Really, no place on Earth is as magical as Winona, Minnesota. As far as I know, the city as it exists now is almost completely artificial. It is the product of the Mississippi being dregged out by the Army Corps. of Engineers. Originally, there was a logging post or town a bit south of the current city, which then developed into the current city. But, as it stands, I would be hard pressed to find a city that holds its weight per citizen for quality. The perfect combination of old working class-manufacturing town with the current student-arts-music vibe has really created something magnificent that cannot be looked over. I’ve played Cub, Kickball, and had several world-class beers, all before a bonfire to top the night off. That was before someone mistook Ed’s Cub set for kindling, but nonetheless, my history represents itself.
So, Michal and I, we were holed up in Winona for days. Seems like a death sentence for scenester kids who can’t do anything but go to bullshit shows for the hottest new band who nobody gives a crap about. Luckily we were in the good company of good friends and accepting floors and couches. With rooftop barbeques, punk shows, and the endless supply of good times offered by the dual team of Old Man River and Ed’s (No Name) Bar, we weren’t in short supply of friends and fun things to do. Michal got to see a bit of what Winona had to offer, and a fine bike ride across to the Wisconsin side, up to Fortunata’s Café. I got to relive some of my former years in the middle of the gorgeous (and oppressive) Midwest summer. Some Mississippi swimming was involved, a spell at the Airport Lake, there was a soccer game, and plenty of other shenanigans along the Upper Mississippi River Valley (Michal, please comment on anything I missed).
And this is when we banded with the other miscreants from Winona; the biking troupe of traveling troubadours, Michael, Jim, and Daniel. To be fair, they are all trained baristas, Michal included, I was the only odd espresso man out. After agreeing to transport them in my (previously) trusty wagon, we decided we needed another course of action once my car exploded on the side of the highway. It was a rash decision, but we loaded up Michael’s (from here on termed Miguel) wooded wagon to face the open road up to his parents house in Maple Grove, MN (citation needed). Turkeys were encountered. Turkeys were triumphed over. Nothing could stop the Fellowship from reaching the far reaches of Rivendell (Maple Grove).
