I hadn't set my alarm. I awoke around 7 AM to discover that it was cold. The temps were in the upper 30s which is pretty darn chilly for early September. I used the porta-pottie again, and then hunkered back down in my sleeping bag. Once again I didn't have any itinerary to which I needed to adhere, so I took advantage of this luxury and went back to sleep.
Around 8 AM I awoke for good. I arose, got dressed and prepared for the day's ride. I was thankful that this year I didn't have to break camp every morning as I had in previous years. I could quick throw a few things on the bike that I needed and go. Most of what I packed for the day I was wearing. Thankfully I had anticipated the weather (as opposed to the previous year) and brought some cold weather gear.
My plan was to have a leisurely breakfast, let the temps rise and then head south. I pulled out of the campground and tooled down highway 12 through town looking for somewhere to eat. A few places that looked like they served breakfast during the peak season appeared to be closed.
As I pulled into Lake Delton (sister city to the Wisconsin Dells) I decided to take a little detour and go look at the bed and breakfast at which my wife and I stayed during our honeymoon. I pulled off the main road and went through some back streets until I found it.
The house was still there, although it looked like it was no longer a bed and breakfast, just someone's residence. A lot can change in 16 years.
On the south side of town, I stopped for an exotic breakfast at McDonalds. Certainly not gourmet, but they had heat and coffee, both of which I was craving.
I lingered over my food and read my book. While getting a refill on coffee I noticed a man who was wearing a Deal's Gap Dragon t-shirt. This trip has been on my bucket list for a while, but so far I've not been able to secure the amount of time needed to pull it off. I struck up a conversation with the man and asked him about his experience. As it turned out, he and his wife were on their way home from visiting the Dragon. They were driving a Corvette, however, rather than a motorcycle.
Around 9 AM I decided to hit the road. The temp had raised and was now hovering around 50, which would make quite a difference in the comfort of the ride. Being unable to get on the internet to check the forecast, I didn't know what the projected high of the day would be. Earlier in the week it was supposed to be around 70.
My initial plan was to head south to Baraboo, then ride some recommended roads in the area and catch the ferry across the Wisconsin River at Merrimac. I headed south on 23 and found the road to Baraboo rather uninteresting.
Baraboo is the original home of the Ringling Brothers Circus and is currently home of Circus World Museum.
The museum was not on my radar of scheduled stops for today. I have been there three times previously. The first time was when I was very, very young and my brother was an infant. My biggest memory of that visit was an old caged circus wagon used to haul animals. They had it set up so kids could climb in and get their picture taken. My parents were insisting that I climb in so they could snap a photograph. However, to me the wagon looked exactly like the one the Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang used to capture his prey. I just knew if I climbed into it that the door would slam shut and Sir Robert Helpmann would cart me away. I panicked and refused and finally amid tears got my parents to take me away from that cart. Later Marilyn Manson would use the Child Catcher as inspiration for his Smells Like Children album, so I feel I was justified in being traumatized.
We returned a few years later during the mid 1970s. I remember my brother and I riding an elephant. It was $5, a kingly sum at that time, for a couple of loops around a ring. My father justified it by the fact that riding an elephant is not an everyday occurrence (this was in the days before they brought elephant rides to the circus every year.) I'm also guessing he was still wracked with guilt for the whole cage incident on the previous visit. From this ride I learned that when sitting atop an elephant, one should wear long pants. I was wearing shorts, and it was not unlike sitting on a hairbrush.
The last time I attended the museum was during my honeymoon. Frankly, I don't remember much about that visit other than it was a very sunny day.
I rode through Baraboo and out the east side on highway 33. My map had me taking a little detour off of 33 onto county road W, which would then rejoin with 33 farther north. I kept watching for my road, and finally came across the turn off. I remember thinking that it took a lot longer to get to it than I thought it would have.
I followed county road W. The road seemed to twist and turn in all the wrong directions from that which my map indicated. I attributed it to just getting my bearings confused and my map not having sufficient resolution. The road was pretty, so I went along for quite a while until I came to a junction that said highway 113.
That didn't seem right at all, so I stopped and consulted my map. At this point I discovered that I had missed the initial junction with county road W off of highway 33 because there wasn't one. A smaller little road connects the two and I should have taken that road. As it turned out I turned onto W at the junction where my map showed I should be turning off of W, then proceeded to ride the wrong direction all the way down until the road ended.
Thankfully the road was only about 14 miles long, so I hadn't gone ridiculously out of my way. But I ended up having to turn around and retrace the road all the way back up to highway 33. I'm glad that it was a pretty ride.
Back on highway 33 heading east, my plan was to cross interstate 90, then catch county road U south and swing back west to Merrimac. However, about a mile past the interstate the highway traffic ground to a halt. Cars were backed up due to what appeared to be a bad accident. I sat for a few minutes, but when it became clear that the highway wouldn't be opened for a while, decided to come up with an alternate plan.
The previous day I had made a decision to take back roads rather than ride on the interstate for a few miles. Today, however, due to my limited map I didn't see much of an option to get to Merrimac short of retracing my steps back to Baraboo then heading south. I decided to follow the interstate a few miles south and try to pick up country road U from there.
I road south for a few miles and saw and exit labeled Merrimac, so I took it. As it turned out, I got off a little too soon. County road U was the next exit. Instead, I found myself on highway 78. Rather than getting back on the interstate I decided that the two roads were close enough together and going to the same place, so I just stayed on this highway all the way to the river.
I didn't have any time deadlines I had to meet. At the same time, I didn't want to find myself 200 miles from home at suppertime. My unplanned detours had delayed me a bit. As I approached the ferry across Lake Wisconsin at Merrimac, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to wait long.
As it turned out, I pulled up right as the ferry had lifted its gate to make the voyage across the lake. The ferry wasn't full and the captain noticed me so he lowered the ramp and motioned for me to board, which was very cool of him. I was now on the ferry with absolutely no waiting.
I got off, stretched my legs a bit and took some pain killers. My left shoulder was acting up a bit. It has done this on occasion since dislocating it in a 2001 motorcycle accident. Usually it doesn't bother me, although it does tend to flare up if I've been riding a while.
There is a nice, new bridge across the lake that would have been faster. Obviously, riding the ferry is a lot more fun. The ferry follows the bridge a few hundred yards to the west.
There were a couple of other riders on the ferry with me. I said, "Hi", but they weren't all that interested in chatting.
This ferry is on the National Register of Historic Places. And they have the plaque to prove it!
This ride would mark the second time I've had my motorcycle on a boat. The trip across the lake only takes about five minutes. It was an enjoyable break, but much like last year's ride across Lake Michigan it was over far too soon. We pulled up to the shore and rode back onto solid land.
The next leg of the day's journey had me heading south down to Cross Plains, then taking back roads west to just south of Spring Green.
I rode on highway 113 south through Lodi. North of Springfield I picked up County highway P, which angled southeast towards Cross Plains. The ride was pretty, but uneventful.
A few days prior to my trip I realized that the dates of my journey coincided with the Ironman race in Madison. Being a triathlete myself, I was excited at the possibility of perhaps seeing some of the athletes during the race. However, I wasn't sure of the exact route of the race and didn't know if our paths would cross. Even less known was whether the race course might cause me to have to modify my route.
At Cross Plains, I came across a police barricade blocking off county road P. Sure enough, the bike course intersected and followed highway P. I stopped and snapped a couple of pictures. Watching the riders, I felt mixed emotions. I could feel the competitive juices welling up inside me, causing me to want to join in the race. At the same time, I know all too well that point in racing where you have to reach farther down inside yourself than you knew you could in order to finish. While doing this causes a mental high, it is physically demanding more than anything else I've known. To add to my frustration, I was battling a bad case of dorsiflexion tendonitis which caused me to pull out of five of my six scheduled races for the year. Seeing these competitors participating in an activity that I loved but in which I could not join was frustrating to say the least.
The police officer guarding the course saw me on my motorcycle and asked where I was going. I showed him my map, and he said that the race course just overlapped highway P for a couple of miles. He said that I could go ahead and proceed down the highway as long as I was careful and stayed out of the racer's way.
I gladly accepted his offer and pulled around the barricade. I went slow and enjoyed watching the riders close-up. Seeing as the road was closed to traffic and cyclists are required to stay to the right unless passing, I went ahead and rode on the left hand side of the yellow line. I shouted a lot of encouragement to the racers and gave them thumbs-up as I went by.
About two miles down the road, the bike race course took a left and I needed to keep going straight. I stopped at the intersection and waited until a race official indicated that it was safe to cross.
Once past the turnoff, I had to ride slow and careful for a while longer as there were big crowds of spectators and cars parked all along the shoulder.
At the intersection of county road J, I turned west. The terrain was starting to get hilly. I came across another portion of the Ironman race course. At this intersection there wasn't a police officer or race volunteer. In fact, short of a stop sign there wasn't anything signaling to traffic that you were going to suddenly merge onto the race course. I waited for riders to pass until I had a break, and then proceeded slowly. This section of the course only followed road J for about a half mile.
Back off the race course, I could resume regular speed. These sections of roads were very fun to ride with lots of curves and hills, with plenty of scenery. Traffic was almost nonexistent, I suspect being due to a combination of a Sunday morning and the fact that I was in the middle of nowhere.
There's not much to say about the next hour or so of riding. The roads were interesting, the sun was out and the wind was light. I took a wrong turn in the town of Barneveld because my map wasn't real clear, but thankfully I figured it out quickly and only had to back track about a mile.
It was now noon. I was starting to get a little hungry and would have liked to get off the bike and stretch a bit. My original thoughts were to stop in Spring Green for some lunch, then head south. I had never ridden my motorcycle in Illinois before, and being this close I wanted to add a new state to my list.
Just on the south side of Spring Green, however, I came across the intersection to the road I was going to take. Something inside me told me to go ahead and take the road, rather than go into town and then ride back after lunch. So I was on to the third leg of my journey for the day.
The Wisconsin motorcycle trip website from which I pulled many of my routes recommended a loop of county highways just southwest of Spring Green. I was going to ride most of the loop, then branch off and head south towards Illinois. I followed county highway C until it junctioned with highway 130, then rode the loop all the way around and headed west on county road I towards Highland.
This little loop made for excellent riding. The hills were steep and the roads twisty. I had a grand time.
By Highland, I was getting really hungry and weary. However there wasn't much that looked interesting in that town and I decided to push it a bit farther.
Heading south on highway 80, the road got less and less interesting the farther I went. There were fewer hills, fewer curves and fewer trees.
Highway 80 junctioned with highway 18 and followed west for a few miles before branching south again. I noticed the wind picking up a bit now that I was out of the trees. I snapped a picture just for the sake of it.
By the time I branched south, the road was straight as an arrow and there were no trees of which to speak. I could have been riding back home in South Dakota for all I knew. I saw that Platteville looked like a sizable town on my map, and made that my goal for a lunch and fuel stop.
I finally reached Platteville at nearly 1:30. The distance seemed a lot further than what it looked on the map, perhaps because the road had become much less interesting. I pulled into a gas station and filled up. It felt really good to get off the bike and stretch, remove my earplugs and take my helmet off. The temps were rising a bit, so I took this opportunity to remove my chaps.
Once I had gas, I tooled a few blocks further until I noticed a Quiznos. Not gourmet, but it would do. I ordered a sandwich, used the restroom and relaxed in the air conditioning with some food and my book.
I rested for about half an hour and then decided it was time to hit the road again. I asked the proprietor how far until the Illinois border. He said it was about 20 miles, which was 20 miles further than I wanted to hear. I had come this far, however, so I wasn't about to turn back.
I hit the road and made a beeline for the border. The road was flat and straight, and was only broken up by a couple small towns. One was having some sort of local festival. After what seemed like an eternity, I came to the border. Another state checked off my list.
To me, just riding across the border doesn't seem like it should count as visiting a state. One should have a destination, or at least ride a decent number of miles inside the borders. I set the town of Galena as my goal.
I had picked Galena because I remember my grandmother on my mom's side of the family talk about family we had in Galena. I don't know if I had ever been to the town before, and if I had it would have been when I was quite young. Maybe visiting would trigger some memories. If nothing else it was a destination.
Galena was about 12 miles south of the border. I hit the edge of town where the Wal-Mart was located. Wal-Mart didn't seem like a suitable destination, so I thought I would ride in a little deeper and get a feel for the town.
I rode down the main thoroughfare until I came to a stop sign. On the left was a bridge with what looked like a park area on the other side. I decided that would make a good place to rest for a few minutes and take a picture or two.
I rested for a couple of minutes and ate the last of my doughnuts I had bought the previous afternoon. I didn't know much about Galena, and none of what I saw had triggered any memories. I was to discover that Galena is a very old town with a lot of history, most notably the former home town of Ulysses S. Grant.
I was starting to get weary from my day of riding, and was interested in getting back to my campsite where I could take it easy for the evening. My left arm was really starting to bother me, so I loaded up on more pain killers and hit the road.
I turned onto what I thought was the same road on which I came into town, but after a couple of blocks I realized I was in the historic downtown area. The activity level was high, with lots of people walking up and down the streets and many shops open. Traffic was heavy and slow, and I pulled in right behind another couple on a bike. Rather than turn around, I figured this road would probably lead me out of town.
Well, I was both right and wrong. The road did lead me out of town, but in the wrong direction. I headed up Main Street, which then turned into Broadway Street, which then turned into Dewey Avenue, which then left town. I followed Dewey hoping it would lead me to somewhere I would recognize. After a couple miles it intersected with North Council Hill road, where I took a left.
I followed this road for a bit until I realized that it wasn't going the same direction in which I wanted to go. I turned around and followed the road back into town.
Not wanting to go through downtown traffic again, I reasoned that if I turned right off of Main I should find my way back to the north side of town.
Not having a map upon which to refer, I turned right on Meeker Street. What I should have done was go one block further and turned on Franklin Avenue, which would have taken me where I wanted to go.
Meeker street went up a hill, then turned right and went up a steeper hill, then turned right and went up an even steeper hill. At this point I realized I had made a mistake, but the hill was so steep that I was afraid to stop and attempt to turn around. I hoped that once I made it to the top I would be able to find the correct way out.
At the top of the hill, very correctly named High Street, I rode to the next intersection and looked down that road to my left (Dodge Street). I could see at the bottom where it met Franklin, and felt that Franklin was where I needed to go.
The obstacle standing between me and Franklin Street was the hill. Dodge was a steep downhill grade until about half way, at which point it seemed like it turned into a cliff. I gingerly started down the street.
Normally I'm not a timid rider. However this hill was steeper than anything I had ever seen. I was really surprised there were houses on either side of the street. Right before I came to the point where the incline grew even steeper, I chickened out. I was concerned with my ability to stop the bike at the stop sign at the bottom without dumping. A few yards before I hit the point of no return, I gingerly turned the bike around and went back to the top.
I hoped there were other ways out of this neighborhood that didn't involve going down one of these gigantic hills. Riding further in I finally found a street that, while steep, wasn't quite as fear inducing. At the bottom of this hill I joined Franklin, which I then followed north until I was able to get back on the highway.
Getting out of town took longer than I had expected. Couple this with the exhaustion I was starting to feel after two nights of poor sleep. Mix in some arm pain and I was ready to be back where I could relax. Unfortunately I had 116 miles to ride before I could call it a day.
The first half of this return journey was the dullest. The scenery was uneventful, and I had seen much of it already up until Platteville, where I headed northeast on highway 151 to Dodgeville. This was a four lane highway that moved along pretty good. During this stretch I had the wind at my back.
At Dodgeville I got off the expressway and started heading north on highway 23. The farther north I got, the more interesting the road became.
Just south of Spring Green is the House On The Rock. This is worth a visit if you're ever in the area. It's a combination museum and architectural exhibit. My wife and I toured it on our honeymoon years prior. I didn't have the time or inclination to stop (it's a full day's activity) but I did stop and snap a picture of the portion of the house that sticks straight out from the side of the hill.
I was getting thirsty and needed a restroom break, so I stopped at a convenience store in Spring Green. I bought a root beer and as I sipped it in the parking lot, I realized just how warm it had gotten. That morning had been so cold, and now it was in the low 80s. I removed my jacket and gloves, and went with just a t-shirt and my vest.
Spring Green is a little less than an hour from the Dells, so I was getting close. It was now around 4:30 in the afternoon, so it appeared as though I would be home in plenty of time to have a relaxing evening. My mood lightened a bit.
I rode up highway 23 and made good time. I made it back to the Dells at 5:23. The previous day I had seen some polished rocks that my son would enjoy having (he's kind of a rock hound) at a shop downtown. Rather than going straight to the camp site I decided to swing by the rock shop. Unfortunately, when I arrived it was closed.
On my way back to the campsite, I saw at an amusement park a person on a ride that looked absolutely insane. I pulled over to watch this nut job who would willingly ride this thing. It was like a giant windmill with a cage on either end, in which a victim can be strapped. It then rotates at a very high rate of speed. If that weren't bad enough, the cage is allowed to rotate freely. This is something I would never, ever, ever consider doing.
I rode back to the campground. A steak was sounding really good for that evening's meal. First things first, though, I needed to clean up. I walked down to the showers and made myself presentable. Then I headed out to get something to eat.
I noticed as I went through town that a lot of businesses had packed up for the season that day. Many that were open the previous night were now closed.
I went by a restaurant that proclaimed "all you can eat prime rib." That sounded wonderful, and my mouth watered at the prospect. I pulled into the parking lot that was full of cars, and happened to notice a sign on the door. I rode up closer and saw that the sign said "closed for end of season employee party." Bummer.
I then rode up the street to a place advertising a giant buffet. I decided that they probably had steak or at least something similar, so I pulled in. They too had a sign on the door stating they were closed for the season.
Feeling discouraged, I rode farther down the street into Lake Delton. There I came across a steak house. As a bonus, it was open! I pulled up and parked, then walked in. As soon as I got through the door, I realized that this was a much fancier restaurant than I had intended to patronize. A waiter seated me and handed me a menu.
It was a very dark room, which would have been perfect for a romantic date. Sitting there alone, I felt a bit awkward. I thumbed through the menu and realized that a small dinner at this place would cost more than $30, and if I wanted to go fancy it would cost much more.
I really didn't feel like spending that much money on a romantic dinner for myself. I sheepishly decided to beat a hasty retreat out the door before the waitress came over to my table. Unfortunately she intercepted me halfway to the door. I told her that I needed to leave and held up my cell phone. Although I didn't explicitly tell a lie, in retrospect I feel kind of bad that I led her to believe that I was called away on emergency rather than the fact that I'm just plain cheap.
Across the street from the steakhouse was a Pizza Ranch buffet. I was getting really hungry and my options were dwindling, so I decided that was as good as any place to eat.
I went in and paid, then realized this buffet was much smaller than the Pizza Ranches we have back at home. Nevertheless, it was food. I sat and ate while I read my book.
I finished up around 7:30 and went out to the bike. I decided to call home while I was still in the parking lot, as I still had time to catch my son before his bedtime. I spoke to him and my wife for about a half an hour as I sat on a retaining wall surrounding a hotel next door. An employee of the Pizza Ranch rode his skateboard in the parking lot, presumably while he was on break. A couple came out of the restaurant and got in a minivan. They seemed to be working on something inside the van for a few minutes, when a dirty diaper suddenly went flying out of the window and landed on the concrete as they pulled away. Classy.
After wrapping up the phone call, I decided I wanted to go play a round of mini-golf before heading back to the tent. The Dells is the mini-golf capital of the world, so it only seemed fitting that I take in at least one game.
I rode over to the Pirate's Cove golf course next to my campground. I was discouraged to see a sign that said "closed after 8." It was now 8:05. There were still golfers on the course, but they weren't letting any new players start.
I decided to go downtown and see if any shops were still open. The previous morning I had seen an italian charm that my wife would enjoy having, so I wanted to grab it if the store wasn't closed. Thankfully it wasn't. I didn't see anything my son would find especially interesting, so I decided to call it a night and head back to the campground.
As I got on the bike, I was approached by a couple who were interested in it. As it turns out, the guy is shopping for a new motorcycle and liked the way mine looked. I gave him the specs, told him how long I'd had it and about how I bought it with 11,000 miles on the odometer and since have put 30,000 additional trouble free miles on it. They seemed satisfied and I pulled out into the night.
Knowing I wouldn't be in the mood to do it in the morning, I decided to stop and get gas now. That way I would reduce the number of stops I would have to make after breaking camp and heading out of town.
As I filled up, I heard a commotion across the parking lot. I looked over and saw a man accosting a girl in a car. His car was sitting running a few feet away. She sat in her car with the door open and the two were screaming obscenities at each other. It looked like he was starting to get physical with her. I stood there wide eyed for a moment while my brain processed what was going on. About the time I realized that he was attacking her and that I should intervene, she pulled out a tazer and zapped him. He went down on the ground screaming as she slammed the door and peeled out of the gas station.
The guy lay on the ground cursing for a minute or so while I watched, then literally crawled into his car and drove off in the opposite direction than the girl. Apparently she didn't need my help in dealing with the creep. So I unexpectedly received my evening's entertainment.
Back at the campground, I found the whole area refreshingly quiet. A large portion of the other campers had packed up and left during the day, leaving only about 20% of the sites occupied. Even better, I was the only one in my whole area of the park. My prospects for good sleep were looking up.
I built a fire and proceeded to read while using up all of the firewood I had left. It was very peaceful and relaxing. I finished the book as the fire was dying out, and decided to call it a night around 10:30 PM.
For the first time on this trip, I slept well. Peaceful, deep, uninterrupted sleep.
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This page last updated on 06/28/2018