I had hastily packed the night before while watching my beloved Minnesota Vikings lose to the New Orleans Saints during the 2010 NFL season opener. They lost 14 to 9, which wasn't a blowout, but I've certainly seen them play better. During the pre-game show and half time I organized everything I was going to take and got it ready. I had made a checklist, which went a long way towards speeding up the packing.
The weather report for Friday (the day I was planning to leave) didn't look too promising. It was supposed to rain most of the day and then clear up later during the evening. I had mentally prepared myself for a wet ride on Friday, but was hoping that the weather forecast was wrong.
I awoke on Friday morning at 5 AM to the smell of coffee. I had set my coffee maker to start brewing at 4:45 so that I could get a good jolt of brown joy right away when I got up. Seeing as I was packed, my original plan was to shower and shave, enjoy a good breakfast and then hit the road sometime around 6. Looking out the window the streets were dry, which means the rain hadn't arrived.
As so often is the case, my intentions where not at all reality. What actually happened was I started screwing around on the internet chatting with some friends on the triathlon forums. The next thing I realized was that I still hadn't showered, dressed or eaten and it was now 5:45. To make matters worse, what caught my attention was that I heard thunder in the distance.
A glance at the weather radar web page showed a storm just rolling into town. It was coming from the west, and I was heading east. I realized that I still had a shot at getting ahead of most of the storm, but only if I got my tail in gear now!
I decided that if I was going to be sitting on a motorcycle all day, then it really didn't matter if I showered or not. However, I did feel the need for a shave so I went ahead and did that. I gave myself an additional coat of deodorant, threw on some clothes and called it good.
Out in the kitchen I decided that I would wolf down an apple and chug another cup of coffee, but the rest of breakfast would have to wait until my first gas stop. I wasn't starving hungry anyway.
The weather website had said that the current temperature was 67. That seemed a bit high when I saw that, especially considering it was now September and we were starting to experience days that didn't get much warmer than that in the in middle of the afternoon. I stuck my head out the door and was greeted by a blast of cold wind. Sure enough, that website wasn't even close. By my estimations the temperature was probably around 50, if not in the upper 40s.
I did not want a repeat of the 2nd day of last year's trip to Michigan, where I woke up in Bemidji, MN with the temp in the 40s but didn't have any gear along to deal with those temps. (Hey, it was July! How often does it get in the 40s in July?) I had chilled myself to the bone that day and it took me a few days to recover, even after the weather warmed. Seriously, I probably was somewhat hypothermic.
So this morning I made sure to seize the opportunity I had to dress for the temps. Over the top of my usual t-shirt, jeans and boots I placed a sweatshirt, chaps, jacket, vest, neckie and heavy gloves. I looked like I was bundled up for a blizzard, but experience told me that after a few hours at interstate speeds I would be glad I donned all of these clothes. Besides, it's easy enough to remove clothes if I don't need them, but hard to conjure them out of thin air if I do need them but didn't bring them.
All bundled up, I grabbed my pack and strapped it on the back of the bike. Then I put my sleeping bag and tent inside a plastic garbage bag (rain protection) and strapped that down to the bike. I was ready to roll!
I was ready none too soon. I backed out of the driveway and into the street at 6:10 AM. As soon as I did it started to rain. I didn't beat the rain out of town, but perhaps I had a shot at getting back out ahead of it once I hit the interstate.
The rain got more and more intense as I rode through town, and once I hit the interstate it was coming down pretty good. Thankfully, however, once I hit I-90 and headed east I quickly got out in front of it. I don't mind riding in the rain that much when the temps are warm, however in cold temps like this it can get pretty miserable.
The first leg of the day's journey was to be an uneventful and uninteresting ride 300 miles across southern Minnesota, over to La Crosse, Wisconsin. This stretch of interstate can be described as anything but scenic.
I buzzed down the interstate and noted that while I had gotten ahead of the storm, there was a strong cross wind coming from the south. This wind, coupled with the temps, caused me to become quite chilly even with the warm layers I had donned. The sun was still down, so I was hoping that after the sun came up the temps would rise.
I crossed the border into Minnesota, and realized that the coffee I had consumed that morning was already wanting out. Some days I think I should just save myself the hassle and dump the coffee pot right into the toilet. I still wasn't far enough ahead of the storm to feel comfortable stopping, not to mention admitting that I had to take my first restroom break 12 miles into my journey, so I decided to press on and try and make it to the next rest stop around Adrian, MN which was about 40 miles down the road.
Adrian couldn't come fast enough. By Luverne I was in pain. When I finally rolled into the rest stop I barely let the bike stop rolling before I hopped off and ran into the restroom. It was close, but I made it. Upon leaving, there was one other guy at the rest stop. He was in the lobby area talking on his cell phone. He was hunched over in the corner, like that stops sound from traveling. I'm not sure why people think that buys them any privacy. My thought is if you want to have a private conversation, go to a private location. But then, I'm a different breed of cat...
I snapped a quick picture, as it was now light enough for my camera. The sun was coming up, however the cloud cover was thick and prevented the temps to warm.
I hit the road again, past Worthington, MN when my bladder started to repeat its "I'm full" song. The next rest stop was in Jackson, about 40 miles past the previous rest stop. Once again, I pulled over to alleviate my situation.
During the stop I chatted briefly with an older gentleman. He warned me of rain to the west. I politely avoided pointing out to him that because I was at the rest stop located on the south side interstate, that I had to be heading east, same as him.
Back on the road, the cross wind was really starting to pick up. I was cold, and getting hungry. Granted, I wasn't as cold as I had been in Bemidji, but I was still less than comfortable. Looking at my gas gauge, I estimated I would need to fill up somewhere between Blue Earth and Albert Lea. There's not much civilization between those two points. Compound this fact with my tummy was growling and my teeth chattering, I decided to stop in Blue Earth to gas up and get some breakfast.
I am convinced that Blue Earth, MN is the coldest spot on planet earth. I have no doubt how the town received its name. I usually pass through Blue Earth at least once every winter. Given its geographical location I often find myself stopped for gas or food. It never fails that Blue Earth is at least ten degrees colder than the surrounding areas.
One winter as we were coming back from visiting my family in Iowa around Christmas time, we were caravanning with my parents and brother in another car. We stopped in Blue Earth for gas, and I popped the hood to check the oil. The temperature was just brutal: double digits below zero with 50 mph winds. When I opened the hood, the hood release froze in the unlatched position. I didn't notice this until we got back on the interstate and suddenly the force of the wind blew the hood open. I pulled over and my brother, my father and I figured out a way to use bungee cables to hold the hood shut. We were only outside working on this project for maybe five minutes, and I nearly went blind with frostbite. Seriously, I have never felt pain from the cold like I did that day, and this is from a guy who rides his bicycle to work all winter.
Anyway, I pulled into the Blue Earth gas station and topped off my tank. I then went inside to use the restroom yet again, and see what they had for breakfast.
Food wise, they had the typical gas station fare, but in the back they also had a small cafe area. There wasn't anyone working back in that area, and the displays out front didn't have any hot food. I resigned myself that I was going to have to nuke a burrito when the guy working at the store hollered, "There should be a couple of breakfast pizzas ready."
He went back into the cafe and sure enough, came out with a couple personal sized breakfast pizzas. I sat down at a table and ate a pizza. Because I hadn't needed the restroom enough, I also downed a 20 oz cappuccino. I didn't care; it was warm and helped remove the chill.
After sitting for about twenty minutes, I decided it was time to hit the road again as it was now nearly nine o'clock. Having been on the interstate for nearly three hours and only covering about 140 miles was pretty pathetic. I had to remind myself that this was a vacation, and who cares if it takes me a little longer to get there?
Well, I didn't really mind, other than I just wanted the 300 mile stretch of interstate riding to be done. For some reason, coming across southern Minnesota is duller than driving across South Dakota, even though in general South Dakota is more barren. I think it's because the terrain in South Dakota will vary every few hours, but in Minnesota it's the same dull thing the whole way.
Albert Lea came and went, and (surprise, surprise) I needed the restroom. However the need wasn't urgent and I had set a mental goal of reaching La Crosse by 11 AM. I decided to stick it out and see if I could make it.
East of Rochester, the sun started to peek out from behind the clouds. Small patches of blue sky were occasionally visible. The temp, while not warm, was slowly getting higher. I was cold, but now maintaining my body temp. The wind was still blowing from the South, but had let up slightly since Blue Earth.
Finally, I arrived at the Mississippi valley area. For about ten miles the interstate descends down to the valley where the river divides Minnesota and Wisconsin. Two things suddenly happened. First, the clouds went completely away and the warmth of the sun was beating down. Second, once I got behind the shelter of the hills, the wind reduced substantially. By the time I rolled across the bridge into Wisconsin, it was a downright beautiful day.
I had three objectives for La Crosse: gas, lunch and a stop at Dave's Guitar Shop. Not necessarily in that order. I rode through La Crosse sightseeing, and looking for whichever of the three aforementioned locations that would make it known first.
As I rode, I looked around to see if anything in the town stirred any memories. I had been to La Crosse on a family trip in 1975 at the age of six, when we stayed a night on our way to Green Lake, WI. The only things I remember about our night in La Crosse were that Paul McCartney's "Listen To What The Man Said" was popular, I discovered that I loved chocolate flavored Shasta pop (especially warm), bringing along a toy plastic WWII style walkie-talkie to play with that I accidentally lost by leaving it in the hotel room, and that we drove up a big hill after supper. Not much to go on. Needless to say, nothing triggered any memories.
As I rode down highway 53, which is comprised of a few different streets in downtown La Crosse and runs along the river, I happened across a Kwik-Trip gas station on the right side of the street. I needed gas, I needed the restroom and this looked like an easy place of which to get in and out, so I decided to stop.
I topped off the tank and used the restroom. While stopped I switched from my heavy gloves to my lighter ones, and removed my neckie as the temps were now comfortably in the low 60s. The gas station was next to a harbor-like area, so I snapped a picture of an interesting looking building.
Back on the road, I started looking for a good place to eat, or Dave's Guitar Shop. A few days prior I had Googled some restaurants in La Crosse that looked like they might be decent. However, at the moment I wasn't starving hungry, and the idea of stopping for a leisurely lunch wasn't as appealing as hitting the road and getting to my final destination that much earlier. I decided to hit Dave's first and then see how hungry I was.
Farther down on 3rd street, I came across Dave's.
I had heard about Dave's Guitar Shop, but had never been there. The place is one of those legendary shops where famous guitarists often come in to purchase their instruments. Kind of like Manny's in New York, and Willie's in St. Paul. Being a guitarist, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit.
I went inside, and was astounded by the selection. There had to be at least a thousand guitars hanging on the walls. Below them were rows and rows of amps. No drums, keyboards or PA gear. Just guitars.
I browsed around and tried to strike up some conversations with the sales people. None of them seemed overly chatty. I assumed it was partly due to me decked out in biker leather. I probably didn't look like their typical customer. Their inventory was fabulous, but the stand-offish response from the employees was disappointing.
After browsing around for about 15 minutes and not seeing anything that I couldn't live without, I decided to move on and find some lunch. I was feeling a bit down that my reception there was so cold. I had been anticipating going to Dave's from the time I planned this trip, and to have a less than optimum experience was a bit depressing. Kind of like discovering the Christmas present you'd wanted all year really isn't as exciting as the commercials made it out to be.
I thought about buying a t-shirt from the shop, but then decided that I would be passing back through La Crosse on my way home. I'd chew on it for a couple of days and figure out if I really wanted to own a shirt from a store that in all honesty, didn't find my satisfaction. As it turned out, I decided not to return on my way back through.
Out in the parking lot, my thoughts shifted to lunch. I thought about what I might be in the mood to eat, when I looked at the north end of the parking lot and saw a truck with a trailer sitting there. The trailer had a big sign that said, "gyros." I decided to wander down and have a closer look.
As cold and standoffish as the employees at Dave's were, the guy running the gyro trailer was the opposite. He was quite friendly and personable. Between his personality and the wonderful smells emanating from the trailer, I decided I would go ahead and buy a gyro for lunch.
The guy running the trailer cooks each gyro to order, so as he was making my lunch he asked about where I was from and where I was going, and we had a nice little conversation.
I paid for my sandwich and walked back to my bike. As I ate, I reviewed my map. My route was going to get a little more complicated than it had been that morning, as I was going to take back roads on my way to the Dells. In addition, rather than just heading due east from La Crosse I was going to head south and explore a few interesting looking roads.
About two bites into my sandwich, I realized that this was the best gyro I'd ever had in my life. I should have bought two, but to be honest my waistline only needed one. I savored this sandwich, and I can remember how good it tasted even as I type this.
I'd been in La Crosse for nearly an hour, so it was time to hit the road. Google maps told me that my planned route was going to take about five hours to get to the Dells, and having time to enjoy the evening after I arrived sounded very appealing to me. I got back on the bike and headed south on highway 35 out of La Crosse.
Highway 35 was very scenic. It follows the Mississippi river valley south. The river is on the west side of the road, and the bluffs were on the east side. I must not have been the only biker to discover this road, as I passed by many other riders heading north.
There were quite a few pull off spots along the road where you could stop and snap a picture.
At the junction highway 162, I swung east and headed for Coon Valley. In my trip planning I had heard of a great rib place there called Porkys, and I thought that would be a good place to stop for lunch. After a little further research I found out that Porkys had closed a while back. Thankfully I found that out before I showed up starving hungry in Coon Valley. I decided to still make the trip over to this town due to some recommended motorcycle roads in the area.
Highway 162 was a joy. It was in good shape with lots of hills and curves. The traffic was light and I could just relax and enjoy the ride.
I went through Coon Valley, paid my respects to the memory of Porkys, and then headed south on county road B.
Wisconsin has a wonderful county road system, at least for motorcycling. In my home state of South Dakota, a vast majority of the roads are set up on a grid system, running north/south or east/west and are straight as an arrow. In Wisconsin, there are tons of little winding roads that may start of in one direction and wind up taking you in a completely different direction. Most of them are named with letters. It makes for some fun riding, and at times some head scratching to figure out where the heck you are, because most of these little county roads aren't on the state road map.
I followed county road B for about ten minutes until it junctioned with highway 56. I took highway 56 heading back west toward Genoa. It was along this road I happened across a little town, whose town sign I thought would make a great band name: "Romance Unincorporated".
At Genoa, I was back on highway 35 heading south towards Prairie Du Chien. By this time the temp was in the low 70s and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. While riding I was at a very comfortable temperature, so I didn't remove my chaps or jacket. When I would stop, I noticed that I was a bit warm. But I didn't stop too often so I was fine the way I was dressed.
When I arrived in Prarie Du Chien, I was in need of a restroom/stretch break and maybe a snack. I stopped at another Kwik Trip and noticed they had a sale on soft pretzels with cheese for $1, so I got one. I also picked up a root beer and a small package of Nutter Butter cookies.
The lady at the checkout mentioned they also had cake doughnuts on sale, six for a dollar. Later in the trip, these same doughnuts would become a prominent part of my vacation. For the time being I somehow summoned the willpower to say, "No, thank you." As she rang up my purchase, I noticed that she was wearing a headset microphone and quietly recited everything I bought into it, along with my general physical description. It was really weird, like the Secret Service was running a pump 'n munch.
I made it out the door without being wrestled to the ground, and stood for a few minutes eating my pretzel and studying my map. The sun was beating down on me, and although it wasn't an extremely warm day, the fact that I was covered in black leather was making itself known. I finished the pretzel and decided to save the cookies for a little way down the road.
Back on the highway, I headed east on highway 60, just south of Prarie Du Chein. This road didn't fail to disappoint either, and followed the Wisconsin River. There was a lot of scenery, but as I often found on this trip, the roads were just too enjoyable to stop and take a picture of every intersting thing I saw.
Apparently election day was fast approaching in Wisconsin, because everywhere I went during the whole trip I saw campaign signs. As I passed through the town of Wauzeka, I saw a few signs asking people to vote for so-and-so for coroner. This struck me as interesting, as I would think that coroner would be a job in which you would want a schooled individual rather than whomever got voted into the position. I also found myself wondering how many people were running for the position of county coroner. Then my mind started playing with what the campaign ads would look like: "Vote for me! I can dissect a body much better than my opponent."
Around the town of Boscobel, I looked up and happened to see two bald eagles circling. They were beautiful. I pulled over as soon as it was safe and attempted to get a picture, but by that time they were out of sight. So as a consolation prize, I opened up the package of Nutter Butters that I had been saving and started to munch as I rode. Mmmmm....
At the highway 14 junction, I turned left and headed north toward Richland Center. My map showed me heading west on a county highway before I arrived in Richland Center, but as I discovered many times on this trip, with these little county highways it's quite easy to miss them. I found myself on the south side of the outskirts of Richland Center.
After pulling over and consulting my map a bit closer, I figured out I had missed the highway 58 junction. So I backtracked a couple miles, found the highway, and headed east towards Loganville. The riding had been fun, but as I was starting to approach the 500 mile mark for the day I found myself anxious to get to my destination and relax a bit.
At Loganville I headed north on highway 23 into Reedsburg. My father used to pastor a church in Reedsburg shortly before I was born. After Reedsburg he took a position with a church in Janesville, where I he and my mother were living when I arrived on this planet. Along with a handful of family trips to the area to visit friends and family, I seem to have a connection to the southern Wisconsin area.
Once I got through Reedsburg, which was a lot larger than I remember it being, I was nearly home free. Just a few more miles and I would arrive in the Dells area.
For those of you unfamiliar with the Dells area, it is made up of two small towns: Lake Delton on the south side, and Wisconsin Dells on the north. The Wisconsin River had cut a canyon in the area, which over the years became a popular tourist site. These days the place has become completely commercialized and the Dells area is both the mini-golf and water park capital of the world. Usually it is packed full of people from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Thankfully, I was arriving after Labor Day when things get noticeably quieter.
Interestingly enough, my wife and I took our honeymoon in the Dells sixteen years prior, exactly to the week.
I came into Lake Delton on highway 23, and rode down the main strip north to the Wisconsin Dells. My campground was the Sherwood Forest Campground on highway 12 on the north end of town.
I pulled in and wearily climbed off the bike after more than 500 miles of riding. I had arrived prior to 5 PM, which left me plenty of time to set up my campsite and enjoy a leisurely evening.
I checked in at the office and learned that it was "customer appreciation weekend." What this meant was they were having some special events over the weekend, and best of all, I got one night free during my stay. Hard to argue with that!
The woman at the office showed me a map of the campground and the best way to get to my site. The campground was of a pretty good size, with about 200 campsites. She also told me that I could buy some firewood and that seeing as I was on a bike she could have the maintenance guy deliver it. I told her that I'd probably stop back in a little bit and buy some, but right now I was going to go scope out the site.
I got back on the bike and slowly tooled through the campground. Overall it seemed like a very nice place. Most sites were designed for RVs, but there were some tent sites and a few cabins available as well.
I found my campsite. It was next to a wooded area, with cabins on three sides. I got off the bike and proceeded to remove my leather and boots, in order to get more comfortable before I set up camp.
There were some guys in the two cabins to the east of me who were standing around drinking beer. They struck up a conversation and I learned that they were here for the weekend and were all attending a wedding on Saturday. They also told me that I could have one of their baskets of firewood, as they'd purchased two and in three days hadn't touched either of them. Nice guys!
I leisurely set up my camp, positioning it so the door would face my fire ring and so that my extension cord would reach the electrical outlet available at the campsite edge. In addition to electricity, I also had a water spigot. I had to pay $4 per day extra for these features, but I figured it would be worth it.
Once I had everything set up, I decided to lay down and rest. Perhaps I would even take a nap? Inside the tent I relaxed on my air mattress and enjoyed how good it felt to have arrived. The temperature was comfortable and I lightly dozed off a couple of times but each time was awakened by the guys next door talking. That was OK, though. I really didn't want to sack out and sleep away my evening.
At about six thirty or so I decided to go find myself some supper. I got back on my bike and rode into town searching for a restaurant that appealed to my rumbling stomach. There were plenty of places that sounded good, but when I passed by a Famous Dave's my tummy leapt for joy inside of me. Apparently I had been craving ribs ever since I had heard about Porkys in Coon Valley. So I decided to have Famous Dave's.
I went inside and got a seat on the second floor. Where I was sitting I could see the TV which was showing the Virginia Tech versus Marshall College football game. This was good, seeing as I forgot to bring my book. Catching up on reading is one of the things I like to do on my motorcycle trips, and there's little I find more relaxing than enjoying a meal and a good book.
During this meal, however, the only reading I was doing was the menu. It all looked so good, but I finally settled on the two meat combo with rib tips and the beef brisket, along with fries and slaw. While I was waiting for my food to arrive I was feeling a bit grimy, so I went to the restroom to wash up.
As it turns out, the grime I had been feeling on my face was actually sunburn. I had fried myself pretty good that afternoon. When I left that morning it was raining, and it was cloudy all morning. By the time the afternoon rolled around I had completely forgotten about sunscreen. Now I was paying the price, as my face was quite red outside of the area around my eyes where my sunglasses sat. My nose took the brunt of the sun, and already had a blister on the side.
Back at the table my food had arrived and I heartily dug in while I watched the game. Unfortunately, the rib tips I received had been cooked far beyond well done and were burned in spots. That was a disappointment, but the rest of the meal was excellent. And because I'm apparently a glutton, I ate all the burnt rib tips too.
With supper sitting inside of me, I quickly realized that a single meat dinner would have been plenty. I was stuffed. The sun was just starting to go down and I thought about riding around and taking in some of the attractions, but the way I was feeling I just wanted to go back to my camp site and sit.
I rode back to the campground and built a small fire. I sat for a while reading a book. I tried to call my family, but wasn't getting an answer. I then remembered that my son was attending a birthday party that night, so that's why nobody was home.
One of the campground events that evening was karaoke. There was a community shelter down by the office, and a large crowd was hooting and hollering as people took turns murdering popular songs. I quickly realized that karaoke night is not synonymous with talent night. I strolled down to get a closer look at the festivities, but decided it was more rambunctious than my personality type.
It's funny, because I spent a fair amount of time on a stage performing with bands. I am comfortable in front of a crowd, and actually enjoy the rush of being in the spotlight. However, I am actually quite introverted and enjoy spending quiet time alone, which probably explains why I enjoy long motorcycle trips. I told someone once that I'm great with 1000 people, but I'm terrible with just one.
I wandered back to the tent and prepared for bed. There was a porta-pottie about 100 feet down the road from my camp site, so I padded down the trail and used it. On my way back, a guy staying in a cabin across the trail came over and introduced himself. I immediately got a weird vibe off the guy, like he wasn't firing on all cylinders.
We chatted for a few minutes, talking about where we were from and our experience with this campground. At that point he told me a racist joke about president Obama. When I didn't react the way he expected he said, "You didn't think that was funny, huh? You must like the president." I politely informed him that regardless of my political beliefs I don't like racist jokes. For good measure I threw in my opinion that I didn't think anyone in Washington was looking out for us citizens, Democrat, Republican or Klingon.
The conversation dried up quickly after that. We bid each other good night and I returned to my tent.
I snuggled down inside my sleeping bag. The campground had posted rules about no noise after 10 PM. It was now approaching that time and I could hear the karaoke DJ announcing that there was time for one last song. A group of audibly drunk people croaked their way through it, and then the party was over which was fine by me because I was drifting off to sleep.
Until about 10:10 when suddenly my phone rang and I was jolted awake. It turned out to be my seven-year-old son who had returned from the birthday party and was up way past his bedtime. We talked for a few minutes, but he said he'd let me go back to sleep.
There was fat chance of that happening now. The phone had startled me pretty good and now I was awake. To make matters worse, the party down at the community shelter apparently had moved to a few sites down from mine, and picked up steam. They were hollering and yelling and carrying on.
For some reason, there was an unusually high degree of profanity being screamed at the top of their lungs, which was pretty uncool for a family oriented campground. I'm not sure how I would have handled it had my son been there. I probably would have walked down to the camp site and gotten my butt kicked by about 30 drunks.
I laid there a while, until the exhaustion finally overtook me. Every time I would drift off to sleep, however, there would be a sudden uproar from the party that would bring me back from the dead.
This went on until about 2 AM when I heard a large group of people loudly walk down the trail, not attempting in any way to respect the fact that there were others in the campground hoping to sleep. I could easily hear their voices all the way to the edge of the campground, when I then heard car doors slam and drive away.
After that, it was silent. Apparently the partiers weren't even staying at the campground. It was annoying as heck. But at long last I was able to permanently drift off to sleep.
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This page last updated on 06/28/2018