Finally, I’m ready to enter. I push the front door open and am surprised to peer through a thick smoky-haze, as just about everyone here seems to smoke. This initial micro-hesitation causes everyone to look up to the door. There I am, standing in my power-ranger outfit. This is reminiscent of the stranger pushing open the swing doors at the bar in an old western movie and standing there. All eyes focus on the stranger.

Very quickly, one of the younger patrons (mid-thirties, sitting at the bar) says out loud, "That’s a real nice bike you have there!" I thank him. This immediately dissipates the tension and everyone gets back to their own conversations.

Though I know that I need to eat something to get my energy back up, I have a total disinterest for anything on the menu, a total lack of appetite. When the waitress comes, I order eggs, whole wheat, butter on the side, and coffee. She then asks if I would like jelly for the bread. Without feeling or interest I reply, "Sure, why not."

While waiting for my order I go back out to the bike and this time pretend to fiddle with something. I need to breathe some clean air. I’m choking in there! If I was looking for some authentic colour and flavour I’ve certainly found some.

Back in the restaurant, I wolf down my order as I examine my maps. The food is good and it hits the spot. For some reason, I find it difficult to focus on mapping out a new itinerary.

I decide to get going to generate some momentum but end up literally riding in circles up and down Superior st. The disappointment is sinking in. This was supposed to be a memorable trip out West and now I’m considering options to fill the time between now and next weekend for the BMW rally. Very depressing.

Finally, after several stops by the side of the road to re-examine maps yet again, I come to the realization that this trip –is – aborted. That means that I need to start heading back home now and make some forward progress as the sun is slowly setting.

As I look at the relative distances between Thunder Bay and Duluth and Duluth and the Soo, I estimate that I have a five hour ride to undertake, maybe six. Based on this I decide to take a straight shot from Duluth across US rte 2 and stop for the night in the Soo.

At this point, I have not yet realized that I have stepped into an evil parallel universe where time and distances on the map are distorted. Looking at the map, I’m yet not aware that I’ve misjudged the distance between Duluth and the Soo by almost half.

As I head down the road from Duluth and cross the bridge into Wisconsin, I remember the strange absence of excitement that I had felt at the beginning of this trip and how I had wondered if this was not a premonition of sorts. Did I intuit that things would not work out to plan? Oh well, I think. The worst is now behind me and I'm now tracking back home.

Little did I know…

To be continued

Bruno
Montreal, Canada