Beyond the Setting Sun

Minnesotans Talk Different

'What do you think?'

'Hmmm... I haven't had one of these for twenty years.'  Doris Cross wore a frothy moustache of foamed ice-cream and root beer.  I smiled and offered her a napkin.

'I'd say that A & W Root Beer floats are a true American delicacy.'  Before me sat a huge and heavy glass.  Condensation sat cool and perfect on the smooth surface.  Wafting its way to my nose came the smell of vanilla ice-cream and the medicinal tincture that was pure magic.  The froth began to pop, but fine bubbles rose from the bottom of the dark brown liquid.  Energy, fat, calcium and the cool vibrant motions within the glass... it was perfect.

I was with the Hospice Director of Iron River.  Iron River was the last hospice in Michigan.  From Iron River to Superior, Wisconsin, the way would be long and cold.  Putting down my drained root beer mug,  I said goodbye to Doris Cross and headed out.

Thirty miles and ten hours later I camped by the roadside at Watersmeet.  The second day saw me at Marenisco.  A stand of trees and grass by the roadside provided the ideal spot for my tent.  The heavy army sleeping bag kept me warm, but condensation left it damp.  After a couple of days the down bag smelt musty, as did the bivi.  The third day took me to Ironwood, on the border with Wisconsin.

One hundred miles passed by in those three days, with me carrying sixty pounds.  In Ironwood there were old cedar-sided houses from the last century.  Ironwood, Iron River, Iron Mountain and many of the towns up to Calumet, had begun as mining towns.  Most of the red bloodstone had gone, but the towns remained.

At Ironwood I ate dinner at McDonalds.  The night was black and still, with the temperature just above freezing.  Some local people in the restaurant gave me donations for hospice.  I thanked them and walked out.

The night was crisp.  I walked back onto Route 2.  A siren wailed and an ambulance shot by.  I carried on walking.  An almighty crash sounded behind me.

I turned.  The ambulance was silent... its front end crumpled up and entangled with a large black sedan car.  The car's front end was almost sheared off and the doors buckled.  Broken glass glittered in the streetlights.  People poured out of the gas station that the car had been pulling out of.  A paramedic clambered from the wreckage of the ambulance and appeared unhurt.  Gas station attendants pulled the driver of the car out from the passenger's side.  He looked stunned, but otherwise ok.  In a few moments a second siren sounded behind me and another two ambulances stopped to pick up the injured people from the wrecked ambulance and the car.

I shook my head and walked on.  The dark woods awaited.

The next day I packed up and entered Wisconsin.  The roadsides were covered in rough gravel and were awkward to walk on.  At a motel I filled up with water.  Just a few miles on I came to a roadside park.

A breeze blew through the sparse stand of planted trees.  Beyond the small patch of grass and tarmac woods stretched away to either horizon.

An itch on my hand drew my eye down.  I expected to see a mosquito, but there was a small brown flea.  I caught it between thumb and finger and crushed its body flat.  I checked all over and couldn't see any others.  I hoped it was a long hitch-hiker.  So far I'd been lucky... with no ticks or fleas.  With the coming winter I hoped the cold would keep me safe.

Swinging my heavy pack up on my back, I set off.  In a few hours I reached the Bad Water Reservation.  There was a building close to the road, where a group of children were playing with a young woman in her thirties.  Her hair was raven black and her skin a warm shade of brown.

'Hi,'  I said.

'Hi there.  You hikin'?'  the woman asked, as she held a small toddler in her arms.