(Day 26) The drive from Hixton, MN to the Fargo area was smooth sailing—open skies, rolling fields with many many small
lakes, and a welcome break from big city congestion. Even Minneapolis/St. Paul let us slide through without a hitch. The only downside? The temperature kept dropping.
Our destination was a quiet little park on the Minnesota side, just east of Fargo. As we rolled in and started setting up, the wind picked up again. The chill in the air was unmistakable, and it didn’t take long before I had to dig out the leg prisons again - plus a sweatshirt and winter coat. Temps were hovering in the low 40s.
Once we got situated, we headed out to explore Fargo with only a small window of time and big ambitions. First stop: Dee’s Diner, a tiny roadside joint off the interstate, surrounded by farmland and not much else. It was exactly what we needed. The cheeseburgers were excellent and the fresh cheese curds were the real deal. My only disappointment is that I needed to save room for my next stop and had to skip the milkshakes.
Next stop was the legendary Drekker Brewing Company, and what a stop it was. I’ve enjoyed several of their beers over the years, but I never realized they were based in Fargo until I pulled them up on Untappd. Turns out, their taproom isn’t just a stop—it’s a destination in and of itself. Drekker is housed in a historic building dating back to the 1880s, originally built as a locomotive repair facility for the Northern Pacific Railroad. It’s the last remaining piece of a sprawling rail complex and has been beautifully restored into a vibrant brewery. Exposed brick, heavy timber beams,
even some original rail tracks woven into the design.
We entered the main brewery area, which was packed wall-to-wall with people. The energy reminded me of Treehouse Brewing in New England—buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the faint scent of hops in the air. I grabbed a flight of Hazy IPAs, and we snagged a spot at the end of a communal table with some friendly locals.
After slurping down the delicious flight, I was curious about the building next door. I figured I’d have to drive, but turns out there’s a breezeway that connects the brewery to its massive expansion, known as Brewhalla. And Brewhalla is
something else. Picture a busy indoor food hall meets boutique mall—with dog treat stands, pizza joints, art shops, and even a second-level bar perched above it all. And above that? Hotel rooms. But the real surprise? Tucked around the corner: an oyster bar. Right in the middle of Fargo, North Dakota. I had no choice—I ordered a delicious Alaskan Gem Oyster, because if there’s an oyster bar in Fargo, you eat the oyster. It’s the law. Or it would be if I were in charge. While enjoying the unexpected brininess of the tasty bivalves, we chatted with a couple of locals, one of which was especially passionate about his stout collection. And by passionate, I mean he showed me the same photos on his phone no fewer than three times, each time with the same level of excitement. Honestly? I respected it.
With a little time left and a need to try some local food, we made our way to Kroll’s Diner, a Fargo staple famous for its nod to the region’s German-Russian heritage. We ordered two local favorites: knoephla soup—a rich, creamy potato dumpling soup—and fleischkuechle, a deep-fried meat pie. Both were flavorful, hearty, and clearly beloved by the locals. That said, they don’t exactly fall in my regular dietary rotation, so while I’m glad I tried them, I probably won’t be chasing them down again.
One last detour took us across the border into Moorhead, Minnesota, for one of the quirkier roadside stops you’ll find: the World’s Largest Dilly Bar. Naturally, we couldn’t just look at a giant Dilly Bar without getting a real one inside
the Dairy Queen next to it. Fueled by frozen nostalgia, we ended the night with one final beer tasting at Junkyard Brewing, a casual spot with delicious brews and a great vibe, before heading back to camp to go to bed for the evening. If there’s one thing I’ve really noticed on this leg of the trip—from Hixton to Fargo and Moorhead—it’s the genuine friendliness of the people in this part of the country. Everyone we met, from bartenders and brewers to stout-obsessed strangers and DQ employees, had that small-town warmth that’s getting harder to come by these days. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s just people being kind, welcoming, and happy to chat for a while. That kind of hospitality stays with you, long after the Pink Squirrel brain freeze fades.
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