Saturday, September 02, 2006
North Still
My original intent was to head through South Dakota, across the Badlands to Mount Rushmore and into Wyoming. But I've never been to North Dakota, and I can't imagine when else I might get there. And I'm intrigued by the flat emptiness of the place (this is what happens to you when you grow up in central Ohio, I guess). Someone once told me it's so flat there that you can see the curvature of the earth.
So I head out of Minneapolis going north, without thinking too much about the implications. This route takes me further up the Mississippi, out North Washington Avenue and various nameless streets in various suburbs and crossing over the parking lot that is I-94 during the afternoon rush hour. At Anoka I cross to the northeast side of the river, take some back roads for a while, and then pick up US 10 at St. Cloud.
The highway takes me north to Little Falls. There are, as I've come to expect, no actual falls at Little Falls, just a small hydro dam and some exposed rock below it. But I stop anyway, mostly to say goodbye to the river. A mile or so north, I cross the Mississippi for the last time on the way west, and light out for the territory.
I cross most of western Minnesota in the dark. In Motley there's a little cafe by the highway that's still open. I order the walleye. They drink coffee with their dinner here, so that's what I have.
Further on, I pass various signs for various minor attractions, mostly fishing and hunting related. Eventually I pull into Moorhead, the last stop in the state.
There's not much kicking in Moorhead at midnight on a Thursday. There is a gay bar, which my research indicates is the only gay bar between Minneapolis and somewhere in Montana. Ye gods. If it were karaoke night I'd probably check it out. But it's not, and I'm not enticed by the possibility of nursing a beer while the regulars wonder who the hell the new guy is. So it's the Travelodge instead.
There's not that much kicking in Moorhead on a Friday morning either. There's a university, but if it's in session it's not generating much activity. There's an art museum that claims to have a pop art exhibit going on. When I walk in the man at the desk looks completely startled to see me, and I'm a bit worried that I might be the only person ever to walk into the art museum in Moorhead, but it turns out they're just closed and forgot to lock the door. I have to content myself with the buffalo outside. (Louisville has horses; other places have cows; Moorhead has buffalo. Or possibly bison.)
There's another one in front of City Hall. Note that City Hall seems to include a nail salon.
I also see this. You thought Garrison Keillor made this stuff up.
Moorhead is here because it's where the Northern Pacific Railroad ran into the Red River - or as it's formally called, the Red River of the North. It's now the Burlington Northern Santa Fe, and it runs frequently across a trestle that looks only partly improved since 1887.
I sit in the Atomic Cafe, next to the tracks, and blog and check e-mail, via which my cousin Aura informs me "Do Not Panic." They have my cellphone. They're sending it on to the next stop, Missoula. Which pretty well settles my plans, I guess.
Across the river is Fargo. I cross the bridge, and the Episcopal Church welcomes me to North Dakota. I can see nothing in Fargo to entice me to stop. There's a sad looking downtown followed by a long string of strip malls on flat plains under a blinding sun. It's the last place you'd ever want to set a movie. (In fact, there don't even seem to be filming locations to go see.)
But at least they want me to have a Great day.
So I head out of Minneapolis going north, without thinking too much about the implications. This route takes me further up the Mississippi, out North Washington Avenue and various nameless streets in various suburbs and crossing over the parking lot that is I-94 during the afternoon rush hour. At Anoka I cross to the northeast side of the river, take some back roads for a while, and then pick up US 10 at St. Cloud.
The highway takes me north to Little Falls. There are, as I've come to expect, no actual falls at Little Falls, just a small hydro dam and some exposed rock below it. But I stop anyway, mostly to say goodbye to the river. A mile or so north, I cross the Mississippi for the last time on the way west, and light out for the territory.I cross most of western Minnesota in the dark. In Motley there's a little cafe by the highway that's still open. I order the walleye. They drink coffee with their dinner here, so that's what I have.
Further on, I pass various signs for various minor attractions, mostly fishing and hunting related. Eventually I pull into Moorhead, the last stop in the state.
There's not much kicking in Moorhead at midnight on a Thursday. There is a gay bar, which my research indicates is the only gay bar between Minneapolis and somewhere in Montana. Ye gods. If it were karaoke night I'd probably check it out. But it's not, and I'm not enticed by the possibility of nursing a beer while the regulars wonder who the hell the new guy is. So it's the Travelodge instead.
There's not that much kicking in Moorhead on a Friday morning either. There's a university, but if it's in session it's not generating much activity. There's an art museum that claims to have a pop art exhibit going on. When I walk in the man at the desk looks completely startled to see me, and I'm a bit worried that I might be the only person ever to walk into the art museum in Moorhead, but it turns out they're just closed and forgot to lock the door. I have to content myself with the buffalo outside. (Louisville has horses; other places have cows; Moorhead has buffalo. Or possibly bison.)There's another one in front of City Hall. Note that City Hall seems to include a nail salon.
I also see this. You thought Garrison Keillor made this stuff up.
Moorhead is here because it's where the Northern Pacific Railroad ran into the Red River - or as it's formally called, the Red River of the North. It's now the Burlington Northern Santa Fe, and it runs frequently across a trestle that looks only partly improved since 1887.I sit in the Atomic Cafe, next to the tracks, and blog and check e-mail, via which my cousin Aura informs me "Do Not Panic." They have my cellphone. They're sending it on to the next stop, Missoula. Which pretty well settles my plans, I guess.
Across the river is Fargo. I cross the bridge, and the Episcopal Church welcomes me to North Dakota. I can see nothing in Fargo to entice me to stop. There's a sad looking downtown followed by a long string of strip malls on flat plains under a blinding sun. It's the last place you'd ever want to set a movie. (In fact, there don't even seem to be filming locations to go see.)But at least they want me to have a Great day.
