Paul Bunyan Country

Ya Betcha, that's olde Paul himself. Took this photo when I stopped for lunch after my ride. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Plans were to ride the Paul Bunyan Trail this morning. When I stuck my head out of the hotel door, it was overcast and threatening rain. Weather.com was showing showers moving in the area, but looks good by 9/10 am. After light breakfast, I went back to bed for some more recovery. Before I knew it, the sun was shining.

The Paul Bunyan State Trail runs some 110 miles through the northcentral Minnesota woods from Brainard (Baxter) to Bemidji. Its a Rails-to-Trails on old railroad bed. The trail is paved the whole length.

Kitted up, prepared supplies, and loaded the road bike onto the car for the drive to the trail. Planned to park in Jenkins, ride South (into the wind) to Nisswa. There is no "trailhead" parking lot for the trail in Jenkins. At the convenience store, I was told most park along the road at the trail, or across the highway at the old "Dollar" store.

As it started heading South on the trail, it was 80+ degrees, humid, and partly cloudy. Wind was gusting, with some places no air moving. Stopped it several times to take photos of the trail. Rode on through Pequot Lakes.

My legs were telling me it was not a good idea to make Nisswa, even if I have the wind with my on the way back. At a little over 8 miles, I came across a bench with a view of Little Cullen Lake. Looked a great place to turn around and head for the car. Drank some of G2 and back on the bike.

Now, I thought I would have the wind with me on the way back, but it seamed at times I was back into the wind! Stopped at the old Depot in Perquot Lakes for a rest and finish my GC. Chatted with a couple others at the depot. I though the trail was very busy (at least Perquot Lakes and South. I was told that the traffic today was actually pretty light today.

North from Perquot Lakes to Jenkins, almost no one on the trail. Think met 2 folks total (counting both ways) on the 3 miles. Getting back to the car, I probably couple have made the extra miles making it to Nisswa. But, it was better to be safe. Did not want to bonk.

As I rode South from Jenkins, I noticed a crowd at A-Pine Restaurant at the South end of Jenkins. Looked it would be a good place to eat my late lunch. It was. After a sandwich (grilled ham & swiss) and wedge fries, treated myself to a slice of wild berry pie with ice cream.

Now that the photos are processed and blog entry is written, time to get horizontal and relax.

Heavenly Blue

Open, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

The 'Heavenly Blue' morning glories are finally starting to bloom vigorously. What an amazing color for a flower...I have never seen anything like it.

Gold Lace Primrose

Gold Lace, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

Sorry for not blogging in the past week...been busy!
This is the 'Victoriana Gold Laced' primrose from Annie's Annuals. The heirloom flower is very pretty and unique.
Annie's Annuals is a wonderful nursery in Richmond, California (which is sadly a dangerous town). When you enter the nursery though, you feel safe as you gaze upon variety after variety of very rare or heirloom plant. Everything I've ever purchased at Annie's has grown extremely well. If you can't make it out to California to visit them in person, you can order online.

http://www.anniesannuals.com/

Moose on the Pigeon River

These images were taken yesterday during my paddling outing on the Pigeon River. I saw these two Moose just minutes after putting in to the river. When I first came upon them there was one on each side of the river. After watching them for about 15 minutes, one swam across to join the other and they walked into the woods together. It was a beautiful day to be on the water and seeing these Moose made the day extra special!

Serendipigoat

What are the odds?
In Georgia last month, I visited some relatives and searched through photos for ancestors. I came across this instead.

A pint-sized Valentine!

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Updated:
Ang mentioned in comments that heart patterns on livestock aren't completely uncommon. So I did a little searching and found these online:
British piglet, also named Valentine, beyond cute.
Japanese chihuahua, named Heart-kun, exceedingly adorable.
Cat and another cat (not quite as well-defined, still charming).
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Updated again:
Check out Northview Diary's cow, Mandy, who has a cute little white heart on her side.

Another view

Some time ago I made a relatively lengthy post on this blog detailing some of the reasons why cycling is such an integral part of my life. Yesterday I was reading an excellent post from Jill in Alaska on a similar theme. Her post mentions something that I had overlooked -- the fact that I find myself relatively reluctant to talk about my riding to people who don't ride.
The simple fact is, I've come to the realisation that people who don't ride on a regular basis just won't understand. That's not intended as a vitriolic or condescending comment, it's just a fact of life. If I try to explain to someone that I'm planning to ride over 300km on Saturday night, or that I rode hundreds of kilometres last weekend in temperatures up to 40 degrees C, or that I crossed about five mountains in the process, it's fairly obvious what sort of reaction I'm going to get. Indeed, I've even noticed this from a lot of other cyclists here on the Gold Coast where the overriding cycling philosophy seems to be "only in certain designated areas".
So I just ride, and don't bother explaining it to anyone, save the two or three regular readers I have here. For me riding is also an escape, an escape from an increasingly plastic world in which everyone is masquerading as whatever they feel as though "should be" in order to be popular (and expects me to do the same). A world in which so many things are over rated just so that they can be sold. When I ride I can just be myself for a while, without having to worry about everyone else's vain pretences.
It also provides stability in a world in which everything seems to be in a state of flux. People coming into your life and leaving all the time -- often I don't even bother trying to stay in touch anymore as it just seems like delaying the inevitable. The very world around me is constantly changing. Even on my rides this is noticeable -- dirt roads are being paved everywhere, suburbia is expanding, the hippie mudbrick cottages in the hinterland being replaced by charmless Mcmansions.
In such a world, it's the basic act of riding that never changes, the feeling is as great as it always was, and this provides some stability, some certainty in a time when everything else seems fleeting. The combination of elation and exhaustion at completing a century that crossed three mountain passes, or reaching that campsite on a tour after being belted with 90km/h winds and driving rain. It's this that keeps me going, and this that I can only get through riding a lot. It's this, or the promise of this, that keeps me going through everything else. It's this that makes me look forward to my next ride, my next escape.

The Son of a Preacher Man

A short while ago I visited Bag Enderby Church, just a ten minute drive away from where we live. You can find that posthere. At the same time we visitedSomersby which is about half a mile further on, as this is where Alfred Lord Tennyson was born. I was interested to learn a few more details about the early life of the poet, Tennyson.




Alfred's grandfather was a highly ambitious and social-climbing solicitor. He owned two houses - one of these was Tealby Lodge (later called Bayons Manor) in Tealby. The house is now in ruins, having been blown up in 1964 - deliberately blown up as it was in a state of decay - but I found this print online ...

Delusions of grandeur

The grandfather had two sons, the elder was Alfred Tennyson's father, George. In the normal scheme of things George would have been made heir, but both parents favoured the younger son, Charles. This had a terrible affect on him for the rest of his life and as an adult Georgewas prone to depression, alcoholism, forgetfulness, foul language, and violence; not an easy person to be around.

Front of the Rectory

George was more or less forced by his father to take Holy Orders, even though he felt no calling. He was ordained deacon in 1801 and priest 18 months later. He married Elizabeth Fytche, the very beautiful daughter of the vicar of St James' Church in Louth - she was reputed to have already turned down 25 proposals of marriage!




His parishes were Great Grimsby, Benniworth, Bag Enderby, and Somersby, where they lived in the Rectory.




Alfred was born on August 6th, 1809, the fourth of twelve children. All but the first child, a boy, survived. The boys all grew tall and good looking and the girls were renowned for their beauty.

Alfred Lord Tennyson, The back of the Rectory at Somersby,
The Church at Somersby (I couldn't get it all in one photo because of a yew tree!)

Borrowed image of Schoolhouse Lane, Louth

Young Alfred went to Louth Grammar School when he was seven. He was bullied by the older boys and also by the Masters. The Headmaster was notorious for his frequent and heavy use of the birch. Alfred hated the school but endured four years there. Eventually his education was continued at home by his father. Years later when he visited Louth he would never walk down Schoolhouse Lane!




Alfred had a reputation for being very strong and is reputed to have amused guests of the household by carrying a Shetland pony around the rectory lawn. Once, he was sitting next to an open window in his bedroom and answered the hoot of an owl so realistically that the bird flew in. It became very tame and would sit by him while he wrote, rubbing its beak against his face.




I can imagine that it must have been a very lively and noisy household, presided over by his mother, Elizabeth. She produced a baby almost every year - which must have been exhausting in itself! Factor in the moods and depression of her sometimes hostile and violent husband and her life was not an easy one. During the 1820's George suffered breakdowns and life became very difficult for them all. One of Alfred's brothers became an alcoholic and an opium addict, another was put into an asylum. During one violent quarrel George threatened to kill his oldest son. He took to keeping a knife and a loaded gun at the rectory openly threatening to use them on him.




This is the interior of Somersby church, including the font where Tennyson was baptised. It is a small attractive church, which still has its 15 foot high, 15th century churchyard cross. Amazingly the Roundheads gave it a miss during their tour of destruction. I much preferred the little church at Bag Enderby, just half a mile away across a couple of fields. Young Alfred would definitely have spent much time in and around both of them.




Alfred's father died in 1831, his health and his mental well-being had deteriorated over the years and he succumbed to typhus. Neither his father, nor his brother Charles, attended his funeral in Somersby. The grandfather provided a reasonable allowance for the family to enable them to continue living in the Rectory. Alfred and two of his brothers had to leave Cambridge University as their grandfather refused to fund them. He tried to push Alfred into being ordained, but he was having none of it.




He was born for other things!




Alfred Lord Tennyson was the most popular poet of the Victorian era and was made Poet Laureate at the insistence of Queen Victoria's husband, Prince Albert. It is recorded that one year he earned £10,000 from his poetry - a fortune in those days.




He died in 1892 and is buried in Poets Corner in Westminster Abbey.