I couldn’t shake the sight of the dead man from my mind. I wanted to stop to investigate, but a small voice inside my head kept me moving. It didn’t feel right, but onward I pushed. The man was dead, plain as day. He’d been dead for several days, maybe even a week. I could offer no assistance in a situation where nothing would help. So I moved on. I hoped it would be the last dead person I would come across. I knew better, but I still had hope.
The road that leads from Minnesota to Osceola is approximately a mile and a half long. It snakes downhill ever so slightly until you cross the St. Croix River and then sharply, but not too steeply, rises and then enters the small town of Osceola. If you looked at it from above, it is a gentle sweeping ‘S’. I chose this route because it was the least steep and least traveled between Hudson and St. Croix/Taylors Falls. I stopped at the turn and wondered how well it was guarded on the opposite side. I needed to get through at this spot.
Buddy and I slowly descended into the river valley. This August summer day was beautiful, and the landscape surrounding me was just as breathtaking as could be. I had never crossed here on a bicycle, only in a car going 60 miles per hour. I saw a bald eagle circling over the river looking for lunch. It reminded me I needed to stop after I cleared Osceola and take in some food. With the emotions of the day, I didn’t notice any appetite. I looked at my old, wind-up pocket watch. It was almost 1 o’clock, right on time.
I reached the bottom of my descent and looked up towards the bluffs of the city some 300 yards in front of my position. I didn’t see a soul. I doubted that would last much longer. I started to pedal harder as the steep incline took hold of my forward progress. My speed slowed to a crawl as I neared the top. I was so focused on pedaling and looking down, breathing hard, I didn’t see the patrol some ten yards in front of me. Finally one called for me to stop. My heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. I looked up; he and his two companions were smiling.
“If we had a nickel for every fool that tried to pedal up that hill in the past few weeks, we’d be rich men.” They enjoyed a group chuckle at my expense. I was too winded to join. “And every last Tom, Dick and Sally looks just like you mister. Beet red and all out of breath. You know, if you walk your bike up the last little ways, it ain’t nearly as bad?” No, I didn’t know this tidbit, but thanks.
“Thanks. Just passing through, okay?” I looked for their acceptance. They were nonresponsive for the most part. They seemed to like seeing a full-grown man out of breath. Demons.
“That’s fine. Ten dollars.” I reached into my pocket for some cash. The lead joker laughed again. “Sheez, just kidding. We ain’t charging you to ride through here. We’re just on post to keep those damn road bandits out.” So that was it. The groups of gutter trash wandering the highways and byways of the Midwest now had a name – road bandits. “You don’t exactly look like much trouble. No offense.” He smiled broadly at me.
“None taken,” I was able to get out between slow deep breaths.
“Here, I’ll push your gear into town. Give you a little break.” He grabbed the bike with carrier attached and easily moved it forward. I followed behind more than just a little tired. I needed lunch sooner rather than later. “Great dog by the way. I love Labs. Man’s best and ultimate friend.” Buddy liked the attention from the new stranger. I was beginning to worry that Buddy might not provide the protection I desired. He might be just a little too friendly.
The large gentle leader, John, pushed my equipment well into town. He then turned, wished me well, and went back to join his friends on post. Compared to my experience in Stillwater earlier in the day, Osceola was, so far, a very friendly place.
I spied a small diner on the right side of the road leading out of town. Maybe, just this once I would pay for a quick meal instead of digging my supplies out of the carrier. I’d be lost in the middle of empty Wisconsin farmland this evening. There’d be no restaurants or diners there. It was an easy choice in my mind. Well, that and the fact my heart was still pounding in my ears from the steep ride into town. I went inside and a familiar bell jingled over the door. A friendly face greeted my arrival.
“Take a seat anywhere. We aren’t too busy this afternoon.” Melody, according to her nametag, was a friendly gal. She looked about 30 and maybe 30 pounds overweight. Probably too many diner meals in her diet. I wondered what they had available. She offered no menu but instead gave me some choices.
“Bobby has the grill going out back, and he has a pot of vegetable beef soup if you’d like some. Otherwise he can cook you up a burger or a hotdog.” She looked over the counter at her supplies. “Fries are all gone, but I see we got some chips left. Maybe even a pickle or two.” She ended her list and looked at me for my order. I had a big question to begin.
“How much will all this cost me Melody?” I shrugged. “I can only afford so much, and I got to know if I’m just ordering a glass of water for $20 or if I’m getting lunch for all that.” She smiled and shook her head.
“Well, lunch normally runs about $8. If you can afford that, it’s $8. If you can’t, you can just have it for free. The food is going to go bad eventually. So I’d rather have you eat it and enjoy a meal rather than toss it out. So you decide. I’ll take your word if you can’t afford it.” She looked at me pleased. She was doing a public service for her community and she was proud of it. I almost choked up.
“I can afford $8, Mel. I’ll probably give you $20 so you can have a nice tip.” She nodded. We were on the same page. Both of us were humans trying to be nice to other humans in a world where humanity seemed to be slowly slipping away. “I’ll have a hot dog and some chips. And a bowl of soup if that’s okay.” She turned to put my order in with Bobby.
“Water okay? Otherwise I got some old coffee, but it’s been on the camp stove most of the morning so it might be a little thick if you know what I mean.” She smiled and I smiled back.
“Water’s fine. And thank you, Melody.” I meant that thank you, she knew it too.
I relaxed for over an hour in Bobby and Mel’s company. We exchanged stories of the world outside of these city limits. So far there’d been no trouble here. But there had been small amounts of trouble in each direction out of town. A week or so ago, road bandits blocked the entrance to the west road into Osceola (the one I had just come across). Finally a group of well-armed citizens chased the bandits away. Only a few shots had been fired, and no blood was spilled in that exchange.
A few days later, there was an incident two miles south of town just off the main road coming up from Hudson. No one was sure what exactly had taken place, but a shootout occurred in a barn or near the barn. It just depended on who you got your story from, it seemed. Anyway, five people were dead, and a barn full of cattle were missing. Food, one of the most basic human needs.
Then just two days ago there was trouble on the east road into town. A large group of people wanted to come into Osceola and settle here. They were told no. They left without discussion and all seemed well. But that same evening they came back and stormed the road post. Three outsiders and two townsfolk were dead when it was over. The remaining group of outsiders was routed by a number of concerned citizens and chased miles to the east. They hoped they’d seen the last of that group.
From what I could tell, it had been mostly quiet to the north. Neither Bobby nor Melody could recall any recent incidents that direction. That was good since that was the direction I was headed. Melody gave Buddy several pieces of dried toast as I settled my bill. I handed Bobby a crisp twenty-dollar bill and told him they should split the tip. Both smiled nicely at my gesture. They had lived up to their end of the bargain, so I was more than happy to fulfill my promise.
The last thing they warned me about was something that had been on my mind most of the morning, at least since Stillwater. They told me to steer clear of Highway 8. It was a busy road that basically sliced Wisconsin in two from west to east. Word had it that it was heavily traveled nowadays, and the more foot traffic it carried the more temp
ting it would be for every road bandit in the area to patrol. Easy money, easy food, easy everything life had to offer. It seemed that when things got bad, the bad got thick and lazy. This bothered me as I mounted my bike again. Highway 8 was to be my expressway through Wisconsin. Now I’d have to come up with a new alternative.
I was actually sad to leave Osceola. It was an oasis of sanity in an ever increasingly insane world. Of all the things I had gone through, Osceola and Joan had been the bright spots thus far. The bleak parts had been Stillwater and the fires; and of course, Alexis. My thought strayed back to Alexis. I wondered if she was safe. I wondered if she had forgiven me; if she was still so upset.
The road flattened out considerably north of Osceola. Now it was just a leisurely pedal through vast open Wisconsin farmlands. And mostly flat farmland at that. I knew once I started getting away from the river valley my ride would be easier. Gone were the ups and downs created by thousands of years of water erosion. Now I rode on flat fertile lands where the glaciers had scraped away most signs of any terrain. Corn was the most abundant sight. Miles and miles of mostly field corn. Corn that may never be harvested. This year at least.
I rode alone for over an hour at an easy pace. If I pushed hard I could get to Ladysmith, in central Wisconsin, by dark. Maybe I could find real shelter there tonight, like a hotel room or something. By tomorrow night I would be in Stevens Point. That was a town much larger than Ladysmith. I was sure I could find somewhere to stay in Point, as the locals like to call it. From there Milwaukee was a mere 150 miles south, another hard day on the bike. But I’d be with my family again. If they’d stayed put at Sharon’s parents’ house in Menomonee Falls.
I paused on a small incline at about 2:30 in the afternoon. I took a short break to give Buddy a quick sip of water and take a splash myself. I was making good progress. I kept reminding myself to just stay at it and everything would be just fine. I really believed it that afternoon. Gone were the negative feelings from the morning. The positive, self-assured Bill was at the helm. I looked behind me and focused on a dot some miles back.
Another bike seemed to be coming on the same road I was traveling. I couldn’t tell if it was one or two, but I was sure it wasn’t a group of people. Still, there was another rider within sight of me. I got back on my bike and began pedaling hard again. I needed to stay ahead of the unidentified potential problem that now dogged me. I would ride hard for 20 minutes and then check again. Hopefully the problem would be gone.
After 25 minutes of hard work I stopped and looked behind on the road again. I had fought off the urge to keep checking behind during my race. I felt that would be a waste of energy. At first, the road appeared to be clear. Whoever, or whatever was following Buddy and me, seemed to be gone. I studied the road intently for another minute. Then the lone rider reappeared. He or she was closer now. Whatever lead I had 25 minutes ago had been cut in half, maybe more. I swore at myself. I should have taken a side road when I had the chance earlier. Now the rider could stay in sight of me until he or she finally caught up. I jumped back on my bike and pedaled hard, much harder than I had pressed myself so far. I wanted to beat my chaser to Highway 8. I knew there were several routes I could take once I crossed over that stretch of road and maybe, just maybe I could lose them there.
It took only ten minutes for my pursuer to get within earshot of me. I refused to look back. If I was going to be over taken it would be while I was looking forward, never behind. I pedaled feverishly towards my goal. Finally, I heard my road nemesis calling out to me.
“Dude, wait up! I mean come on dude, just frickin’ wait up!” I stopped, he was a mere twenty yards back. Time for me to face the music. I reached in my carrier for my gun. It was time for me to make my stand.
Chapter 19