This Must Be the Place

Climbing to the unknown.  by Nathan Vergin

About ten years ago, I grew my first true root as an adult.  After searching for the non-existent Utopia for many years, and never truly finding it, I settled in Madison.  Since then, that one root has turned into a multitude of deep tap roots based primarily on friends and riding routes.  Madison is not a bad place to settle at all, but I still can't help but think "What else am I missing out there?"

Last weekend, this question expanded to more than just a physical place.  It grew tendrils and reached into almost every crevasse of my brain.  I'm sure it was all intensified by three things:  a) I spent the weekend biking through Minneapolis, my home city, b)  I was able to reconnect with some really great people from my past--and one from my present, and c)  I have only been at my true place of residence for a couple days this month, and very little, really since Spring.  As I rode city streets and paths paved with 38 years of memories, two songs were dueling in my head.  The Moody Blues "You Can Never Go Home" and The Talking Heads "This Must Be the Place" were on a constant loop any time there was silence.

I don't know what I'm searching for

I never have opened the door,

Tomorrow might find me at last,

Turning my back on the past,

But, time will tell, of stars that fell,

A million years ago.

Memories can never take you back, home, sweet home.

You can never go home anymore.

-The Moody Blues

Home is where i want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
(so i) guess i must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok i know nothing's wrong . . nothing

-The Talking Heads

The weekend was one of the best I've had in years.  Two wheels mixed with great friends, amazing Ethnic food, beer--maybe too much of it, a beautiful place to rest for the weary (we stayed at an airbnb location I will forever rave about) and memories...so many memories.  As I drove out of Minneapolis, and over the St.Croix river, this nagging bittersweet tinge welled up.  Honestly, I have no desire to move back to Minneapolis, and at the same time, I'm not sure where I belong.  Madison is where I call "home", however, I've gotten into this funny habit of calling any place I sleep for the night "home".  Since I pet/house sit so frequently, my "home" changes several times each month.  Couple that with road trips, and I sometimes feel like I'm living out of a backpack.  This isn't something I frown on, nor is it something I want to do forever, it just brings up questions. Where do I want to make a home for me and my ever growing fleet of bikes?

Too many questions for me and my tired brain at the moment, so I will allow them to linger and steep along with scenes from my latest bike adventure.

My friend, Nathan, navigating one of the cross courses in Theo Wirth park--with ease

Me and James rolling through Crosby Park near the river.  Photo by Nathan Vergin

One of my favorite iconic Minneapolis shots--the Hennepin Av. bridge.  

Lunch from Kramarczuks

James and Nathan in the Mill District

Me on the Sabo bridge.  Photo by Nathan Vergin

Sculpture Gardens

Me, James and Nate on the Stone Arch bridge

John and Nate--we were foiled again by flooding