Westward Bound: The Great Greyhound Adventure of 2007. Part 5

We’re still in Wadena, MN, and I’ve met one of our fellow travelers who is also taking advantage of the Dairy Queen stop we’ve made. Her name is Lisa, and she works with Bears. I don’t remember where, but her job was to study Bears and help them. This impresses me, and we share lunch together. As we all finish up, we prepare to load onto the appropriate bus.

Before we do, here’s a quick note about Jefferson Lines. They are the first bus line that I’ve been on, that will transfer your luggage for you. At every other Greyhound transfer, you get off the bus, wait by the side of the bus, collect your own baggage, and then take it with you into the terminal, where you wait, get back on a bus, and then give you luggage to the baggage guy, who loads it appropriately. The only thing you’re not doing is physically putting it on and taking it off the bus. Not so with Jefferson Lines. In Minneapolis, they tell us not to worry about our luggage, that they’ll transfer it for us. This is convenient, but a little nerve wracking. When you transfer your own luggage, you never have to worry about losing it, YOU’VE got it. Easy.

The same thing happens in Wadena. The Bus Driver tells us that if we’re going to Bemidji we need to get on the other bus, whereas if we are going to Fargo, we should stay on the bus we came in on. He goes on to tell us that they will transfer our luggage for us. No worries. As we finish up lunch, there’s been a change in plans. We are told that it is exact opposite of what he told us. Bemidji-stay on the same bus, Fargo – get on the other bus, don’t worry about your luggage. Fine.

We get on the bus and we’re on our way to Bemidji – land of Pete Fenson and Curling Capital of the USA. This leg of the trip is also uneventful. I get a different seat, one without a bar in my butt, and the bus is pretty sparsely filled. This is the first time that we’ve been on a bus that wasn’t filled to capacity.

We pull into Bemidji, and it is quite beautiful. There’s a large lake and it’s sunny and breezy and just fantastic. As we get off the bus, the driver starts removing our luggage, we all wait and pick up ours as we see it pulled off the bus. You might have guessed what happens next once all the luggage has been pulled off. Mine is suspiciously not there. I refuse to freak out. Perhaps it’s still on the bus. Perhaps it was mislabeled. The bus drive checks again, at my request.

It isn’t there. All my clothes, toiletries, extra pair of shoes, and jar of peanut butter are having their own journey, separate from my own. For the only time on the trip, I get upset. The driver assures me that my things are on the bus to Grand Forks. He’ll be stopping in Grand Forks that evening, and, as luck would have it, is the driver who will be taking us back to St. Cloud, where we will transfer to Fargo. He tells me he’ll pick up my bags and have them on my bus tomorrow. There’s nothing else I can do, so I say that that will be fine, and we go to the “station” to get our tickets for tomorrow, so that there’s no mixup in what bus we’ll be getting on.

I say “station” because it isn’t exactly a station, so much as it is a western union/uhaul rental/store of various odds ‘n ends/ place to buy bus tickets out of Bemidji. The bus parks in the shared parking lot of the “station” and a restaurant.

Since our tent was on my bag, and we were planning to stay at the KOA, we have to modify our plans. There’s a tiny motel next to the bus station, and we settle on that. Which turns out to be the best idea we’ve ever had. We shower, I borrow a shirt from my friend, and we are off to explore Bemidji.

Like I said, the main reason we went to Bemidji was to meet Pete Fenson, skip of the Bronze medal US Olympic Curling team. He owns a pizza place, Dave’s Pizza (go figure), which is in the town. I called up beforehand to find out if he would be in, and talked to him personally for a bit. He said he would be in. I had said we would be in around 12:00, however. And what with the fuss of losing my bags, coming into town late, getting set up at the motel, and needing a shower, we finally called the pizza place around 2:00. He was not there. We were crushed. The guy who answered said he might be in the next day early. Which would be great, since our bus leaves at 1 the next day.

We decide to make the best of it and set out to explore Bemidji. It’s not much of a town. It’s nice, well kept, and tiny. We see Paul Bunyon and Babe the blue ox – or rather, large represenations of the two, since Bemidji is the fabled home of the lumberjack. Everything about Bemidji reflects this claim to fame. We walk down Paul Bunyon Dr to Dave’s Pizza, at least to get something to eat. The pizza is delicious, and we make our way back to the motel. Each of us promptly passes out.

Before I end this post, I’d like to point out some more things about Bemidji.

Everyone in the town had exactly the accent I thought all Minnesotans/Canadians had. I don’t think I wasn’t amused the entire time.

Also, everyone in the town is really really nice.

This is the first place I took any pictures. (I’ll try to post some here)

The weather was fantastic. At the time of our trip (early July) the country was going through a heat wave. Everywhere it was 90+ degrees. Everywhere, that is, except Bemidji. It was sunny, 79 degrees and breezy. That is what weather should be.

Check out the next post to find out:

if we ever meet Pete Fenson

if I actually get my bag back

if the weather stays just as beautiful

and if I ever get a piece of delicious Rhubarb Pie that I mentioned in the last post.

~ by aeqvitas on March 9, 2008.