A Sunny Retreat

Posted on March 11, 2023 by Molly

I have a habit of flying into snowstorms. Three times in recent history my return trip from a winter excursion has been delayed a day or more due to blustery Minnesota weather. I’ve become an expert at rebooking my flights. The most recent was my return from Seattle, leaving me just 27 hours at home before departing again for the next trip. Out with the ski clothes, in with the shorts and sandals.

This time the destination was Tucson. Soldiering on at home while I skied up mountains with Erik, Katie and her mom Betsy, Rich was in need of a break. He craved respite from this winter’s relentless snowfalls and wistfully reminisced about the sunny warm days we often spent in Arizona. Despite the clench in my stomach induced by the thought of crowding in another trip, I agreed. I’d had my fun, he should too. And who was I to argue with visions of that blissful warmth? Some hardship.

I decided I would treat it as a retreat. We’d been there enough times to cover all the best sights and I felt no compunction to be touristy. I had no must-do activities in mind. Instead, I would use the time to soak up the outdoors by running, biking and hiking, enjoy eating out, and most importantly rejuvenate my inner creativity. I was sorely in need of jumpstarting my writing, drawing and painting. That was something to look forward to.

We have a favorite “casita” in Oro Valley, cradled between the mountains with a back patio facing east where we dined each evening as the sunset painted the mountains red. It was already booked on such short notice, but Rich found one nearby with the same stunning view in addition to a beautiful yard and pool we would share with the homeowners. Our late afternoon arrival soon confirmed the perfection of his choice.

Normally, we do this trip in April, and although I knew it would be cooler this time, I feared I hadn’t brought enough warm clothes when the first few days started in the 30s and only reached the mid-50s. Still, I reminded myself that it was a lot colder at home. But that argument wore thin on day 2 when we woke up to 2+ inches of thick snow! While it was shocking, it was also beautiful and unique. Our host told us they had seen this happen only twice before in 20 years, and Rich eagerly grabbed his camera to capture the desert under snow.

I did my usual – headed out for a run, using that as my opportunity to see the area blanketed in white and stop frequently for photos. I wasn’t the only one, cars hastily parked on the roadside everywhere, doing the same. Unlike Duluth, the walkways were clear and once the sun crept out from the clouds the melting began. By mid-morning it was all fading into a wet memory.

As the week wore on, the temperatures steadily climbed. Tucson has wonderful bike trails, and I recreated my long rides from past visits. My favorite outing was timed to coincide with the Rillito River Heirloom Farmers Market. I was chilled to the bone by the time I’d logged the 22 miles to get there (all on bike trail!), and I eagerly sipped hot coffee and relished a fresh scone as I perused the bountiful farm offerings, artisan crafts and food booths accompanied by local musicians. By the time I left, I was able to shed all my warm layers and return in shorts and jersey – a long awaited treat.

Rich avidly pursued his birding and photography, scoring a number of rare finds as well as locating his favorite prey – owls. That inspired me to keep my promise to pursue my own crafts. Whenever possible, I requisitioned the little table outside our casita to do my writing, crafting several posts for my long neglected blog. It felt like priming the pump, doing something rusty yet familiar, in preparation for other works I want to tackle.

I used my bike rides to scout out ideas for my nascent discovery of journal sketching and watercolors. Keeping my eyes peeled for interesting cacti and plants, and knowing I couldn’t crouch on street medians or private front yards, I snapped photos in order to recreate the scenes later. That was a no-no in the class I took last year, but sometimes you just have to make do. After spending more time at that little table on the patio, I finally rendered one finished piece.

Our final day delivered the picture-perfect Tucson weather I had learned to love – cool in the morning, but clear sunny skies and reaching the mid-70s. I set my sights on re-exploring the third of the lengthy Loop trails, and headed down to the southern portion of the Santa Cruz River Park. The miles quickly slipped beneath my rental bike tires as I plied the flat trail, out on one side of the wash, back on the other. Cyclists from racing teams to slow putterers and e-bikes went by, all out to enjoy the beautiful weather. By the time I returned, I had logged 50 miles. A suitable finale, I felt.

And yet, I was reluctant to let the day slip away and craved at least a short hike before surrendering this locale. After dithering over my options with unnecessary anxiety, I finally settled on a local park for a walk. Donning my running shoes and grabbing some water, I headed out to the car. But I never got in. What was I doing? What was I trying to prove? Hadn’t I just been bemoaning the fact that it hadn’t been warm enough to sit out on the patio to enjoy the view? It was enough to turn me around. Grabbing the Mother/Daughter journal that Karen and I share, I made my way over to the remaining sunny spot by the pool. I settled in with pen and paper, first immersing myself in Karen’s latest entry, then contemplating my response. Soon I was lost in thought, penning my entry, composing as I went with no option to hit delete or rewrite. This had to come straight from the heart. And it did.

Sometimes I need a push to get out of my comfort zone, to abandon my carefully laid plans and tendency to want total control over my life. This trip was good for me, and Rich got his much-needed escape. We spent unhurried time together in addition to pursuing our own desires. It was just the sunny retreat I needed. Even though another Minnesota snowstorm was on the way…

Back in the Saddle

Posted on October 27, 2022 by Molly

I knew right where to find them. There in the hall closet my panniers lay carefully folded on a shelf, surrounded by camping and biking gear. As I pulled them out, memories came flooding back with them, swarming my senses with the sights, sounds, and emotions of bicycle touring. It all felt so long ago. Three years. A lifetime.

What started as a lark in the early days of our retirement, taking a week long trip around the western end of Lake Superior by bicycle, quickly turned into a passion. One that consumed our travel itineraries for the next eight years and over 10,000 miles. One week turned into two months, then became a month-long gig every year, sometimes twice a year. We pedaled coastlines, remote countryside, forests and prairies, followed rivers and snaked through mountain passes. We even ventured abroad, hauling our bikes over to Scotland and trying a self-guided tour in Norway. On a rare occasion we were joined by our son or a friend, but mostly it was just me and Rich. Over time, it defined us. It’s what we did, what we loved to do.

Trans-Superior Tour – our first adventure

Norway’s Lofoten Islands – our last tour

And then it wasn’t.

Enter Covid. Suddenly restaurants shut down, little motels struggled, using host homes was out of the question. While biking itself was a safe activity, the infrastructure for our travels collapsed, and we weren’t game for a 100% camping tour. We were grounded, limited to day rides and the isolation of the pandemic.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

In October of 2020 Rich collapsed while out trail running near home. A genetically misshaped heart valve had deteriorated severely over time, leaving him with a leaky, enlarged and damaged heart. Two weeks later, he emerged from the hospital with a new valve, a zipper seam down the middle of his chest, and a pacemaker/defibrillator. His active lifestyle was the biggest factor in his ability to recover, but was also severely challenged by this new condition with the unfortunate name “heart failure.”

As Covid raged on, so did Rich. With patience and determination over two years, he fought his way back to cycling, trail running and cross-country skiing. All at a new pragmatic pace. Perhaps to quell my nagging, he bought an e-bike this summer and quickly learned that it wasn’t a cop-out, it was an enabler. It has reduce the anxiety and restored his joy in cycling.

But bike touring is still an unknown.

Enter Minnesota Trails Magazine. For years, each summer editor Jan Lasar and I have collaborated on a story about a ride on one of our state’s scenic byways or trails. He takes the photos and I write the story. Usually it’s a one-day affair, but this year we had targeted the contiguous combination of the Central Lakes, Lake Wobegon and Soo Line Trails, a combined mileage of 144 miles. We decided to break this into a 3-day ride, and I smelled a bike tour in the making.

Oh heavenly day!

Three days or two months, packing for a bike tour requires the same amount of clothing and paraphernalia. The only difference is how much hand washing in a motel room sink is required. My handy dandy cycle touring spreadsheet guided me through the process of gathering my gear and stashing it neatly in place.

It wasn’t easy, striking out on a tour without my partner. It wasn’t the same as setting off with Rich with vast expanses ahead of us, tackling it together. While he is grappling with his limitations and celebrating his advances, I still long to challenge my own limits and push myself. We’re both learning to manage through this new normal, which sometimes means letting each other loose.

Our tour started in Fergus Falls and stretched to Waite Park outside St. Cloud, plus another leg from Albany to the Mississippi River dam near Highway 10. We broke the ride with motel stays in Alexandria and Albany, and had shuttle help from Jan’s friend.

Normally when Rich and I bike tour, we avoid bike trails. Too often they are monotonous and skirt the towns which we enjoy exploring. But this combination of trails was an exception to that rule. Following old railroad beds, we rode through towns where old train depots once dispatched passengers. Now instead, we were greeted by tall grain elevators and could stop to investigate the local sights.

Throughout the ride, Jan photographed while I snapped iPhone shots and took mental notes. Nothing stopped Jan from getting a creative vantage point, and re-do’s were common, sometimes raising the eyebrows of curious onlookers.

In the evenings, I felt that familiar fatigue that comes of spending all day on a bike. The satisfying sense of accomplishment, the justification for a hearty dinner, the welcome of a soft bed. And the anticipation of doing it all again the next day.

All too soon, we pulled up to our destination and dismounted our bikes for the last time. We had endured 93-degree heat, a flat tire, a chilling headwind, a 66-mile day and saddle-sores. We enjoyed good pavement, the lack of cars, the rolling farmland, nice parks and caffeinating at a cozy coffee shop. All part of the package when bike touring.

It was a great tour, although it wasn’t the same. I missed Rich and couldn’t help but wish for future tours with him once more. But only time will tell that story. For now, it felt good to be back in the saddle.

Look for the Summer 2023 issue of Minnesota Trails Magazine to read the full story and see Jan’s amazing photographs of this tour. The magazine is published quarterly online as well as free print copies available in Minnestoa parks and outdoor shops.

The Lure of the Loop

Posted on April 15, 2022 by Molly

I am not a newcomer here. Despite a three year gap, I come laden with memories and expectations from two prior stays at the base of the Catalina Mountains on the outskirts of Tucson, Arizona. Escaping a winter that just won’t quit, the constant sunshine and warmth were the natural draw. But to me, that is only the backdrop for my cycling plans. I already know, I will head straight to The Loop.

Tucson’s vast expanse of paved bike trails top the “washes” where flood waters are funneled during the rainy season. The Loop accounts for 131 miles of off-road trail, including a 55-mile long route that circles the city. I crossed that off my to-do list last time we were here, so instead I turn my focus to the three River Parks that radiate out from a central connecting point. Each has a distinct personality, which guides my selection each time I set out.

Our location in the Oro Valley is at the top of La Cañada del Oro River Park. Within a mile, I join the trail that I consider “my home trail.” I traverse this 12-mile trail down and back each time I seek out a route to cycle. Rich rolls his eyes, at my willingness to pedal 30-40 miles to explore each time I set out. But the terrain is flat, the pavement remarkably smooth, the cycling is easy and I’m just tickled to be out in the warm sunshine.

La Cañada del Oro heads southwest through suburban areas that exude prosperity. At the top, the rugged mountain peaks remain in close proximity, a tireless sight. Two golf courses flank the trail, spilling nice landscaping onto the sidelines and spawning narrow bridges to usher golf carts to the holes on the opposite side. An artsy park is a popular spot and a handy parking area for cyclists. And the path takes to the flats with a windy course flanked by desert shrubs, wildlife and birds. Before I know it, I’m alongside massive poles with netting to enclose Top Golf, with three decks of golf stations. That signals my approach to a decision point.

Turning to the right takes me to Santa Cruz River Park North. After enduring some industrial development, it leads to the flowing Santa Cruz River. Green lush trees and bushes line the banks of the river and the sound of flowing water is both a surprise and a treat. Cycling alongside this oasis I want it to continue forever, but the trail moves away and into local neighborhoods. I cycle behind houses for miles – most protected from view by stone walls – with desert scrub on the opposite side. More eye candy appears with the El Rio preserve and a seasonal lake. Another range of mountains looms close by. Like all my River Park routes, it’s an out-and-back proposition.

In the opposite direction, Santa Cruz River Park South is probably the most remote of the trails – at least for the portion I cycle. It starts with open pit digging of some kind, then takes off in a wilderness area where the trail quietly follows the wash down both sides. It passes Sweetwater Wetlands Park, popular for birding. But until it reaches the heart of the city, it remains quiet and unpopulated. I can cycle on autopilot through that section.

I’ve left my favorite for last, Rilitto River Park. This appears to be the most popular trail, with paths on both sides of the wash and there are plenty of walkers, runners and cyclists enjoying it at all times of the day. The south side is less populated, and has some fun artwork and landscaping along the way. The north side has numerous parks, playgrounds and ball fields that draw families. And the Ren Coffeehouse is a popular stopping spot for cyclists. Rilitto Park hosts a Farmers’ Market on Sundays, and I happened to be there on Bike to the Farmers Market Day. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to peruse the farm and ethnic foods on offer.

I took my last bike ride this morning, finishing with another pass on both sides of Rilitto. My new bicycle bell came in handy, dinging each time I passed a pedestrian or bike. It made me smile each time it rang, and garnered a wavy from those on the path. Tomorrow we leave to head back to the cold Northland. But I’m already looking forward to another visit, knowing I will be lured back to The Loop.

It’s Been a While

Posted on January 14, 2022 by Molly

“Would you like to bike to Lakes Park with me?” Rich asked.

On the surface it was a simple question. It’s a nice park about six miles from our AirBnB in Ft. Myers. The route is totally flat, with bike trail all the way. The afternoon was sunny and warm, inviting for an outdoor activity.

For eight years we bike toured at least once a year, usually for up to a month at a time, covering around 1,000 miles. Hopping on our bikes together was ingrained in our retirement lifestyle. When we weren’t touring, we were still out there training or just staying in shape. We took it for granted.

But yesterday’s question was not simple. It carried a depth of meaning that was not lost on me. Since Rich’s open-heart surgery over a year ago, he has been fighting his way back to health and persistently pushing to increase his endurance. He no longer takes anything for granted. Nor do I.

I couldn’t remember the last time we biked together. I looked it up in my sports tracking app. The answer – August 31, 2020. That was just over a month before his heart took him down on the trail. Back when there were signs that we missed, when workouts were harder for him but we had no idea why. When we blamed it on getting older. Yet he persevered, and we went on a nice ride in Grand Marais. I didn’t know it would be our last for so long.

Throughout his recovery, Rich insisted he had to fight his own battles. Overcome his demons on his own. He doggedly went out trail running and passed the spot where he went down, his recovering heart pounding as hard as it could as the haunting memory swept over him. He got back on his bike when the weather warmed, walking the hills when he didn’t have the stamina to pedal up them. “Slow and steady” was his mantra. Each time I offered to go with him, I got the same response. “I have to conquer this on my own.” Admittedly, sometimes I set out for my own ride on the same route a little later, just to reassure myself he was still upright, on his way home.

Rich was told that the mental game would be just as hard as the physical side of his recovery. Not knowing how much his body has left to give and the extent of his long-term prospects for active sports has been hard.

Facing all this has clouded my horizon as well. Rich’s uncertainties leave me feeling adrift. What does all this mean for our future? Our mutual love of outdoor active pursuits hangs in limbo. It used to be a no-brainer to dream up vacations that revolved around cross-country skiing, canoeing, kayaking, cycling and hiking. How much of that remains within our reach? It’s understandable that Rich’s interest may wane with his abilities. The gulf between our abilities has plunged us into uncharted territory.

And the big question still looms: Will we ever be able to resume bike touring? I still long for those days in the saddle, grappling with weather conditions, the incredible views from the seats of our bikes, the wonderful people we meet along the way, and the sense of empowerment from traveling under own own steam. I can’t accept that it’s the end just yet. Only time will tell.

Rich’s question really marked a milestone. For the first time, he was willing to share his ride. Which really meant sharing his new reality. Riding with him would allow me to personally witness his capabilities.

Cycling down the driveway, I settled into place behind him, allowing him to set the pace and curbing my urge to forge ahead – an issue even in normal times. The sense of familiarity and normalcy was overwhelming, yet I recognized it as a gift. I was also impressed. Rich kept up a good pace, better than I anticipated. Clearly his efforts were paying off.

When Google misled us on the distance to the park, and the round-trip turned out to be closer to 16 miles than 12, I could see Rich tiring on the way home. He doggedly pushed his pedals to complete the ride, and still carried his bike up the 16 steps to our 2nd floor abode. But not without a cost. I witnessed the weakness imposed by his heart. A good lesson, grounding me.

But the ride held more significance. It was a measure of just how far he’s come. More and more often, I hear Rich utter “I never could have done that a few months ago.” Which I take as a good omen for the future. For our future. He’s fighting a good fight and winning. I’m already looking forward to our next bike ride. This time I don’t expect it to be such a long while.

Sunrise Cycling

Posted on November 13, 2021 by Molly

With the onset of fall, the days seem to shorten at an alarming speed. At this northern latitude, by the fall equinox we tip the balance to more darkness than light each day. By now we are already down to just 9 1/2 hours with the sun above the horizon.

I mourn the dim mornings which push out my morning workout routine. On cycling days, I wait impatiently until I have just barely enough light to see in front of my bicycle – typically about a half hour before sunrise.

Absent the sun, there is a definite chill in the air. I layer on warm clothes, pull booties over my cycling shoes and don my Happy Hat under my helmet. Ski lobster gloves and a buff complete the ensemble. I shiver as I coast downhill, absent the heat-generating pedaling I need to stay warm. But soon that all fades into the background.

By the time I reach Superior Street, I get my first glimpse. The sky begins to widen, and color radiates above the trees. I can’t wait to get to the shore to see the full effect, and I’m richly rewarded by the time I reach London Road. The sun is still low enough to generate rich colors that bounce off the clouds, paint their undersides and send reflections across Lake Superior.

My favorite stretch is from the Lakewalk tunnel through the newly completed path through Brighton Beach. Despite the cold, I have to stop, straddle my bike and pull off one glove to take pictures. I am compelled to record this majesty.

But the real impact is more personal. I can’t help but be thankful for the beauty of Nature. The sense of wonder fills me with gratitude. How lucky I am to be out here, fit enough to be cycling, able to witness God’s handiwork, healthy enough to do this day after day, and to live in close proximity to Lake Superior’s many moods. A day that starts like this just has to be good.

No two mornings are the same. As I flick through my photos, the words that come to mind are Fire and Ice. The brilliant red-orange mornings are balanced by more subtle blues and purples turning the lake a cold steely gray.

When the sun finally makes its fiery entrance, the show moves quickly. It doesn’t take long before its radiance overpowers the scene. Dawn has arrived, colors fade and light begins to bathe the world.

The warmth of those powerful rays eases my way up the shore, reviving my fingers and toes, glowing on my face. I’m not sure how long I can keep up this fall routine. But for now, each day I make it out for sunrise cycling is a gift.

Hello Strava

Posted on October 9, 2020 by Molly

My daughter talked me into it. “You should be on Strava, Mom.” That’s all I need. Another app to check on my phone. More posts to read. One more place where I feel compelled to keep up with others. I’ve already pulled back from FaceBook, only perusing my feed now and then.

“You can see our workouts,” she said. “Complete with maps and pictures.” All my kids are on Strava. Karen’s strength and cardio classes. Carl running with the stroller to day care every morning. Erik’s uber rollerski and hill bounding training for the Birkie. “And you can follow Uncle Will as he roams the countryside to find outrageous mountain bike trails.” Now that would be entertaining.

I have to admit, I fit the profile. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t run, bike, swim or ski. Each athletic activity diligently tracked by the Garmin GPS watch on my wrist, uploaded the moment I get home so I can view, analyze and relish my progress. I begin to weaken.

Creating a free account, I link my Garmin and that’s all it takes. Suddenly, every move I make finds its way to Strava. Instantly. I find my kids and follow them. They find me and give me kudos. And there’s Will – way up in Copper Harbor! I see their routes, their speed, pictures and the descriptions they add. Kind of fun, actually.

It’s the pictures that draw me in. It’s no longer enough to lace up my shoes or fling my leg over my bike. I want to capture the moment with my buddies. Like that walk I took with my sister, Susie.

Cycling up the shore, I always enjoy the scenery but now I am hyper vigilant. I’m eager to catch that brilliant sunrise, the red sky, the sun’s glow across the water.

I watch as the early morning sun illuminates the fall colors, intensifying their golden hues.

I search for good views, the right angles, the best timing.

Yes, it interrupts the flow of my cycling but I ask myself, what’s the hurry? I find new joy in the scenery that flies by, even if I’ve seen it dozens of times.

I know Strava was meant to inspire my workouts, drive some competition with others, give me ideas for new routes. And it perhaps it will. But for now it’s opening my eyes to the world around me as I run, walk, hike and cycle. Adding dimension to my exercise regimen. Broadening my view. It may even get me to slip my good camera around my neck or into my bike bag.

Hello Strava. Glad to be here.

Seeking the Peak

Posted on September 30, 2020 by Molly

Was it more of a gift for Karen, or for us? For her birthday, our daughter was given a weekend away, to indulge in her own desires without the constant demands of four little ones while her husband Matt held down the fort. As hosts, we were the happy recipients of this generosity.

Karen’s phone pinged with a notification early in the day of her departure. “Northern half of Minnesota approaching peak fall color,” it said. “Good timing!” she texted us. The search for color was on.

Saturday morning arrived along with thick fog. Undaunted, Karen and I set out for a walk up Seven Bridges Road and across Hawk Ridge to take in the view. But there wasn’t one. But that didn’t stop us from enjoying the close range colors bordering the road, and the mother/daughter walk and talk time.

Extending our route to include Amity Coffee, we sipped our hot drinks on the final stretch to home.

Our next outing was an afternoon bike ride. Ignoring the dark clouds and nascent raindrops as we loaded the bikes on the car, Karen and I doggedly held to our plan. Rich’s recent fall from his bike prevented him from joining us, but his pitying look told us he didn’t envy our stubbornness.

By the time we started our ride on the Munger Trail in Carlton, the rain had stopped. The trail conditions were wet but we rejoiced in our good fortune and set our wheels in motion. Heading back toward Duluth, we whizzed along the long gradual descent, trying not to think about the uphills it meant on our return trip.

Just as we were about to turn onto highway 23 for a loop route, the rain resumed. Rather than endure road spray from cars, we chose to turn around and cycle back through the same tunnel of color on the trail, splashed by raindrops. The temperature was mild and it wasn’t enough to soak us through. Not as nice as a sunny day, but a good adventure none the less. So far, weather 0 colors 10.

Sunday promised clear skies, and I knew Karen had her heart set on seeing the North Shore colors – just as every other leaf peeper did. But we were determined to beat them. Rising early, the three of us set off before the traffic and headed to Tettegouche State Park. Driving inland, we hiked into Tettegouche Camp on Micmac Lake from the back side of the park. There we could take in the colors without crowds.

The only thing that remained was an overlook. For that, Karen and I climbed Mt. Baldy. We discovered that it provided not only a view of Micmac Lake, but also Nicado Lake on the opposite side. Surrounded by endless views of blazing fall color.

We finished our hike in good time, beating the rush back to Duluth yet catching the best of the colors. At their peak.

Karen returned to her little charges rejuvenated and fulfilled. I finished the weekend on a high as well. Thank you, Matt!

I Love this Ride

Posted on September 24, 2020 by Molly

As I strained against my bicycle pedals while advancing up the hill, debate raged in my head. Rounding the corner I asked myself, should I or shouldn’t I? Nearing the turn I pondered anew – what to do?

In my well ordered world, I would continue on with my planned early morning bike ride/workout. I would complete my 30 miles, finish my breakfast toast slathered with peanut butter en route to the coffee shop, then perch on the front porch with a medium skim latte and write for several hours. It’s what I do.

But possibility lurked. It was a mild clear morning with the sun just rising, and the brilliant leaves told me they were approaching prime. Not quite there yet, but the weather forecast promised ugly conditions for the next week. The leaves might not outlast the ugly.

I had yet to perform my annual ritual. At least once a year I take a ride across the city of Duluth, perched on the hilltop following Skyline Drive with the harbor and lake far below. This would be the perfect day to do so. But it wasn’t in my plan. And I always follow my plan. Or do I?

I turned left. Never mind that I had only a half full water bottle for a 40+ mile ride. So what if my usual granola bar stash was in my other bike bag? Forget the fact that my map of this route was in the same place. I had to go for it.

Whizzing along in the early morning sunlight, the air alternated between hot humid blasts that fogged my glasses and the more habitual chilly air. I felt loose and free. The writing will wait. The story will still get done. I was doing something for myself, and it felt good.

I had a good 20 mile ride through the countryside just to get to the opposite side of town. But even that blossomed with fall colors. They were all around me. It’s what I had come for.

Reaching the Information Center at Thompson Hill marked the beginning of Skyline Drive. From there, the scenic drive snaked across the crest of the hill, weaving back and forth in a rolling ride through forests of fall colors. My pace took a nosedive as I continually stopped to snap pictures, to gawk, to appreciate.

Normally, the appeal of Skyline is the view. The panoramic spread of the St. Louis River, the harbor and Lake Superior is visible from multiple overlooks and is a real-life geography lesson. But not today. Blue smoky haze from the western wildfires hovered over the scene. Across the water, Wisconsin was a blur. The horizon erased. The flat water on this calm day stretched into nothingness. All of it was eclipsed by the vivid scenery in my immediate vicinity.

With one exception. The quintessential Duluth experience – a thousand-foot ore boat was inching its way out of the harbor and making its final turn to pass under the Aerial Bridge. In my “why not?” state of mind, I had all the time in the world to wait for it. Even if it resembled the scene from a faded black and white movie.

Skyline Drive dumps out unceremoniously at the gates of UMD, and I dutifully skirted the campus. But even that had its rewards, as I passed the flaming maples of Bagley Nature Area abutting a student parking lot.

The final stretch took me across Hawk Ridge where I bumped along the dirt road amid a gaggle of bird watchers observing the migration. Then I twirled down Seven Bridges Road through a tunnel of gold – home territory and the terminus of my own driveway.

How glad I am that I followed my yearnings. That I heeded the siren call and threw my plans to the wind. And relished this last gasp of warm colorful weather. Throughout it all, the same chorus kept repeating in my head: Oh, how I love this ride!

Breaking Routine

Posted on September 20, 2020 by Molly

We own a wonderful cabin nestled in the north woods facing a pristine lake. A pontoon boat awaits, as do multiple kayaks, a fire ring and a sauna. Inside a stone fireplace begs for a blazing fire. So what are we doing renting a lake home?

Having put all our bike touring, lighthouse keeping and travel on hold for the foreseeable future, Rich and I decided we deserved a vacation. A real getaway, on a different lake, in a dwelling with more space and amenities (including heat that doesn’t involve stoking a wood stove in the middle of the night), and new territory to explore.

New is the key word here. A place with no expectations. No chores. No established routines. Only possibilities. Wonderful options. The outdoors awaits, and I just know the indoors will delight.

I pack all my notes for the pile of magazine stories I’ve promised to write. But before the first night falls I set them aside, out of sight. My head hits the pillow without setting an alarm. I’ve already dismissed the idea of an early morning run or bike ride, kiboshing my daily ritual. I’m off to a good start.

Our home for the week is on the edge of Gunflint Lake. We came loaded with bikes, kayak, and hiking shoes. I set about putting them all to good use.

Mornings on the large lake are my favorite. Launching the kayak into the tranquil water I cling to the shore, exploring the deep rocky lake, peering into the woods to catch glimpses of cabins and lake homes. Smoke from the forest fires out west reach us early in the week and creates eerie reflections, but can’t spoil my reverie.

Smokey sunrise by kayak

Strong winds keep me off the lake for a day, but in their wake the deep blue of the sky returns. The air borders on freezing and the lake gives up her warmth.

The hills behind us are criss-crossed with hiking trails and I set out to conquer them all. In the resort office I pick up a hand-drawn map, and get pointers on where the best overlooks are. I can’t resist labels like Lost Cliff and High Cliff, which live up to their names.

Rich and I set out to hike to Magnetic Rock. It’s not a long walk, and I don’t know much more than that this rock has magnetic qualities. I was not prepared for its sheer size.

Fall colors grow more vivid by the day. Yellows punctuated by brilliant gems of red illuminate the trail.

I’m so busy watching where I step – over tree roots and around rocks – that my eye is easily drawn to nature’s minutia beside my feet.

Traffic on the Gunflint Trail tapers off beyond Gunflint Lake. So I set out on my bike for the end of the trail – literally.

Nightfall lures me back to the lake where I can hear the waves gently lapping while warming myself by a crackling fire. Rich joins me and we sit, mesmerized by the dancing flames.

Five days of finding new things to do, seeing new sights, lingering over views, staring into fires. None of it resembles my daily routine.

Vacation Dreams

Posted on February 2, 2020 by Molly

For months, the word claimed ownership to weeks on our calendar. It feels like a lifetime ago that Rich and I sat down and plunked “Vacation” on three separate chunks of winter and spring. I knew the drill – if we didn’t dedicate the time early on, we’d fill up the calendar and never get away. But this time it wasn’t being busy that posed a threat.

As Rich’s eyesight issues progressed through the fall, we put our lives on hold. Ordinary outings like going for a walk, having dinner at a restaurant, attending a party all assumed an onerous significance. Could Rich manage it? The future meant later today, maybe tomorrow. Beyond that we could not see. The words languished on the calendar.

As winter’s cold, dry climate and brilliant snow reflections wreaked havoc with Rich’s eyes, we began to ponder the unthinkable. Might we have to become snowbirds? Would Rich have to give up his love of the Northwoods, his hunt for winter owls, and his passion for cross-country skiing to hibernate in a warm and humid climate that was kinder to his eyes? If that’s what it took to regain his eyesight, so be it.

Fortunately, the magic of Rich’s botox treatments turned our world around. With each stride forward, Rich regained aspects of his life he feared were lost forever, and we tenderly ventured to believe we could make plans again. So it was that I deleted late January’s “Vacation” week and replaced it with “Florida.”

Through the generosity of our friends, Arlene and Steve, we spent a glorious sunny week with them in Fort Myers. Rich and I were both there, but had distinctly different experiences.

For me, it was a week of indulging in long walks with Arlene, biking with Arlene and our friend Myra, lapping up the friendships. The constantly sunny days in the 70s salved my winter body. Ventures to Sanibel and Captiva delivered my requisite doses of beach and waves. Dinners in the company of good friends capped each day.

While I reveled in the pure Florida vacation, Rich still faced a series of trials. If Rich’s eye troubles have taught us anything, it’s that nothing can be taken for granted. What the blepharospasm took away from him will take months to regain. Things that used to be second nature, now require conquering anew. His confidence is badly shaken. Even the air travel proved stressful.

On this trip, bicycling posed a major hurdle. Battling fear of failure, Rich took Steve’s bike out for a spin in the safe environs of the development. Hesitant at first, belief dawning gradually, he covered eight miles on the quiet roads. His text to declare success contained four exclamation points, five smiley faces! Over the remainder of the week he expanded his distances, braving the real world, even biking to a birding spot. It remains to be seen whether we will be able to resume our bike touring. For now we celebrate one success at a time.

Ever the birder, Rich researched wildlife preserves and stalked local birds with great success. Perusing his photos each day, I reveled in the beauty – envious of his finds, but fully aware of my lack of patience to find and watch these rarities. Photos would do. Virtually guaranteeing success, Rich lured the three of us out early one morning in search of burrowing owls. Sure enough, we found eight tiny owls perched on their burrows in the vicinity of a ball field in Cape Coral. They weren’t hard to spot – the hovels of this threatened species were cordoned off by plastic piping, their holes marked by wooden crosses. Birding for dummies, perhaps, but they were gosh darn cute.

Florida may not become our winter home after all, providing the botox keeps up its work. But our sojourn south had many healing benefits.

Merely going on vacation – something so basic, so normal – felt like our re-entry to the world. Rich started to believe again. The future began to stretch out ahead of us once more. And we renamed another Vacation segment on the calendar. Costa Rica, here we come! We might as well dream big.

Superior Footprints

Life and the Outdoors in the Northland

Tag Archives: Cycling

A Sunny Retreat

Back in the Saddle

The Lure of the Loop

It’s Been a While

Sunrise Cycling

Hello Strava

Seeking the Peak

I Love this Ride

Breaking Routine

Vacation Dreams

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