Saturday was interesting. My assignment was to drive down to the Mankato area (about two hours southwest of here). That didn’t seem like a major challenge. The road is Highway 169, which is easy to get to from here, and (as a bonus) provides one of my favorite drives in Minnesota. Much of it passes through a pretty valley. And the leaves were beginning (just beginning) to turn.

I gave a ride to a young fellow who’s just joined the Viking Age Club & Society. He showed up at the time appointed, and off we went.

What I didn’t anticipate was that the Renaissance would bar the way to the Viking Age.

The annual Minnesota Renaissance Festival is in Chanhassen, and Highway 169 is the major access route for most of those who attend. I hadn’t thought of that. But, frankly, even if I had I wouldn’t have expected it to be a problem. The festival opens in the morning, and we were going past in the early afternoon.

But it was nearly the last weekend for the event, and it was a beautiful day, and (apparently) everybody in Hennepin and Ramsey counties decided that this was the day to go. Traffic had backed up for miles and miles. We crawled for nearly two hours. When we finally passed the festival site, it appeared that every spot in the parking area was already filled. I don’t know what the people who suffered that sclerotic drive along with us did when they finally reached their destination.

So we arrived at the farm we were headed for a full hour late. Once we got going it went fine, and a guy who’d never used a sword before “killed” me repeatedly.

Sometimes even Harald Hardrada must have had days like that.

Then we all went out for burgers, and eventually we headed home.

Traffic near the festival was now clotted with people leaving, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as coming in.

On the other hand, nobody rear-ended me coming in.

The traffic had slowed to a stop, and suddenly we felt that familiar kick from behind. I got out and found a lady checking the front of her minivan. There was a parking ticket from an area theme park on her dash (Chanhassen is the entertainment nexus of our state, I guess), and I surmised that she’d taken her daughter (who was sitting in the passenger seat) out for a fun day, until the unthinkable had happened.

Actually the right word wasn’t “unthinkable” but “negligible.” Neither of us detected any noticeable damage, so we exchanged information and continued on our ways.

I rather like being the injured party. I do gracious pretty well. I’m not so good at “apologetic without actually saying you’re sorry, because the insurance people don’t like that.”

It was nearly 9:00 before we got home.

I think even Harald Hardrada would have told me it was a full day.

Though I think Harald would have taken a harder line with the other drivers.