The Swedish Pancake Effect

Florence, WI – Escanaba, MI

Sometimes Swedish pancakes aren’t enough to save the day. Don’t get me wrong, Swedish pancakes can be among the best things in the world. When they are cooked perfectly, slightly chewy, but smooth, and topped with real maple syrup – probably after eating pancakes like that the best option is just to go back to bed, because, let’s be honest, the best part of your day is done. Admittedly, today’s pancakes weren’t quite that good, and there was no pure maple syrup – but one might expect even mediocre Swedish pancakes to at least ward off some evil spirits or something . . . Sadly, today proved that they just can’t be counted on to come through in important situations . . .

You see, this morning started out rainy and cold. But the precipitation was supposed to move off to the east in an hour. The obvious choice was to enjoy breakfast at Barb’s Cafe – which was right around the corner – and wait it out. When I saw that Swedish pancakes were on the menu I thought the day was going to be a slam dunk. The skies would part, the sun (not the moon, or, worse yet, moons) would come out, and the day would be glorious.

The reality was much different.

We waited it out. The rain stopped. The radar clearly showed the system moving off. We were in the clear. So we headed out. The first five minutes were downright nice. I mean, it wasn’t exactly warm. And the sun wasn’t shining. But it was nice enough that I remarked to Diana how you could see the clouds thinning. She looked at me with some skepticism – Diana is a noted meteorologist in some circles – and asked what I was talking about.

Never mind her negativity. It was going to be a great day. She just didn’t understand the Swedish Pancake Effect! (And, at that point, I still thought it was a real thing . . .)

Until about 30 seconds later. When it started raining again. The worst part was the rain waited to start until we were just far enough out of Florence that there was no going back. There was only forward – and forward meant at least twelve miles until we reached Iron Mountain. (Not really sure where the “mountain” part of Iron Mountain comes from. Apparently the founders of this town had never been to Colorado. Or even Nebraska.)

That meant the first of our 52 stops today. This time to put our raincoats on – although, truth be told, as you will see, Diana and I have much different approaches to the rain.

Diana’s approach is to stop at nothing to prevent all rainwater from coming into contact with her body. By our second stop, after it had started raining harder, this meant taking her shoes off, adding plastic bags over her socks, and then putting the shoes back on. It meant me tying plastic bags over her gloves and mittens (yes, she was wearing gloves AND mittens, and no, it was not that cold – like 58 degrees) – like she was a surgeon heading in to do a heart transplant or something.

I should probably take a second on the plastic bags. They did not just materialize out of thin air. Before we headed into Barb’s for our Swedish pancakes Diana hit the local Festival Foods – and absconded with about a dozen of those fall-apart plastic bags we all use for vegetables – on the theory that if the day turned out rainy (remember, we didn’t know Barb’s had Swedish pancakes at that point – so we thought there was a good chance it would be rainy), it might be a good idea to have them. In the end, after the Swedish pancakes failed us, and it was obvious that the day would be a washout, we ended up swiping another score of bags at the grocery in Iron River, having already gone through the first dozen in a too-late panic along the road between towns . . .

But I was telling you about the difference between our approaches . . . The difference is really rooted in who we are as people. The thing is, Diana doesn’t sweat much. I do. Particularly when I’m working hard on my bike and it’s super humid. I just figure I’d rather get wet from rain from the outside, then get wet from sweat on the inside . . . In the end though, I don’t love wet feet any more than the next guy. So I decided to put the absconded vegetable bags over my shoes, not under them. They are so flimsy that you can easily use the cleats without problem. You just can’t stop and you can’t walk around – because they pretty much disintegrate then . . .

Enough about the plastic bags . . . We eventually made it to Iron Mountain and Dunkin’ Donuts. Turns out Dunkin’ Donuts is a pretty great place to stop in this situation – that situation being what one might call wet-rat-ness. After all, Dunkin’ Donuts – or, just plain Dunkin’ as they are hiply calling themselves these days – has hot beverages, donuts, and, I didn’t know this but it is actually the best part in this situation, a proprietary system allowing people who are housing challenged (one has to be sensitive with one’s language these days) to freshen up.

You see, Dunkin’ bathrooms have both paper towels AND a hot air blow dryer thing. Actually pretty unique these days. Most modern bathrooms might have one of those paper towel dispensers that gives you enough paper towel to dry your eye lash, if you’re lucky. Or if they have a blower, it is one of those ones where you stick your hand in and a small hurricane blows all the water away – but there is absolutely no warm air. Not Dunkin’. They have both luxurious all-you-can-use paper towels and a really nice warm dryer that is branded “DUNKIN’” – in case you forgot where you were and who you have to thank for this amazing service. The upshot is that if you want to, say, change out of your wet socks and gloves, dry the wet socks and gloves a bit, warm up your hands, dry your feet with paper towels, and then put new, dry socks on, you are all set. Pretty snazzy! Dunkin’: A+. Of course, I am just making this observation. You would have to be pretty pathetic to actually do this . . .

The rest of the day? Well, basically after you start riding in the rain, you just have to keep going – unless there happens to be another Dunkin’ along the way . . . But I will make a few observations about da U.P. – which we crossed into between Florence and Iron Mountain.

First, it is clear that Bigfoot does actually live here and it is, again, really annoying that my great helmet didn’t work – because Bigfoot is a successful U.P. entrepreneur. Bigfoot operates liquor stores, laundromats, and convenience stores, to name just a few. Pretty sure he, she or they are going to be easy to spot – like when we head in for a slurpee or a hot cocoa or need to use the dryer because our plastic bags didn’t actually work . . . Of course if you own the place – like Bigfoot does – you’re going to be there making sure the slurpee dispenser is working . . .

Second, as I was hoping, there are a lot of apples growing and ready to be picked – in places like Apple Blossom Lane. And on that score, I would further observe that if you are going to put up a sign along the highway saying Apple Blossom Lane you should not be surprised if people on bikes stop to pick a few apples – and you should not expect that your “Private Property” sign – which one can see only after approaching the laden apple trees – will be a deterrent to innocently picking a few apples . . .

Finally, there are some big bears in the U.P. – and this time I got the photo even without my fancy helmet . . .

One more thing. It’s about the Swedish Pancake Effect. Yes, it was rainy and miserable. But Diana and I had a great day. So maybe the Pancake Effect actually matters. Or maybe – and this probably comes straight from Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers or something – maybe the point is to make it a fantastic day even if there are no Swedish pancakes on the menu. Was it Big Bird who said that? Oscar the Grouch was may favorite – but that’s for another day . . .