We passed a thousand miles coming down into the Mississippi and St. Croix River Valley at Prescott, Wisconsin. By then, we had missed two meals, had none of the instant ice packs left to cool us down on the climbs, were riding on a bulging tire with an inner tube scavanged from the front wheel of the rear trike (with the other best tube already patched four times), and had Dale nursing an Achilles tendon that was visibly swollen. We found an astonishingly good little restaurant - Enrique's - in Prescott and enjoyed a wonderful lunch of fresh tortillas, real nachos, and a special salad. The ride across the St. Croix into Minnesota went well, and we made it up the bluff between the rivers. At that point, our planned route hit a snag. Instead of the unpleasant but rideable shoulder we expected, the only road had been torn up on one side, with all the traffic diverted to a single lane. Sitting in a Park-and-Ride, surveying the situation and checking Google for any alternate route, we realized we were next door to a U-Haul rental place with three trucks on the lot...
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