When I got closer to the second tree sign for our pre-arranged lodging, I saw that it did, in fact, include a tiny right-pointing arrow. We wouldn't have to flip a coin to decide whether to take the left fork or the right.
"You must be Floyd," I presumed, when our host (whom I recognized from his website photo) showed up almost immediately--must have heard us coming. "We made it!"
"You're Troy?" he assumed, since I'd called him several times over the last few weeks--and we were doubtless the only cyclists he was expecting. "Welcome to Reindeer Lake! Dinner is on the table. I was about to put it away when my granddaughter suggested we give you a few more minutes. You'll be in that first cabin there, and you can wash up inside either of those side doors of the main house. Just come into the front room when you're ready to eat."
"Sounds great! We'll be quick," I promised.
I didn't think to ask if all these boats are his, or if he invites others in the community to use his marina.
Dan and I moved the trikes across the dirt and sand clearing and parked in front of our one-room hand-built house. The setting was even more ideal than I had imagined.
Floyd began construction way back in 1983--and had added buildings as the growth of the business necessitated them, and as time and funds allowed. His technique was likely a combination of traditions from his Scandinavian ancestors (his grandfather had emigrated from Norway as a fur trader) and those he'd picked up by living his entire life in northern Canada. When I first talked with Floyd on the phone (while making our earliest plans for this trip) he'd told me just enough of his story that I knew I had to come and meet him!
Three more identical cabins were lined up alongside ours, but the place was not busy. Visitors had been scarcer, Floyd said, since the road was completely washed out years ago--and it had taken years to make it passable again. Obviously, it still could use some help.
As soon as we'd unpacked enough to change out of our riding boots, we walked back over to the lodge.
Stepping onto the front porch, the lake came into view! We could see where a wildfire had surely come too close for comfort, but Floyd said he has insurance, so he wasn't worried.
In the dining room, we met Floyd's granddaughter (who'd helped cook the meal) and a cousin of hers--nice kids. The five of us filled our plates with lightly breaded and fried walleye fish (caught right in the lake), a shrimp dish, mashed potatoes, and three different vegetables. And it was all delicious!
After we thanked our hosts/cooks repeatedly and helped them clean up a bit, we walked back to the trikes. Dan had noticed that some bolts on his luggage rack were loose, and I decided I should check all of mine as well. Sure enough, we both found fasteners that needed attention after that terrible road--and got everything tightened up again for the return trip in the morning.
Once we'd wiped all the mud off our lights and mirrors, we took a stroll down to the water's edge. There we found Floyd's own house and multiple docks.
Sometimes he takes his boat 70 miles all the way to Southend (on the south end of the lake) for supplies or to access the rest of the country. It's the only other town on Reindeer Lake with summer road access. And it's probably quicker and more comfortable than the route we'd taken.
If we weren't so exhausted, we'd have chartered a pleasure cruise of some sort. As I write this (two months later), I kind of wish we had. It was a perfect evening for it.
This is Blue. "He's blond," the girl had said. He doesn't look like a bear dog, so the property must not have much of a problem with that.
Before taking a shower and turning in, I found another lake access point--on the other end of the row of cabins. I took off my sandals and waded a few feet into the cool, clear water. After skipping the road to Kinoosao on my return trip from Churchill, it had taken me 11 years to return and complete the quest. I was glad I hadn't given up on the idea.
Our cabin had a set of bunk beds and a single, here under the window. A lone light bulb hung in the center of the ceiling, and a hand-washing sink had been installed near the door. The toilets and showers were in the building where we'd eaten dinner. It had been hot inside when we first arrived, but with the back screened window open, it was cooling off nicely.
The truck next door belonged to another member of Floyd's family. Originally, he'd had a big reunion planned for that weekend, but between the fires and the floods, most had cancelled on him. Hopefully they'd all been able to reschedule before the end of the season.
As expected, there was no cell service, so I'd have to check in with my wife at some point the following day. She'd been following the "breadcrumbs" my GPS was leaving, though. So, she'd know we'd arrived at the lodge.
With the help of the last natural light coming through the window, I scribbled a few things down in my journal. By the time we turned off the electric one, it was nearly 11:00. We were exhausted. I doubted either of us would have much trouble sleeping.
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