafe and gave her the information. We had another little chat where I thanked her for the opportunity to have breakfast topped off with pleasant conversations in her neat little place in Willow River.
Gallery: Photos of Peggy Sue's Cafe
My ice green Ford Escape continued merrily down the road passing Duluth, picking up I-35 with a clear destination for the Twin Cities. With only a cup of coffee consumed since I left Bayfield, thanks to Dave's wife, I decided that I would stop for a larger breakfast about 100 miles north of Minneapolis. I took the Willow River exit because the blue sign claimed that there was food nearby. The arrow pointed me to a right turn and I ended up in the little town of Willow River with a railroad track and several older establishments. The streets were quiet, and I assumed that I was not going to find a place to stop, eat, and rest for awhile. So I found a place to turn around and that is when I discovered Peggy Sue's Cafe. It was open, it was local, and I could tell from the cars in the parking lot, a few people were already enjoying the fruits of Peggy Sue's Sunday morning breakfasts. Peggy Sue happens to be one of my favorite Buddy Holly songs, I was hungry, and I saw another opportunity to encounter Americana. I walked in and saw a number of groups having breakfast. I sat at the empty counter. Julie, my waitress asked me the usual question about coffee and she gave me a menu.
I cannot remember how it all started, but Julie and I became engaged in a conversation about my trip when I asked if there was really a Peggy Sue? She responded by pointing to the kitchen and saying Peggy Sue was the owner and was in the kitchen slinging the hash. We continued our conversation for a little longer. My impatience was beginning to show, because it appeared that very little food was coming out of the kitchen for any customers in the cafe. Julie asked me if I was in a hurry and I said not really. She checked, I presume with Peggy Sue, and told me that my order was almost ready. In the meantime, a couple had walked in and wanted to sit in a booth. There were none available. They stood next to me to wait for the next booth to open. My recollection is that I asked them if they were from the area and Carma said yes, they had moved to Willow River some ten years ago for their retirement. Willow River was clearly a summer vacation spot. There are two lakes close to Willow River with signs for camping nearby. Later, when I was leaving, I would see the paved bike path that ran parallel to the railroad tracks in the back of the restaurant. She and her husband Chuck, a retired pastor, had moved to Willow River from LaCrosse, Wisconsin. I then had this great conversation, mostly with Carma, because Chuck was a quiet soul. For the next ten minutes we talked about my trip, why they liked Willow River, and other random topics. I asked Chuck if he was doing any filling in for vacationing ministers in the area. He said that he used to, but not so much anymore. I wish I could remember all the details of the conversation, but Carma's willingness to talk about herself and listen to my ramblings, caused me to forget about the breakfast that Julie had delivered. I started to eat slowly as I continued to listen to the story of Carma and Chuck. Their booth opened up, I finished my breakfast, and Julie brought me my bill.
I asked if I could meet Peggy Sue and take her photo? You have to know that these are not normal behaviors for me. Julie went into he kitchen, and soon Peggy Sue appeared. I told her how much I liked her cafe and the delicious breakfast. I took her photo with my iPhoto camera. Julie told me that she was Peggy Sue's older sister and earlier, she had told me that Peggy Sue was born the same year that Buddy Holly released the song. I thanked them for making my morning so pleasant and then walked pass the booth where Carma and Chuck were sitting. We exchanged a pleasant goodbye. I took their photo sitting in the booth. I asked for permission from all of my photo buddies to put the photos on this site and they were OK with it. This is where I should have given each person a card with my email and url addresses. Well the homemade cards that I prepared before I left Connecticut were buried deep in one of the bags sitting in my car. I wrote down the information and left Peggy Sue's Cafe for the one and only time I will ever be there. What a great, uplifting morning driving from Bayfield to Minneapolis, on a clear warm day of summer. Engaging strangers in conversation can produce some of the great moments on the trip. As I drove off, I realized that I had given Carma my email address and not the url. Later, I called Peggy Sue at her cafe and gave her the information. We had another little chat where I thanked her for the opportunity to have breakfast topped off with pleasant conversations in her neat little place in Willow River.
Gallery: Photos of Peggy Sue's Cafe
I drove on from Willow River and arrived at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Minneapolis around noon. I had plenty of "stuff," including my bike that had to be brought inside. The hotel attendant told me not to leave anything of value in my car. So he and his compatriot brought my luggage to my room with little effort. Believe it or not, I had worried about unloading all of this stuff in the big city compared to all the smaller places I had stayed on the trip, but not to worry. My iPhone weather App told me that rain was expected on Monday, so if I was going to try out the bike trails of Minneapolis, it would have to be the afternoon of my arrival. After getting settled, I took my bike for a nice ride through the city to the West River bike trail along the Mississippi. I have ridden my bike on the railroad bed trails of Connecticut, Cape Cod, and in Madison, but I was not prepared for the great job the Twin Cities have done in making biking a priority form of transportation throughout the busy city. My Apple Maps led me on the various turns and down the lined bike lanes on the busy streets to the river. I took my camera with me in hopes of getting some good shots of the river, but the green vegetation that borders the river made clear photos very difficult to find. I stopped at an old bridge support because there was a limited view of the river and I thought the lines of the support might add some interest to a photo. I found and older woman edging her way along the rusted metal frame out over the river. Either her husband or son--could not tell--was lining her up in his camera sights. I felt relieved, because I wondered if her intentions for crawling out on this structure were for other reasons. I stopped and took a couple of photos of her with my own camera and rode on. One of my goals in coming to Minneapolis was to ride to various places that I remembered from my college years on my bike. The heavy rain on Monday got in the way of more extensive bike riding, but this hour long Sunday afternoon ride gave me a partial sense of accomplishment in meeting the goal.
Gallery: Photos of the Bike Ride and Some Shots of Minneapolis
Gallery: Photos of the Bike Ride and Some Shots of Minneapolis
I was not sure what to do for dinner. The easiest solution was to eat in the hotel restaurant, which was well reviewed. However, I decided to take a walk up Nicollet Mall to check out a Pub that I had seen earlier in the day. Ihad also seen a Jazz Eatery not far from the Pub. I settled on the Jazz venue because they had some entertainment. The cover was on the high side for my taste, but I bit the bullet, put down the cash and went inside. After enjoying a light meal at the bar, I was given a seat facing the stage from the side.
At some point, Terrance and Holly sat down to my left and we struck up one of those spontaneous conversations for about twenty minutes before the concert began. We talked about Tanglewood in Massachusetts; and I recommended the Red Lion Inn to them, should they ever travel in that direction. They were life long residents of the twin cities; but we shared some travel stories, including a bit about my adventure across the northern midwest. It was one more instance where a simple question can engender a pleasant conversation between people who have never met and will never meet again. It was a nice introduction to the haunting music we were about to hear.
The theater setting in this venue is quite intimate. People sit at tables arranged in very close proximity to each other. My sense was that no matter where you sat, you felt in very close contact with the singer. His name is Vinicius Cantuaria. His instrument is the acoustic guitar. His expertise is Brazilian music. His focus for the evening was to recreate the songs of Antonio Carlos Jobim. I took a few grainy photos of him with my iPhone that hopefully convey an image of how special the mood was that he created it with his guitar and soft, melodic voice giving great expression to the Portuguese lyrics. I felt the songs regardless of my inability to understand the language. He sang non-stop and with very little commentary for well over an hour. It was delightful. Just like finding the Peggy Sue Cafe earlier in the day, I felt that my random choices were resulting in some of the best moments on my trip. Here I was at the Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant by pure chance, enjoying conversation with two new acquaintances and the music of an exceptional talent. Who cared if it was supposed to rain tomorrow.
Gallery: Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant
At some point, Terrance and Holly sat down to my left and we struck up one of those spontaneous conversations for about twenty minutes before the concert began. We talked about Tanglewood in Massachusetts; and I recommended the Red Lion Inn to them, should they ever travel in that direction. They were life long residents of the twin cities; but we shared some travel stories, including a bit about my adventure across the northern midwest. It was one more instance where a simple question can engender a pleasant conversation between people who have never met and will never meet again. It was a nice introduction to the haunting music we were about to hear.
The theater setting in this venue is quite intimate. People sit at tables arranged in very close proximity to each other. My sense was that no matter where you sat, you felt in very close contact with the singer. His name is Vinicius Cantuaria. His instrument is the acoustic guitar. His expertise is Brazilian music. His focus for the evening was to recreate the songs of Antonio Carlos Jobim. I took a few grainy photos of him with my iPhone that hopefully convey an image of how special the mood was that he created it with his guitar and soft, melodic voice giving great expression to the Portuguese lyrics. I felt the songs regardless of my inability to understand the language. He sang non-stop and with very little commentary for well over an hour. It was delightful. Just like finding the Peggy Sue Cafe earlier in the day, I felt that my random choices were resulting in some of the best moments on my trip. Here I was at the Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant by pure chance, enjoying conversation with two new acquaintances and the music of an exceptional talent. Who cared if it was supposed to rain tomorrow.
Gallery: Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant
It rained all morning and into the afternoon on the next day. I worked on this blog for a good part of the morning. I went out to find some wine and cheese to bring to Steve and Trish who had invited me to their home for dinner Monday evening. I, of course, did not take an umbrella and suffered the consequences of shopping for these items in a torrential rainfall. I checked the radar on my iPhone and saw a window of opportunity to hustle back to the hotel in a lighter rainfall. Those few minutes arrived, and I made a dash for the hotel. I was wet when I got there, but it could have been worse. I went for a swim in the beautiful pool where I was the only one enjoying its soothing effects on my rain soaked body.
The sun came out later in the afternoon, but with a foggy haze that was due to smoke moving south from forest fires in Canada. I took a drive past Lake Hiawatha and Lake Nakomis in the car rather than on my bike and took a few photos of these two well placed lakes in the middle of Minneapolis. I crossed one of the several bridges that span the Mississippi River into St. Paul where Steve and Trish have lived for over 40 years. Although we have exchanged Christmas cards over the years and met for dinner once when they took a trip to New England, we had seen very little of each other over the years. Steve and I were close friends from early elementary school all the way through college. I was the best man at their wedding those many years ago. Steve is struggling with some health issues now which hamper is getting around with ease, but that did not stop us from having a terrific meal prepared by Trish and sharing stories about our families as well as recalling some great moments from our past. I left about them around 8:30 after a thoroughly enjoyable evening. It was tough to see my friend Steve facing his own challenges of growing older, but he has a marvelous sense of rye humor that kept the evening light and quite rewarding for me.
It was a very meaningful way to end my short stay in Minneapolis. The next day, my trusty Ford Escape would face south, heading toward Madison with a few stops along the way.
The sun came out later in the afternoon, but with a foggy haze that was due to smoke moving south from forest fires in Canada. I took a drive past Lake Hiawatha and Lake Nakomis in the car rather than on my bike and took a few photos of these two well placed lakes in the middle of Minneapolis. I crossed one of the several bridges that span the Mississippi River into St. Paul where Steve and Trish have lived for over 40 years. Although we have exchanged Christmas cards over the years and met for dinner once when they took a trip to New England, we had seen very little of each other over the years. Steve and I were close friends from early elementary school all the way through college. I was the best man at their wedding those many years ago. Steve is struggling with some health issues now which hamper is getting around with ease, but that did not stop us from having a terrific meal prepared by Trish and sharing stories about our families as well as recalling some great moments from our past. I left about them around 8:30 after a thoroughly enjoyable evening. It was tough to see my friend Steve facing his own challenges of growing older, but he has a marvelous sense of rye humor that kept the evening light and quite rewarding for me.
It was a very meaningful way to end my short stay in Minneapolis. The next day, my trusty Ford Escape would face south, heading toward Madison with a few stops along the way.
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