Minneapolis Bronze Statues

Yesterday, I went cycling with my friend, Dave, as we do every week in the warmer months. Sometimes we cycle a loop, sometimes we pick a theme, sometimes we meander. On Dave's suggestion we went in search of Minneapolis bronze statues.

We met next to the baseball park at Target Field light rail station. Dave loves baseball, so our first task was to search among the statues surrounding the stadium for local hero, Harmon Killebrew. 

Journey to the House of Balls

White paint traced the black lines of the graffiti letters on the concrete of a freeway overpass spanning the Cedar Lake Trail: a failed cover-up. I imagined a subversive city worker performing the cleanup: "F*** you Mitch McConnell" was still visible, white on gray.

"Images hiding in plain sight" was my theme for the day. I was on my way to three places I had often passed, but never noticed.

Finding Traces of Henry David Thoreau's 1861 Visit to Minneapolis

Our Lady of Lourdes Church, built 1854-1857, with later additions.

In May 1861, Henry David Thoreau visited Minneapolis. He was terminally ill, and would die within a year.

I found myself wondering if there are any traces of places or institutions Thoreau would have seen or visited.

There is very little contemporaneous documentation about his visit to Minneapolis: no newspaper articles, no subsequent book. We do have Thoreau's handwritten field notes, and letters written by his 17-year-old companion Horace Mann, Jr.

Marcy-Holmes Neighborhood: Architectural Sculptures and Actual Buildings

Each week, I enjoy a walk or a cycle ride with a friend.

This week we started at a street lined with twenty-four architectural sculptures on plinths. We had passed the end of this street many times, but had no idea these sculptures existed.

Then we went on a hunt for some of the buildings depicted by the bronze sculptures. My friend's blog post nicely describes our walk this week.

An Indoor 9-Mile Urban Hike

 

A fierce rainstorm had hit California. People had died, a reservoir was bursting at the seams, evacuations had been ordered in several counties.

The storm weakened as it crossed the Rockies on its way to Minneapolis and points east. On Monday, Presidents' Day, the storm finally hit Minneapolis, dropping 0.6 inches of rain. This may sound wimpy, but the average precipitation for Minneapolis for the whole of February is just shy of 0.9 inches.

I decided this was a good day to walk nine miles of the Minneapolis skyway system.

A Carny's Final Journey

If I die in a distant place, my instructions are simple. No coffin, no embalming, just have me cremated then shipped back in a generic box to Minneapolis.

That's it: one final flight to MSP, then scatter my ashes somewhere.

Lakewood Cemetery would be a fine place for The Scattering. It's beautifully maintained by a nonprofit, it's beside a Minneapolis lake, Lake Calhoun, and I'd be in the company of the likes of Hubert Humphrey and Paul Wellstone. Oh yes, and Tiny Tim.

I have a physical place to return to, but what about people who do not have such a place?

So today, I left a track in the fresh snow as I walked the 6,000 steps from our front door to the southern corner of Section 28 of Lakewood Cemetery. Here I hoped to learn something about people who have no physical place to return to when they die.

Trek to Tiny Tim's Tomb

In 1968 Tiny Tim released his first album, God Bless Tiny Tim, and his falsetto Tiptoe Through the Tulips became a worldwide phenomenon. In 1996 he had a heart attack on stage at the Minneapolis Women's Club, and was pronounced dead at the nearby Hennepin County Medical Center.

It seemed strangely appropriate to start my hike to Tiny Tim's tomb outside a factory that makes jingle machines for ice cream trucks. On the way, I would pick out other points of interest, including the former home of a pathologist whose name is known to millions of men around the world, the home of an elf, and a former fast-food outlet which is now on the National Register of Historical Places.

My Shortest Urban Hike Ever

Around the turn of the nineteenth century, movers and shakers built some standout homes on Lowry Hill, Minneapolis.

Last week I decided to get to know part of the neighborhood a little better. I'd had surgery the previous week, and the chosen day promised to be the hottest in four years. This would be my shortest urban hike, ever.

I walked from our home to the 1925 Elizabeth C. Quinlan House (pictured above). Quinlan operated a successful department store in the Young-Quinlan Building, a gracious structure that still adds heart to downtown Minneapolis.

Urban Bike: Purple Rain Tour

As I get older, I find it's best to focus on one task at a time. In fact, a task can become so engrossing it pushes out thoughts of everything else. Some would call this a deficiency of aging, I call it an advantage.

Last Wednesday, it was time for a bike ride with purpose. I wouldn't know the results of CT and bone scans until the next day, and didn't want my mind to drift to the worst possible outcomes. A bicycle tour of Purple Rain movie locations was a perfect diversion.

Urban Hike: Early Nordeast Houses

If I didn't know better I would walk right past this unassuming house. It looks to be about the right size and style for Nordeast (Northeast Minneapolis), and it's in a typical neighborhood.

A typical Nordeast neighborhood has a bunch of churches and bars. There's five churches within a couple blocks of this house, and plenty bars within staggering distance.

The house was built some time in the 1850's through 1870's making it one of just a handful of houses in Minneapolis surviving from that time. The Minneapolis fire of 1893 destroyed more than 23 surrounding blocks, but somehow spared this house.

Urban Hike and Bike: All Over the Nordeast Map

Nordeast (Northeast Minneapolis) encapsulates much of the early working class history of Minneapolis, but it gets short shrift in guide books.

Recently I've been exploring Nordeast, trying to decode it's history and culture. Later in this post I'll introduce some tools I've developed, including an interactive map and a feature to customize and print Nordeast guides.

Urban Bike: Mill City

Much of the early wealth of Minneapolis came from grain. This grain legacy translates into locally headquartered companies like Cargill and General Mills.

Cargill, the largest privately held company in the country, manages 25% of US grain exports. General Mills manages ubiquitous brands like Betty Crocker and Pillsbury.

The first flour mill in what is now Minneapolis was built in 1823 to serve Fort Snelling. From the 1880's through the 1920's, Minneapolis earned the nickname "Mill City" because its mills were the most productive in the world.

I spent a day on my bicycle finding significant examples from these productive times.

Urban Bike: City of Lakes

Today I'm off on my bicycle to visit every lake in Minneapolis, City of Lakes.

It took some effort to draw up a list of 16 Minneapolis lakes, or, to be more precise, lakes and other notable bodies of water.

Urban Bike: Yard Art in a Civil Society

I see things from my bicycle I don't see from a bus or car. 

It might be an old guy on his bicycle, stovepipe hat, bushy beard, archaic black clothes, a character from a Dickens novel. Or a bearded guy cycling the Midtown Greenway in a girlie dress. 

They seek attention, or inhabit an alternate reality, or express art. I'm fine with any of that.

"Did you see that?" a cyclist asks politely as he speeds past me.

It's not just the fellow cyclists who enrich my cycling experience. I get to take in all the individuality around me, including the yards in front of people's homes. 

I'd like to tell stories of three of those yards, including the yard of one of the bearded cyclists I mentioned at the top of this post.  

Urban Bike: Car-Free Minneapolis Bridges

Irene Hixon Whitney Bridge. 

Below me sixteen lanes of traffic roar.

I'm standing on the Irene Hixon Whitney Bridge, one of many Minneapolis bridges I cannot cross in a car. The bridge takes me between two parks: Minneapolis Sculpture Garden and Loring Park.

Loring Park.

In Loring Park, the zig-zag approach to this old bridge tells me I'm welcome on foot, not bicycle. Better to dismount.

Sometimes I cross bridges where both cyclists and pedestrians are not welcome: bridges with defaced no-trespassing signs, low guard rails, no guard rails, live rail track, gaps between rotting and fire-damaged boards.

Urban Hike: Disputed Tracks

I sometimes wake in the night and listen for a distant train, a steady rumble as locomotives pull a mile of freight cars. Oil from North Dakota, coal from Wyoming or Montana, grain from Minnesota or North Dakota.

I'm standing next to the railroad. The first snow of winter has melted, fresh snow is falling. It's time to follow these tracks before they becomes impassable on foot. The hike will take me on track where deep snow can hide ankle-twisting cavities, control equipment, and levers.

Urban Hike: The Green Line

The Green Line, and stadium construction

June 14, 2014, the Green Line starts light rail service between Minneapolis and St. Paul.

Back in December, when I hiked the Green Line, there was deep snow, no trains, and the Metrodome was still standing.

Green Line, under construction; Metrodome about to be demolished

I had planned to walk on the railroad ties, but realized this would be treacherous: the snow hid knee-deep cavities for control and signal equipment. It was wiser to take the adjacent streets.

Urban Hike: Nordeast Minneapolis

Nordeast, looking towards Downtown.

Last weekend, the annual Art-a-Whirl artists' studio tour drew crowds to Northeast Minneapolis ("Nordeast"). 

Nordeast was a quieter place back in February when I went there on an urban hike.

It was a winter's day, but I took advantage of the shoveled sidewalks and warm, locally owned businesses for coffee and lunch. I felt a strong sense of place: each building had stories to tell; this is no Anywhere USA with its temporary cityscapes and mandatory car ownership.

As I walked, I played audio produced, narrated, and sung by the people who live in the neighborhood. These recordings revealed political, social, and historical layers I would otherwise have missed.