Why Minneapolis?

It was a question we answered a hundred times in the weeks and months leading up to our three-week summer trip to Minneapolis. Even now that we’re here, my wife and I get asked the same question almost every day by any number of locals.

“Why Minneapolis?”

It’s more a curiosity than an inquiry, a question loaded with a tinge of disbelief and often a bit of confusion. They wonder if we have work here, maybe family. To come to Minneapolis, there has to be some other reason, some motivating factor beyond the urge to be in a place for a period of time, to learn its rhythms and its heartbeat, to explore it and experience it as if we lived here. Because that’s how my wife and I often travel.

We don’t take many vacations. That is, we don’t go to a place and do nothing except sightsee or relax at the beach or the poolside. We don’t stop working and go somewhere. But we travel a lot, almost always with our kids in tow. And when we do, no matter where we are, we just kind of do what we do back home in Chapel Hill. Only we do it somewhere else.

We put our kids in day camps and spend our days working. As Emily and I both work for ourselves, remotely, we have the flexibility to live like this. We pick them up when camp lets out and we hit a park or a movie or a bowling alley before heading home to cook dinner.

Rather than seeing the sights and eating at any number of a given city’s best restaurants, Emily and I prefer to do our best to experience a place as if we were locals. We rent a home with a kitchen, shop at local grocery stores, and cook at home most nights. We link up with the parents of the friends our kids make at their day camps and book playdates. We explore as many playgrounds as possible. I ingratiate myself into a local cycling club while Emily gets familiar with a city’s yoga studios or HIIT gyms. And, sure, we see the sights, the can’t-miss places that every city has. And we do eat out plenty. But those places are, more often than not, a side note, secondary to the idea of simply hanging out and living as if we were home, just doing it somewhere else.

But back to the question we’ve answered a hundred times: why Minneapolis?

First, have you ever been to the Upper Midwest in summertime? Whether Minneapolis, Chicago, Milwaukee, Madison, Michigan’s endless lakeshore towns or Wisconsin’s endless little resort towns, the Upper Midwest in summer is the best place and time to be anywhere in America.

Owing in large part to the fact that these people are never more than a few weeks away from a long, dark, and absolutely brutal winter (to wit, winter high temps in Minneapolis average a balmy 26 degrees and, according to a local friend, schools only close when it hits 10 below zero. Why 10 below, I asked? Because they don’t want kids waiting for the bus when it’s that cold. Six below? No problem. 10 below? Too cold.), the Upper Midwest takes more advantage of the warm months than anyone else in America. Everyone is outside, everyone is on a bike or walking or jogging or picnicking beside the lake. Every park and playground is full and it feels as if there is always some sort of live music event, food festival, or block party happening nearby, no matter where you are. It seems that every single person is wringing every single drip out from the warmth of summer that they possibly can. It gets hot, sure, but it’s a heat far more mellow than what we’re used to in central North Carolina, where it’s been well over 90 degrees every day for the last two weeks.

And the sun, oh man. Being this far north on the globe, you get the effects of the Midnight Sun. Of course, the North Pole this isn’t. But in the summertime, it’s bright most of the day.

When I wake up around 6am, the sun is already well into the sky. When we put our kids to sleep at 8 or 8:30, it feels like it’s late afternoon. By the time Emily and I konk out around 10pm, there’s still a twinkle of daylight lingering.

Of course, this means the inverse is true; that, in the dead of winter, it’s dark for much of the day. Polar night. Another reason why Upper Midwesterners go HAM in the summer. Because winter is coming.

Second, because the people here are unbelievably kind.

That one doesn’t really need much of an explanation.

Third, because our family is a bit bike-obsessed and Minneapolis is widely regarded as one of America’s best biking cities, it seemed like an obvious choice for us to spend a few weeks checking out. The land is flat, meaning our four-year-old can cruise around town alongside mom, dad, and big brother with ease. There are bike lanes EVERYWHERE and most of them are protected. Like actually protected, with concrete barriers or partitions. They’re not simply a slab of road painted a different color, as bike lanes too often are in many other cities. (Paint isn’t infrastructure, but that’s another rant.)

Beyond the ease of commuting and rolling around town on bikes, there is a huge bike scene here.

In fact, earlier this week, Emily signed both of our kids up for a local mountain bike race. We weren’t sure what to expect, considering it was a weekly race series at a nearby trailhead, so we were shocked when we arrived to find hundreds of people—racers, spectators, and volunteers alike—all drawn to a local bike race. The temperature was perfect, a mellow wind was rustling the thick, green treetops, the snack bar was churning out race fuel (aka soft pretzels, beers, and some of the best french fries I’ve had in a while), and, thanks to a live DJ spinning mid-90s techno records, the vibes were immaculate.

Meanwhile, as I’m training for a bonkers-ass bike ride that I’m headed to Italy for next week (more on that in a few installations), I’ve had to disappear for a few evenings, to get some hard road rides in. Luckily, I’ve found at least three cycling groups, all of who have welcomed me with open arms, and ridden much further afield, out into the rolling farmlands and lake towns that dot the map around Minneapolis.

There is no better way to explore a place than by bike. Whether rolling through the city’s endless bike lanes as a family, learning the ins and outs of so many of different neighborhoods, dipping into different scenes, or heading out for a fifty-, sixty-, or seventy-mile training ride with any of the local groups, seeing the rural side of Minnesota I would never otherwise see, riding bikes has connected us to this place in a way driving around in cars or taking public transportation never would. It’s allowed us to better feel this place, to better understand it, even if we’re only just scratching the surface.

So, why Minneapolis?

I guess that’s why.

Here are some things we’ve enjoyed in town:

As I said earlier, we tend to rent homes when we travel like this, so I can’t really tell you where the great hotels are. But I can tell you that the East Harriet neighborhood is quite spectacular. We’re a few blocks from Lake Harriet, a few more from Bde Maka Ska (another big lake), a quick bike ride to Cedar Lake and Lake of the Isles (10,000 lakes and all…), close to all sorts of great vintage shops, and surrounded by all sorts of great spots to eat. The Bryant Avenue Greenway, a protected bicycle highway, cuts right through it, as do sections of the Grand Rounds.

Speaking of vintage shops, for some reason, it seems like ALL of the vintage shops in Minneapolis are insanely reasonably priced. At least the ten or so Emily and I have visited have been. I’m talking like $10-15 t-shirts, $20 jeans, $20-30 coats. I’d list some highlights but it feels like every single one we’ve dipped in to is great. That said, here’s a pretty comprehensive rundown.

As a Jersey-bred Italian-American who spent years living in New York City (and whose paternal side is from Long Island), I have a pretty high bar for Italian food and pizza. So you can understand my skepticism when a few people recommended a place called Broder’s Pasta Bar. However, when Em and I stopped into their adjacent deli, Broder’s Cucina Italiana, one recent afternoon and, chatting a bit with one of the staff, learned that the owners were born and raised in Jersey City, I was assuaged any of my snobbery. We tried a plain slice and a few biscotti, both of which were very, very legit. And so, the next day, we snuck away to the Pasta Bar for lunch and we were pretty blown away. It’s as close to New York/New Jersey Italian I’ve had anywhere outside the Tri State area.

Em and I spent about two hours at the (totally free) Minneapolis Institute of Art one rainy afternoon and I felt like we were just scratching the surface. It’s massive, full of maze-like galleries that you could easily spend a whole day getting lost in.

And just last night, we hit the old school and amazing Bryant Lake Bowl, which is a vintage bowling alley, classic bar and grill (whose food far outpaces its midly divey vibe… seriously, Em had pad thai and I had some ridiculously good carnitas tacos), and even a small theater that hosts comedians, musicians, and local theater.

Sadly, thanks to some bad weather and late start times, the one thing we didn’t get to do that I really wanted was to catch a Twins game, if only to check another ballpark off my list. Though I have been told a Saints game (the Twins Triple-A affiliate) is super fun.

To those of you who don’t know me, know that I am a lifelong music obsessive, one who’s been collecting albums since I was a kid, one who spent a decade working at some of the best and most legendary independent record labels around, and one who has played thousands of shows with dozens of bands, all over America.

Most days, for reasons I can’t quite figure out, I wake up with a song I haven’t thought about in years stuck in my head. The subconscious is a motherfucker like that. Some days, it’s a brutal form a punishment (for example, it was Rusted Root’s “Send Me On My Way,” my nominee for the worst song ever recorded, a few days ago and I have no idea why). Most days, it’s a welcome surprise. Today was one of those latter types of days: