Rushford is a shambling little town sitting on the banks of the Root River, a popular canoeing, trout fishing and bicycling destination. The burg features historic limestone buildings and used to be home to the Ernie Tuff Museum, which is Ernie Tuff's collection of everything from 1950s stock cars to dog-powered washing machines. The museum is now closed ("Shut down by the county," Tuff said. "They said I can sue 'em, so I'm gonna."), so our stop in Rushford was for nothing more than a tank of gas and a bottle of water.
Peak of Truth
"You know," Darrick said, "We are only about 10 miles from the hotel." Hanna, however, had a different vision for our ride. He wanted to make it to Pikes Peak, Iowa, to watch the sunset.
So off we went, chasing Hanna's tail south to a lookout in Iowa. He'd come to roads and get a gleam in his eye, and off we would go. One of the routes passed through 20 miles of gravel, winding through tidy southern Minnesota farms and ranches tucked into river valleys.
At each stop, as the sun sank lower and lower, we'd ask Hanna how much farther to Pikes Peak.
"Fifteen miles," he'd say.
The fourth time we asked, Darrick pointed out he'd put 81 miles on his odometer since Hanna's first answer of 15 miles.
We rolled into Pikes Peak State Park at about 5:30 p.m. with only an ounce of daylight to spare. The area was named by explorer Zebulon Pike in 1805 (a few years before he designated Pikes Peak in Colorado), and a fort was built across the river shortly after. What drew Pike to make note of the area was a 500-foot bluff overlooking the confluence of the Mississippi and Wisconsin Rivers. Pike felt it would be a strategic site for a fort. The fort was later built across the river in Prairie du Chein, Wisconsin, and the bluff's only strategic value is a great view of the river valley.
As the sun went down, we pondered questing farther still-maybe even to the other Pikes Peak, but then as darkness came, the edge of a Midwestern chill set us straight and we hightailed it toward a hotel. We stayed in Preston, an old bluff town nestled along the south branch of the Root River, which bills itself as America's Trout Capital.
Our experience led us to declare the town a candidate for America's Meat Capital, however, as we found prime rib slabs the size of your head at the local steakhouse. The Branding Iron is a wood-paneled roadhouse with a spacious dining room, 20-foot-long tables and several open kitchens where you can see the cooks hand-battering giant walleye fillets and cutting wedges of beef. The prime rib was advertised as 15 ounces, but that was about as accurate as Hanna's 15 miles had been earlier that day. The meat was hanging off the plate on either side. A religious experience? Pretty close.
The next morning we took Highway 16 east to our destination, Lanesboro. A light mist clung to bucolic pastures and lightly wooded hillsides as we rode in the crisp morning air. Highway 16 dips and twists through the landscape, and church steeples and farm silos dot the horizon. The road's 35-mph esses and fresh pavement seem made for cruisers, as the route is a nearly perfect venue for a relaxing ride through the countryside.
Lanesboro itself, founded in 1868, is a town of less than 1000 residents. A dam was built to create a lake for sailing in '68, and an old hotel, the Phoenix, was also built in '68. The hotel burned down in '85. Mills and breweries attempted to gain a foothold in Lanesboro, but none lasted. The Presbyterians and Catholics built limestone churches on the hills, and those were the only things that managed to put down roots and survive.
Today, Lanesboro's mix of old limestone buildings on Main Street, a plethora of bed and breakfasts, a thriving local arts scene and canoeing and biking along the Root River have made the little town a popular destination. Outside magazine named Lanesboro one of the 20 best dream towns in America, and the city was dubbed one of the 50 best outdoor sports towns by Sports Afield magazine.