Today’s word: GRINDSTONE

The strong headwind, waves and sun won’t relent. I’ve run a dozen marathons, I even beat David Goggins in the Las Vegas marathon, so I feel I know what it’s like to push yourself physically. This kayaking into the wind isn’t quite that hard, but it comes close. And sustaining this effort for 8-10 hours in a day, then another day, then another day… it has been demanding. This will be the sixth day of facing these conditions; we made about 125 miles in the last 5 days, today we planned another 25 to get south of lock & dam #9.

Mark still claims that I’m taking steroids. He said to our dinner guests at the Blackhawk campground last night, “How else could a severe diabetic perform like this!” Severe diabetic? I’m not sure what that means. But I can say, since Mr. Mark has been remembering to each during the day, and succumbed to the PBJ allure, he’s performing equal to me. He’s usually a little stronger in the morning where I’m a little better late in the day. I think he’s doing great, especially for a raging cancer survivor.

After our morning traditions, we started to load the kayaks when another kayaker arrived, looking for us. Maybe it’s not a perfectly fair comparison, but in the world of Mississippi River Wacky Races, Kevin is Lazy Luke. Though, he’s not lazy in the lethargic sense, he’s just more laid-back. He’s been on the river from Bemidji for about 60 days, enjoying all the scenery and people at his leisure, but he’s also getting held back by the weather. He’s in a sleek fiberglass kayak that is light and fast, but in the wind it’s difficult to make much forward progress. He was a truck driver for 25 years and now is looking to take on more of America’s beauty from this watery freeway. I wished we’d had more time with Kevin; he seems a real salt of the earth guy and seems to be enjoying all that his adventure has given him. Paddle on, Kevin!

Yesterday I got a text from our mutual friend Bill Rohde; it seems some business travel may have Bill in our general neighborhood on Thursday night. It would be great to see another Riverquest supporter (and blog fan) on this leg. After we made our travel plans for the day, I texted Bill to tell him we would be in the Potosi Wisconsin area on Thursday and that I would confirm with him soon.

Then I found out that Mark is texting Bill separately. Why aren’t we all three on one text thread? I was thinking about a recent blog message from my dad indicating his concern that Mark may be ready to kill me. Over Mark’s shoulder I thought I read a text that said, “remember the big suitcase” and at the beginning of this leg he told some story about someone finding a body in a suitcase in the river. I now will approach Bill’s intended visit with extreme caution.

About 6 miles into our day, while the winds were still pretty calm, we came to Lansing Iowa. Sally’s friends Bill & Sandy were there to greet us from their front lawn. Unfortunately there were no hot breakfast sandwiches being thrown at us, and we knew we had hard miles ahead, so we said a quick hello and passed through town.

Due to the incessant wind and waves, Mark and I traveled some distance apart most of the day: me dreaming up nonsensical stories while he likely calculates how many pieces to saw me into to pack into a suitcase. We did come together for a few breaks and lunch; at some point Mark told me about a “would you rather” debate that his wife Deana and some girlfriends were having. “Would you rather… be stuck in a long line at the grocery with your three screaming toddlers, or paddle the Mississippi?” “Would you rather, eat nothing but vegetables for a month, or paddle the Mississippi?” The penultimate one for me was, “would you rather have a job cleaning up elephant excrement all day, or paddle the Mississippi?” As Mark reminded me, you can’t eat like a mouse and 💩 like an elephant! I’m glad to be providing alternative forms of entertainment for some folks!

In the afternoon, as predicted, the winds increased. We battled two long stretches then paused for a rest behind an island. There was a fisherman there who informed us that the next 4 mile stretch was notoriously the worst. I told him confidently, “we’re virtually unsinkable” and he said, “that may be so, but you’ll capsize”. We saw worse on Lake Pepin than what we’ve had today, but now we were a bit nervous. After our rest, he wished us luck and we turned the corner back into the wind. About 1 mile in, Mark was whooping up a racket; we’ve both found that confident yelling at the wind can boost confidence and energy. About halfway through, the fisherman came by in his bass boat to check on us. I couldn’t hear what he said over the gale, but I gave him a thumbs up and we kept on. once we got to the tip of an island that marked the start of Lost Channel, we knew the worst was behind us.

A few miles later, Mark spied a bright yellow and red building in Lynxville Wisconsin that he said was calling his name. I thought the statue on top was some form of Angel, and I thought it would just be some artsy place selling clam shell wind-chimes and signs that said “Live River Life”. The “Angel” turned out to be a massive wiener dousing himself with condiment, and the place sold hot dogs and ice cream! Ice cream would be great; and I would even risk spoiling my supper to pair that with a hot dog. Alas, closed.

Then, across the highway and a block up the road, Mark found Hoochies II River Road Resort. We walked over to find a dilapidated outdoor tiki bar and an unceremonious indoor bar with gambling machines and sticky floors. The bartender and the patrons eyed us skeptically with our life jackets and soggy bottoms. We looked at the menu hoping for ice cream and hotdogs, but instead saw a wide selection of deep fried foods. Disappointed, Mark grabbed a six pack of High Life to enjoy at camp later. And both of us realized too late that we should’ve gotten ice. Neither of us wanted to walk 2 blocks back to the soul destroying establishment, knowing we’d likely walk in on conversation about us, so we agreed the champagne of beers could be enjoyed warm tonight.

A relatively simple 3 miles brought us to lock & dam #9. As seems to happen these days, when we approach the lock, and especially exiting the lock, the wind concentrates to its highest intensity, but behind the protective lock walls is calm and quiet. There’s some analogy here about a medieval battle raging on the ground floor of a building, you hop in an elevator for a few moments respite, then exit on a higher floor in the storming of Normandy. Something like this in a movie somewhere? I should ask fishermen Bill & Ted. So, when we exited the lock, we made a beeline for the right hand shore where we expected to find suitable stealth camping options.

Suitable was an understatement! I wasted that Shangri-la song based on what we found. It was out of the wind. We had a wide stretch of private beach. There was a tire swing. A fire ring and clothesline were already prepared. We had our own toilet. Our stealth camp was like Brokeback Mountain meets Blue Lagoon. But with less gratuitous nudity and scenes that make you feel uncomfortable watching with your children.

We each, separately mind you, enjoyed a quick dip and wash in the river. It’s amazing how a great shower one day can be negated the next with generous portions of sweat, sand and suntan lotion. Then we enjoyed a few warm beers, called family members, and fixed up a fancy Pad Thai dinner. We were both too tired for cribbage, and storms were predicted, so we retired to our tents. Mark did a little work while I was a slave to the blog. As the wind gusted heavily I could see lighting in the distance; this could be an interesting night hunkering in our nylon structures.

For today’s music, and to let you know that the highs far outweigh the lows on this journey… I felt like our stealth camp arrival was like One Big Holiday (by My Morning Jacket)

And for all the naysayers out there, I should’ve gotten an address for Max Negativity and Belinda Bummer to send them this poster for Christmas. Stay positive folks!