My legs were stiff for the first half hour. The first town on my northern route was Stillwater, a quaint river town with trendy shops and all sorts of river traffic. The area was quite well-to-do and a lot of expensive mansions lie spotted about the area. I thought these would be safe havens for the rich. They had their own little fortresses. Compounds to keep the good inside, and the bad out. It took 45 minutes before I started to see the familiar landmarks telling me I was almost to the city limits.
Dark, ominous pillars of smoke rose in the distance. If I had to guess, I would say they were five miles north of my current position. But what was on fire? It was too far away to be in the Stillwater city limits. There wasn’t much out there except for homes and several small businesses. I coasted downhill the last half mile to the southern edge of the city. A roadblock guarded this entry into town, and a police officer signaled for me to stop. The young man smiled as I obeyed his warning.
“Unless you’re a Stillwater resident, no admittance sir.” His nametag said Harms. Officer Harms certainly looked fairly new at his job to me.
“I’m just passing through. On my way to Central Wisconsin.” He nodded as I spoke somewhat winded from my bike ride thus far.
“I’m sorry sir. Orders are to only let city residents in this way. If you go back up the hill there are several roads that go around us, and you can meet up with the highway within four miles or so.” I was familiar with the route he suggested. I just didn’t want to have to peddle back up the steep incline I had just descended. It would be much easier, and faster, for me to just go straight.
“I was hoping to cross on the lift bridge.” It was a half-truth. I could cross at the bridge in downtown if I wanted. My real route would take me up to Osceola to cross the St. Croix River. The hill into Wisconsin was much more gradual at Osceola.
He shook his head and smiled. “Sorry. My orders say if you want to get in, it has to say Stillwater on your driver’s license. You understand, right?” Yeah, I got it.
“Sure.” I didn’t want trouble less than an hour into my trip. There was plenty of time ahead for that. “What do you know about the fires north of town? What’s burning?” Harms’ lost his smile.
“There’s some residences out there that are on fire. They’re too far out for us to protect. It seems a group of marauders have made their way up the river and are looking for food and shelter.” His lips went sideways as he thought. “I guess words were exchanged between the residents and the troublemakers. Things got heated, shots were exchanged, and then the bandits started setting fire to some of the houses. I suppose they thought if those people wouldn’t share, they’d be like the rest of the people. Make them go without.” He looked at his feet. “Started a few days ago. I think the group has moved on up the river more. Damage is done, though. Can’t get fire trucks out there. They don’t run. It’s a shame.”
“Yeah, trouble has found its way to Woodbury, too. I just came from there. People are breaking into homes looking for food and supplies. Heard a gunfight several nights ago. I’m afraid the bad side of St. Paul is moving out already.” We stared at each other. I wondered what else he knew.
“That’s why they figure here, if we can keep it to just the town’s residents, we can stay safe. There are about 20 of us spread around the perimeter. We’re on all the main roads. If we’re lucky, we can hold out until we can get the power back on.” It sounded like Harms wanted me to confirm his thoughts. He needed Ted, not me at this point.
“Have you heard anything from anywhere else?”
Harms’ face lit up. “I had some people come by from over east of Eau Claire the other day. They were looking for their parents just northwest of here. They said it’s the same over there as it is here.” He looked like he just remembered more. “Oh, and they said they had some people come through on some old motorcycles, ones that still ran. I can’t remember where they said those folks had come from. Either southern Wisconsin or northern Illinois. Anyway, sounds like it’s the same down that way too. No power. No running cars. No cell service, no landlines, no nothing. I guess Chicago is a mess already.” Officer Harms was not helping me feel better about the state of things elsewhere. Perhaps Ted was right. Perhaps the whole country was in the same boat.
Buddy started whining. I looked behind us; more people were approaching the checkpoint. It was time to move along and begin my hilly reroute around Stillwater.
“Well, thank you, officer. Good luck.” I tried to sound positive.
He smiled back. “Good luck to you too sir. Safe travels. Hope you have some type of protection. Word is there are road bandits out there. They’ll take everything from you if given the chance.” I cringed; Harms was a real fount of positivity.
Pedaling back uphill to go around the western side of Stillwater was just as difficult as I thought it would be. The first mile was all up, every last inch of it. After that, it leveled out for quite a while, maybe two miles, but shortly thereafter more hills rose in my path. Four days of up and down would make me a tired pup when I finally got to Milwaukee. I was glad I kept myself in decent shape.
With another half hour of steady pedaling, I was back on the main highway leading north out of Stillwater. A half hour lost. I began to wonder just how many of these detours I would find. Would every town be on lockdown? I had a number of these little places to go through on my journey. This could double my time on the road. I wasn’t keen on that idea.
I had forgotten how hilly it was on the north side of Stillwater. For some reason it seemed like I was always pedaling uphill. Only occasionally did I coast down a small incline. Almost immediately I would be pedaling after coasting. If I ever did come back it would be mostly downhill. I laughed at myself. I was just being lazy. I rose on the pedals and powered up the next steep hill. Buddy trotted effortlessly next to me, barely breathing hard.
I stopped as I peaked the summit of my latest Everest. The scene I encountered took my breath away. From my vantage point I could see three fires burning brightly. The closest was a mere 200 yards to the north. The furthest one had to be at least a mile away, but I could see the rising flames over the treetops. This was worse than I ever could have imagined.
None of the homes ablaze were on the road I was traveling. I could tell they all lie several hundred yards down some side streets. The closet home burned freely with no apparent help anywhere in sight. This couldn’t be a blaze set several days ago; this had to be new, that morning sometime. I wondered how many more homes had already burned to the ground and were in some form of smolder. We were nineteen days into this new world, and things were far worse then I had ever believed they might get in this country.
I rode solemnly by the first fire, some 300 yards down a side road, east of the main highway. I thought for a moment of going and offering assistance. But what good would that do? Most likely these people no longer had any water source to put out the flames. What would I do if I came across a group of road bandits, as Officer Harms had called them? They would just take my supplies and leave me for dead. I thought of Alexis. Maybe I should have brought her with. Perhaps I should have stayed. I sighed; it was too late to go back.
The second fire was closer to the highway, a mere 50 yards off the main road. I could feel the heat from the fire as I slowed, and sadly looked at the once expansive dwelling. I didn’t see anyone attempting to put out the fire. I didn’t see anyone around at all. It was like the occupants took their lumps and abandoned the property once the flames began. It was an odd scene to absorb. All I could hear was the crackling of the fire. I had expected calls for help. But fire was the only thing I saw, felt and heard. I wondered how long it would burn before extinguishing itself. I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
Before I came to the scene of the third blaze, I biked past two previously burnt out homes. They both lay close to the current road I traveled. The first one was still smoldering; the second was done with any flames or smoke. The air smelled of fresh ash. I noticed an older man staring at the
rubble. I got off my bike and went over to offer any assistance I could. Whatever that meant.
“Lived here 30 years,” he started, without looking up. “Burned to the ground four days ago. Quit smoldering yesterday. Everything’s gone. Thirty years worth, gone in two, maybe three hours.” I looked closer at the man. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t angry. He just looked sad. “All because I told them to beat it. Didn’t want to share my house and food with a bunch of hooligans. Just wanted to be left alone.” He peered at me and sighed. “Now it’s gone.” I looked back at the piles of charred remains. Nothing of value appeared to be left.
“How many were there?” I couldn’t think of anything else to ask or say. Somehow, I’m sorry just didn’t seem like enough.
“Three. Three stupid punks. And they burned my place to the ground. What am I supposed to do now if my grandkids show up looking for shelter?” Buddy sat next to the man offering his head for rubbing. The man seemed to find some happiness with my black companion. Buddy enjoyed the attention.
“I got no ideas anymore. Fresh out.” I looked back at my gear some 20 yards away on the road. “I’m getting away where trash like this won’t bother me. Trash being those young punks.” I wished I had magical words to make this fellow happy, but none came. A huge pang of emptiness ran through my soul. For the first time in 19 days, I felt as if I were staring into the awful abyss of my future. Bare and bleak, filled with nothingness.
I turned and left without another word. Buddy followed, and we got back on the road. I had lost all feeling. I didn’t feel sad or mad or hurt or sorry or torn. I felt nothing. And nothing is the emptiest feeling when you’re all alone.
Chapter 17