Journeys 3.1

Stopped in Duluth for the night before heading up the North Shore. No hiking for me this year: walking is painful, though cycling causes no pain; time, targeted exercises, and PT should sort it out. While Dwight tackles the Superior Hiking Trail, I’ll be cycling the Gitchi-Gami State Trail. Tonight: Tex-Mex at Little Angie’s Cantina. It’s unfussy comfort food, our tradition for decades, followed by malt balls from this old-time candy store.

Tomorrow we’re heading up the North Shore of Lake Superior, so today we’re laying out stuff for packing on the guest bed. No matter how long the trip (one week, four weeks, or indefinite), we’ve settled into a pattern: one set of clothing on, plus four changes. Having access to laundry facilities and modern fabrics make all the difference.

Cycled with a friend to St. Paul’s Global Harmony Labyrinth, built to commemorate the sister-city relationship between Nagasaki and Saint Paul. From below, all we could see was a flat circular hardscape that looked like a helicopter landing pad. We went up anyway to find the labyrinth. We decided against walking it, and cycling it was way above our skill level.

It’s Sunday, but this was delivered today. Our home was a new build when we moved in nearly eight years ago, and now things are starting to fail. Still, this light bulb replaces the only LED light to give out; I special-ordered it to exactly match the light output and quality of nearby light bulbs.

As I was cycling down this path today, I remembered it was supposed to be a freeway. In the 1970s, a huge swath was cut through Northeast Minneapolis, leveling hundreds of homes and businesses and splitting the historic neighborhood in two. Outraged residents organized and fought back, successfully getting the project canceled. While the homes built in its place lack the character of the originals, they help heal the wound and reconnect the neighborhood.

Walked across this hellscape, as I do every time I walk to tutor an adult learner. There’s about 17 traffic lanes at this point where two Interstates run in parallel for three-quarters of a mile. I think of the neighborhoods that were torn apart and destroyed to create this. It’s a relief to be warmly welcomed at the Minneapolis American Indian Center, enjoy a cuppa and a fresh blueberry muffin in the cafe, then settle down to tutor in a nearby, lovely old library.

The U’s Weisman Art Museum was on my walk home, so I popped in to preview new exhibitions that just opened. In the center of this gallery, Vietnamese American artist Tiffany Chung proposes a floating town designed to survive floods. Along the walls, embroidered and drawn maps explore the upheavals of war, displacement, and disaster. I’ll be back for a deeper dive.