The comforts of a hotel help, but the rain and the cold await

Some nondescript town called Sartel just north of St. Cloud. We pulled in just shy of a power dam and the inevitable portage, the carrying out and all around of all our gear and canoe, too.

We'd been lucky as hell from the get-go with our "pull up to hospitality" trick. But the law of averages caught up with us last night. The folks we approached said yes, but the vibe was damn freaky. I found out later that the daughter, about my age, was going through a divorce. That alone could have been the bad vibe. Franked picked up on it, too, but set off to walk Clyde anyway.

So there I stood, not welcome in the house and feeling very out of place pitching my tent right outside their living room window. Then shazzam! Frank came back suddenly and said "This is weird here. Let's leave our stuff here and pay the son to take us to a hotel." Yes!

Now we're back in his truck again, Monday morn, low 50s, light rain, being portaged in style aroung not one, but two dams within a few miles of one another, a stretch that (w/this weather) would have made for a real shit morning. So boom. We're in St. Cloud and I can weep over the missed 7 miles this winter with my arms resting on the bar at St. Elmo's, a pint of Electric Dave's IPA in one hand, clove cig in the other.

All I can say is THANK GOD Frank is a man who appreciates his comforts.

Alone well after midnight, gliding weightless through the womb-warm waters of the hotel's pool, I felt REALLY good for a change. Warm and safe, a spaceman afloat in bliss.

Now I gotta get out, get cold, get rained on, and paddle, paddle, paddle. Yee-hah.

Minneapolis, here we come! Wednesday I hope. - RSM
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