The Covid-19 virus put the kibosh on our latest trip to Massachusetts. Our niece, Sarah McDonnell was to marry Sean Thorpe in Providence, RI on March 28. We were going to take our usual five day back roads jaunt out east, savoring the back country that only the locals usually see.
Then the new virus hit. Sarah's wedding was postponed to July and then to September. What a shame for Sarah and all involved. A McDonnell wedding is something to see. I've been to several and they don't disappoint. Initially Teresa and I planned to drive out anyway to see the family, but as the superstructure of the normal started to collapse, we decided to stay home.
I was philosophical about it. Lots of other people had it a lot tougher than me. But couldn't I slip one more little trip in before the virus exploded? Stay home we were told. Especially old timers like myself. My old friend Steve Reynolds and I had our bottle run scheduled for yesterday. Once a month we take our glass bottles and jars to Thief River Falls because our local recycling bins don't take glass.
We went back and forth whether we should leave home and travel the 60 miles to Thief River, then finally decided to go ahead with it. Since this might be the last trip anywhere for a long time, we decided to dump our bottles in Thief River then head west to North Dakota. We usually breakfasted in Thief River, but all the restaurants are closed, so I had breakfast at home and packed a lunch for Steve and myself. Steve cooked coffee.
Steve picked me up at nine a.m. in his 1998 Subaru Legacy Outback. We took the back roads down to Thief River. March 19 was listed as the first day of Spring, but the fine print said Spring would not start till 10:50 p.m. There had been an inch of snow last night so we were able to see that other than the deer, we were the first travelers over some of these roads. We dropped our bottles in the bins at Hugo's Supermarket. We usually went into Hugo's for something, but not today.
 |
| It was a bright and windy day |
To get into North Dakota, you must cross the Red River and there are not a lot of places to do this. We used the bridge at Oslo 45 miles west of Thief River. Steve's ultimate goal for this trip was Edinburg, where he had helped build a sod house with some friends in 2006 as part of Edinburg's 125th Anniversary. Let me say something here about North Dakota. It's the least visited by tourists of all the fifty states. It ranks forty-fifth in the number of confirmed Covid-19 cases. If we were going to go anywhere and not spread or pick up the virus, North Dakota would be ideal.
Something else about North Dakota. It's filled with lots of little towns which only the residents have ever heard of. If you go to the western part of the state you'll find true ghost towns. In the east half, these towns of 90 to a couple of hundred manage to hang on thanks to the people that live in them. If there's any life in them at all, there will be a bar serving cheap beer, pickled eggs and pizza. There may even be a second bar disguised as a Veteran's Club. There may also be a Senior Center and a miscellany of other businesses. Scrapbooking is big.
That inch of snow that fell last night was by noon whipping across the blacktop roads, reducing visibility a notch. It was 15 above but the sun warmed the road enough to cause the blowing snow to stick to the road then freeze to an icy coat. Steve's vehicle zipped along with no slips or slides.
Forest River, pop. 119, proved an interesting detour. A hundred and nineteen people doesn't seem like a lot, but how many close, personal friends do you have? Tom's Bar was open for business. Minnesota had closed all bars and restaurants except for takeout earlier this week but North Dakota is famous for not telling it's citizens what to do. The governor had advised bars and restaurants to close, which was good advice for metropolises like Bismarck and Fargo, but Forest River was probably safe for now. (All ND bars and restaurants did close by governor's order the next day.)
 |
| World's shortest curling rink, Forest River |
In normal times, Steve and I might have dropped into Tom's to gauge the tenor of the place, but we did not want to bring our hot Minnesota microbes into contact with the unsuspecting denizens of Tom's. We pushed on north to Edinburg, pop. 184. Some of these towns are in genteel decline, but Edinburg had some go to it. People coming and going at the Market on Main. Walkers out walking, all muffled except for their eyes. We parked on Main Street and pulled out our sammies and coffee and enjoyed a fine meal.
 |
| The Owls of Edinburg |
After lunch Steve showed me where he had built the Quasquicentennial sod hut back in 2006. Not a trace remains. These huts were only meant to last till the pioneers could build more permanent structures. Steve wanted to explore some of the back country around Edinburg and look for the farms of the old folks he knew of. We took some narrow, snow choked roads along the river bottoms. The narrow river bottom was full of moisture-loving trees, cottonwoods, boxelders, many leaning crisscrossed over the frozen stream. This thick vegetation was in contrast to the open plains above the riverbed.
We could have headed home from there, but decided to go west a bit to Milton. We had checked out this town on previous trips to the Dakotas and had been amused by a hokey shrine to John Wayne in the display window of the defunct grocery store. When we arrived in Milton we were shocked to find that the grocery store had been torn down.
I found a nine year old video on YouTube posted by some young Brazilians who had been living in Milton. In the video, loud samba music plays from laptop speakers outside the back door of their house. There's banter in Portuguese and some English for the benefit of a couple of American friends. One of the Brazilians squirts lighter fluid into the charcoal grill every few seconds. "This is how we barbeque in Brazil." Everyone takes a sip of his Bud Light.
We watched the video while enjoying some chocolate truffle that had been meant for the drive out to Massachusetts. From Milton it was more or less a straight shot back to Minnesota on Route 66. That's North Dakota Route 66, not the one you get your kicks on, though Steve said he was having some fun.
The wind had increased and the ice pack on the road had thickened, but Steve kept a steady hand on the wheel. We stoped in Drayton for gas. Inside, all the booths had been pushed together and wrapped in yellow "Caution" tape. You could still get a personal pan pizza, but you had to take it away for consumption. There was a big dude in heavy work clothes and a soiled florescent vest. He was reciting a funny poem about shopping at Wal-Mart for the counter girls. North Dakota is full of surprises like that.
 |
| Sugar beet plant, Drayton |
If I happen to die in the pandemic, I will keep the memory of this day in my mind as I transition on. Thanks for driving Steve.
