On top of this, the river sometimes has a sketchy vibe. When Chris Farley talked about living in a van down by the river, he was talking about this kind of river. Almost two years ago, I wandered along the river west of the I-35 bridge to photograph the trees against a backdrop of newly fallen snow. A few days later, across the river from where I admired the tranquility of the woods, a woman’s body was discovered in the ice of a holding pond. Her boyfriend was charged a few months later with murder. To be honest, I wasn’t totally shocked. When I used to bike along Black Dog Road—back before most of it was closed off to traffic except for Xcel Energy vehicles—it was common to see one patrol car go by, and sometimes two, on the 3.5-mile stretch of road.
I often walk Georgia along the river, and her behavior on occasion has amplified the weirdness of the place. One time we were making our way along a bike path that follows the river when she suddenly halted, raised one front paw off the trail and growled at an invisible threat. Now Georgia has been known to bark—a lot— but she rarely growls. I suspect she smelled a coyote in the weeds. Or a hobgoblin. I wouldn’t rule it out. Another time Georgia’s sixth sense failed her while we were on the Long Meadow Lake Trail in Eagan. A dog, some sort of pit bull mix, suddenly came at us from the 2 o’clock position and began nosing around Georgia. We were both startled, and I was doubly surprised because Georgia usually knows whether another dog is within a mile of her. Of course, the dog didn’t have a leash and no owner could be discerned anywhere. Last winter we came upon a camping chair with a water bottle in an arm pouch. An empty camping chair off trail in winter does not make for an Edgar Allan Poe story or a mystery as eerie as the Mary Celeste, but it was an odd sight perhaps because after seeing the chair I expected to greet someone. There was absolutely no one else; Georgia and I had the river bottom to ourselves. On the other hand, Georgia wasn't fazed by it. She probably thought, It's just a chair, you dummy.
No owner anywhere to be seen.
Demons have their own bike lane in the river valley.
Welcome to the Minnesota Riverfront Park.
No, I didn't write this on the Bloomington Ferry pedestrian bridge.
Some scumbag dumped this garbage about 100 yards from the river on the Eagan side.
