"I like books like that, about coping. Life seems to be a series of situations where you cope and sometimes I forget how to."

"Well before you leave camp, here's something for listening to an old man," Burt said. He handed each one of us little pieces of sandy glass. "That there's fulgurite. When lighting strikes sand, it melts the sand instantly, creating glass. They sometimes stretch far underground and can make some really beautiful designs. They're pretty rare little jewels," he said smiling. 

A bird honked overhead. He pulled his pants up as his red shirt clung loosely to his thin frame. His glasses glistened with the rays of the sun, his silver hair sitting neatly on his head. He followed the bird across the sky with his eyes.

"Any idea what bird that is there?" He asked us, pointing.

"Great Blue Heron?" I said, unsure.

"That's right. They're going south and then they'll eventually be going back home up north," he marveled. He turned to us and shrugged, "Kinda like you guys, I suppose."

We biked through countless fields. Through towns, detour roads, friendly faces, and blaring sunshine.

The real joy in yesterday's ride was arriving at the famous Adventure Cyclist's Bunkhouse. The Adventure Cycling Association's Bike Tour was at its exact halfway point from Bar Harbor, ME. A group of eleven people stared at us coldly when we first came in. There was a definite awkwardness and we felt we had rudely crashed their party.

 Don Olsen, the owner of the incredible place emerged from the crowd. He's won cyclist awards of appreciation for the incredible building he's put together. There's an endless amount of places to sleep from the loft upstairs, to the room filled with military cots, to the three personal rooms with two beds each. Not to mention all the cheap snacks and beverages. It's heaven.

And Don is the angel. 

He has a very formal military haircut; buzzed on the sides and a flattop with his hair whisked up in the front. I had read about his military career and he looked the part. I feared a disciplined planner. 

It couldn't have been further from the truth. The man has the greatest laugh you've ever heard that rumbles his whole body and the warmest smile you've ever seen. He talked to everyone and helped break the ice between Josh, Matt, and I and the others.

Eventually, the group offered us a beer and graciously gave us slices of the leftover cake.

On the wall of Don's pictures, I found an old friend from last year; Duncan Moore, wearing the same beard and orange bike shirt from last year.

Instead of being one of the cyclists of Bike the US for MS this summer, he was leading. After I finished my bike trip last year, I met up with him in San Francisco and we enjoyed some time together. Probably one of my favorite persons I met last year, he just finished his tour yesterday in Seattle, another cross-country bike tour down. 

Last night at the Bicyclist's Bunkhouse, I fixed a leak in my front tire. While doing this, I found my front tire was experiencing the same fate as my back one; it was coming apart. I had a dream it wouldn't make it over one hundred miles to the next bike shop.

After a morning of coffee and talks with Don, we hit the road in the early afternoon; the hottest time of day. Matt's still with us and we enjoyed the first leg of today on a dismal stretch of empty road trading stories about ourselves.

In the town of Milaca, we stopped at a Dairy Queen and had lunch. After talking with a few locals, we learned there was a bike shop not even a mile down the road.

The cheapness of the tire at $10 had me worried but at worst, it's a temporary replacement until the town of Alexandria, which we should hit tomorrow. It's held up.

I swam in the Mississippi River today at our campsite in Royalton, MN.