In my teens and twenties I dabbled in bike touring. I liked experiencing the world at bike speed, seeing, hearing and smelling things up close while still covering a lot of miles. It didn't hurt that it was great exercise and cheap.
Lately I've found myself dreaming of touring again, just getting on a camping gear-loaded bike and wandering out into the countryside with no particular destination in mind to see what I can see. So I got myself some nice panniers, fortified my camping collection with a few choice items (one-pound folding chair, tiny camp stove and teapot, super-comfy collapsible pillow, etc.), and set out on an overnight test run with a friend.
Our destination was Interstate Park, about fifty miles north of here, and our speed was slow with many, many stops. Our first long-ish one was here, near Marine On St. Croix, where I spotted this hand-painted sign advertising "Nest Egg Farm Eggs, Brown and Blue," and knew we had to stop in and get some these wonders for breakfast. We rolled up the driveway through woods that opened up to a lovely little farm full of every manner of pet, including chickens, peacocks, llamas, goats, cats and a loving old dog named Dakota. Bob, the farmer (he calls himself a hobbyist), couldn't have been nicer as he sold us a half dozen eggs for a buck and a half and showed us around his little kingdom. He was so soft spoken and gentle and sweet that we were sad to ride off. But we'll be back.
The eggs? Sublime. The photos don't do justice to the colors; each of them was a different hue... one of the white ones was a subtle pink and the blue one was a blue-green that I've only seen poor similarities to on Easter eggs. The yolks were huge and dark orange. And they were delicious.