Racing through the back roads of North Dakota singing along to the summer hits of the 70’s on spotify is pretty much the best feeling this old girl can have on a bike. Again, my phone told me to turn left, turn right, turn straight and on and on I went. I don’t know how many hours or how many miles I put behind me, but I started feeling a wee bit nervous about my shrinking fuel gauge. I’d been fighting head winds and cross winds since I hit the border, so it’s no wonder I seemed to be low on fuel so soon.

The roads seemed to get narrower and narrower at about the same pace. When I say narrow, I mean about 6″ of gravel between the pavement and the ditch. And the sky towards which I was racing was getting darker and darker.

I started planning what the hell I was going to do. There was NO shelter in any direction, no gas station, no road signs, no other travelers, and not even a farm houses in sight! I couldn’t park a fuel-depleted bike on these roads either without a shoulder to stop on. If that had to happen, I’d have to lay my bike in a ditch. And if that happened, I may as well just call that home ’cause I had no hope of continuing if I ran out of gas. The idea of weathering the oncoming storm in the middle of nowhere made me…well…nervous.

So what’s a girl to do? Keep putting miles in the rear view mirror until you can’t. Although there weren’t any road signs anywhere, there was soon a familiar white bulb looming in the distance. Thank Gawd! That’s a water tower. One thing is certain; where there is a water tower, there are at least some people. People is good when you’re about to be drenched and possibly living in a ditch in the near future. Ok maybe that’s a bit dramatic…

Hilsboro

Hilsboro had people. Hilsboro had a gas station AND a pull-off place to don my rain gear again. About eleventy two seconds after getting back on the road, that black sky opened up and the fire hoses in heaven pointed their might right over top of me.

That’s how I spent the next 90 minutes as I rolled into Fargo, North Dakota.

Fargo. So here’s the story there…Years ago my life took a turn. Part of my coping strategy for dealing with my new life circumstances back then was to binge watch the first season of the Fargo tv series with my very best good friend. Those nights were such great nights for me!

That was at a time when I was “taking back my power” as they say, and I grew leaps and bounds both professionally and personally. Now that growth was NOT due to the Fargo episodes, but it WAS due to the space my very best good friend provided in order for me to grow. Thanks Sharon <insert red heart emoji here>. I am currently in need of getting re-acquainted with THAT version of myself and heading to Fargo felt like a good direction for my first solo days on this trip.

Well holy pie batman was I challenged! That thunderhead that accompanied me into town was relentless! Several times I had to ride around what looked like the near equivalent to the Mariana Trench once I finally rolled into town. I stopped in a parking lot somewhere and looked up a hotel. About 20 minutes later, I was finally parked under the awning of the Fargo Inn and Suites.

Looks nice, right? Yeah. That’s what I thought too when I saw that pic on the interwebs. If I had their photographer, I’d look like a million bucks too!

Well I certainly got the full Fargo experience. The town looked nothing like the TV series, but my room sure smelled like someone died in it and the housekeeping staff couldn’t find the right chemicals to get the stink out! However, I WAS under a solid roof and I no longer had to plan my life in a ditch.

This swanky establishment had a tavern attached and that meant I didn’t have to venture far for grub. Things were looking up. I walked in, sat at the bar, and asked for a menu. The small pizza option was about the only appetizing thing, so I asked the bar tender how big it was. I figure if it’s big enough, there will be leftovers for my breakfast.

Thinking she was reaching for a plate to show me the size, I was a bit surprised when she pulled out a grocery store frozen pizza! “It’s this big”, she says. ummmmmmmmm – “Ok, I’ll take that one then, please”. “Do you want it to stay or to go?”

What? It’s a FROZEN PIZZA!

“To stay please”, I say. I’ll tell ya, friends, I was crossing my fingers in my lap as I replied ’cause I was a tad concerned she was going to just hand it to me across the bar right then and there! I guess the fire hose gawds decided to give me a break because 20 minutes later she placed my grocery store pizza before me. It was now molten lava and still on the cardboard it was packaged with. She dropped a tin box of plastic utensils beside me and asked if I needed anything else.

About half way through my dinner, a bar fight broke out in the parking lot. Yup. That tracks.

The gals duking it out took a break and came inside for refreshments. The fella sitting between me and the scrappers mentioned there’d been a gang fight downtown a couple nights ago. He’d moved my way to avoid the scrappers, then bugged out altogether.

Not loving the shrinking buffer between me and the champ, I paid my bill and retired for the evening.