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Greeny and Huck had been in my life for decades. As kids we banded together closely, boys seeking relief for varying reasons from our families of origin. It was with Greeny and Huck that I took my first bike trip, 250 miles from Minneapolis to the Wisconsin Dells, when I was just 14 years old. When I was 18, we took our first extended road trip, from Minneapolis to Key West, and from there to Montreal. After our freshman year in college, we met under the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, and spent the summer tramping across Europe, Scandinavia, and the British Isles. In subsequent years we pursued riskier adventures: traveling up the Amazon River, mountain climbing in Alaska, and hiking across Bolivia and Peru. Now Greeny and Huck both had young families and demanding professional lives.

Around midnight that night outside Wahpeton, the sky opened. We struggled to see through the foggy windshield, but eventually we found a dirt road leading in the direction of the Red River. I’d considered the trip for weeks, but many loose ends remained. I needed a dry place to sort through the gear and camping supplies. I’d intended to make my final choices at the point of departure, and as a result, none of the gear had been placed in waterproof containers.