Last week our long-time friend Eleanor Jensen and I scouted “The Fox”: a 120 mile bike-packing route that loops counter-clockwise from Finland to Grand Marais and back, primarily on gravel roads. On August 28-29 it will be one of our Heck of the North Productions races, but on June 14-15 it was a leisurely tour.

My schedule rarely affords two days of riding: I can squeeze in a few hours in the early mornings or sometimes while the kids are at one of their practices. In May I rode 100 miles of Hwy 61, but I hadn’t ridden more than 30 miles of gravel in one sitting since August 2020, when Eleanor and I rode portions of The Fox with six awesome women and a sag wagon called The Palace. This time we wanted to go unsupported.

A few hours in I remembered that the only thing that can prepare you for long miles on gravel is riding long miles on gravel. It will let you know how well your gear fits your body and how fit your body is: gravel don’t lie.

The Fox offers lots of variety: it goes from wide and well-traveled to narrow and remote. One minute you’re on a gravel road with lumber trucks (always ride far right!), the next you’re coasting down into a tunnel of maples and over hidden trout streams. Then there’s a stretch of pavement, and another enchanted forest path. The sky was just as changeable. We rode into a bank of storm clouds that grew dark and menacing, and then the wind shifted and they vanished into blue.

On the outskirts of Grand Marais, with ten miles to go, my feet, left shoulder blade, and bottom started to holler in an unpleasant chorus. I knew I could have prevented it with better fitting shoes, a shorter stem, and maybe a different saddle position, but I had to ride this far to figure that out.

When we reached the campground El suggested a dip in the lake. We took off our bike shoes and filthy socks and hobbled over the smooth rocks into the icy water. With zero grace I laid my butt down first, unfolded onto my back, and felt the dusty aches disappear. I sprang up, revived, and very very hungry.

Since it was a Monday at 8 pm, most places were closed, so we settled into the Gunflint Tavern, where the menu options made me remember the Buddhist proverb about choices bringing suffering, or something like that. I just needed someone to put a plate of food, any food, in front of me.

The Fox will be on a Saturday night in late August, with supper on your own (in Finland on Friday and Grand Marais on Saturday.) More places will be open, and open later, but they will also likely be more crowded. It will also get darker earlier. We could assemble our one-person tents in the twilight, just one week shy of the Solstice.

I love packing and carrying all you need: you have to get yourself and your stuff to where you will make a temporary home, and you make do with what you bring. It makes you pare down to the essentials. Granted, however, Grand Marais is no wilderness with its grocery, gear, and hardware stores and assortment of restaurants. Thus, I didn’t pack the stove, fuel, pot, cup, spoon, coffee filter, grounds, and dried provisions that I usually bring on remote trips.

In case you’re wondering, here’s my packing list, in probable order of importance:

Aluminum Kona Libre with carbon fork gravel bike (but you don’t need an official gravel bike-- any bike with a min. 35 mm. tires and a big gear will do just fine)
Two bike bottles (I had to refill at the mid-point-- I wished I had brought three)
Snacks (I prefer “real food”-- see my note below)
Helmet, riding gloves, and eye protection (sunglasses, glasses)
Bike odometer or GPS that work (mine failed, Eleanor’s was a few miles off). If you use the cue cards you will need to set your odometer at zero when you leave each day. Bring a small ziploc bag, half inch office clip and a zip tie for securing the cards to your handlebars
Repair kit with multi tool, and 1-2 extra tubes, and cartridges or pump (sadly, Fireweed Bike Co-op in Grand Marais is permanently closed)
Framebag, handlebar, seat bags OR, like me, two old-school panniers, mounted on a rack. Bikepacking rule #1: Make the bike, not your body, carry the weight.
40 degree down sleeping bag with a compression sack
Strobe light on front of handlebars and red blinking light on seat post
Change of cycling shorts/bibs and sports bra (to allow a swim at the end of Day 1)
Nemo inflatable sleeping pad and pillow (OK, maybe not essential, but nice!)
Lightweight Big Agnes one-person tent with fly, poles, and stakes
Plastic ground sheet (placed INSIDE the tent) in case it rains
Lightweight camp shoes (if you wear clip shoes)
Long underwear, wool socks, and maybe a knit hat if it gets cold. I would have brought an additional long sleeve pullover if temps were going to dip below 45.
Neck buff (for temperature regulation)
Lightweight waterproof jacket for visibility and/or rain protection
Toothbrush, toothpaste, sunblock, contact solution
Small first aid kit (bandaids, painkiller of choice, tweezers, etc.)
Bandana for washing or wiping
Cellphone and charger (though I had no service from AT&T for most the route)
Wallet
Headlamp (which I forgot, but will be essential in late August)

The hot-water campground showers made me wish I had brought a pack towel and soap, but the sink was all I needed to take out my contacts and rinse off the dust the lake didn’t remove. The outlet at an empty electrical site allowed me to charge my phone.

The sun rose super early and removed the chill that kept me on edge. Since we weren’t racing I slept in this delicious warmth while El sketched wildlife, returned emails, and secured a home mortgage. Eventually I rose, we packed up, and walked our bikes through the charming North House Folk School campus to find the Java Moose slammed with people lined up out the door. August Fox riders can rest assured that this won’t be an issue: the caterers at Java Moose will bring air pots of coffee and hot breakfast sandwiches (including gluten-free and vegetarian options) to the campground Pavilion at 6:30 am.

The first day of riding reminded me that energy bars and gel shots bomb my blood sugar levels, so for day two I stocked up on real food (bananas, peanut butter, pickles, and a spicy bean burrito) at the Cook County Co-op. If Fox riders roll in before 7 pm on Saturday they will be able to do the same. We will provide checkpoints with water, cola, and salty snacks, but riders will need to pack most of their sustenance for the day.

Since it was late morning I could also visit the Stone Harbor Wilderness Supply to buy a pair of insoles for my aching feet (Fox riders will need to hit it before 6 pm on Saturday).

We set out at the break of 11 am, with 65 miles back to the car. We retraced the last 19 miles of day one, and then made a turn north, eventually onto a jeep track with a grassy median and chunky rocks. Trail riding is my first love, and while this section spanned only five miles, it remains most vivid in my mind: round ponds full of blue sky and fluffy clouds, piles of mammal poop covered with tiny orange and blue butterflies, lovely stands of maple, white pine, and cedar.

Eventually the roads widened, and over the last 20 miles my personal chorus of aches and pains returned. I drained my second bottle of water. While I could have asked El for some of hers, or I could have backtracked to the last campground, my busted mileage sensor made me assume the end was nearer than it was. I peddled on.

By the time I caught up to El at the Finland Community Center parking lot, I was too thirsty to share her fascination with a snapping turtle who was burying her eggs in the driveway. I have seen two other turtles do this. I still don’t understand why they would choose to cache their legacy in the middle of a gravel road, in harm’s way.

Maybe those who don’t ride gravel wonder the same thing about us. We might sound crazy when we try to explain that gravel can hold secrets that are delightful, dreadful, and every shade in-between. It’s always worth listening to: gravel don’t lie.