Wisconnnsinnn

The distance across Wisconsin by car from St. Croix Falls at the Minnesota border to Manitowoc on Lake Michigan is 308 miles. On our bikes, Wisconsin was 477 miles wide. The Adventure Cycling maps took us on a scenic, lightly traveled route, much more pleasant, but much longer. It was hilly, and merciless with the headwinds. The landscape is a lot like Maine, but with better roads. By now, however, I must admit that thoughts of home are taking me away from full enjoyment of the ride. After so much time away, my discomfort increases about leaving obligations to others, and, conversely, some happy developments make me yearn to do something else than turn pedals. Still, completing our crossing feels like an imperative by now, a body of work. There’s no recognition for the endeavor, but the chance to observe land and lives in slow procession across an entire country can’t help but shape one’s mindset. We’ll finish if events allow.

Wisconsin has been an education about shortcuts. We started trying shortcuts a few states back but never paid much of a price. Now, finding Wisconsin much like Maine and pulled by events at home, we started looking for some time savers. If you had already seen lots of lovely lakes and had lovely lakes of your own at home, wouldn’t you too be tempted to take the diagonal here along the Couderay River?

Very, very bad idea. We ended up climbing hills and scratching our heads. Then we ended up here:

Cell service was poor, electronics didn’t work, and we ended up spending the day floundering back to the route, mostly on a sun-blasted, feature-less road. But a day of delay didn’t teach us. We tried another shortcut the next day. A third experience finally taught us that the Adventure Cycling maps are good only for the prescribed route on the red line, and not for navigating nearby. Now when we go astray we hope that Google maps and Mark’s electronic Adventure Cycling waypoints can get us back to the blessed red line. Another clue I like is that water towers that always mark the distant town centers. Look for the tiny blue globe above the tree line in this photo.

Wisconsin started at the St. Croix River, cutting through the first rocks we’ve seen since Montana.

At the state park along the river, there had been a violent storm, and a utility pole had broken off. There was no power and thus no water, no toilets, no showers. $25 for a tent site was no bargain.

We biked through swamps and the lovely Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest. This photo includes the dragonfly that is protecting me from mosquitoes.

This is snowmobiling country. There’s are thick white bands painted on the road to protect the asphalt from studded skis.

Many of the roads were particularly beautiful because there were no utility poles. On this stretch the electric cables and fiber optic cables were being buried underground.

The cyclists in that photo were locals who host long distance cyclists in their home through a website called Warm Showers. We do the same at home. When I mentioned that we had seen no other cyclists since leaving the Northern Tier route, they were surprised and said they had just had cyclists staying with them for six days in a row. They mentioned a couple of guys from Austria, and it was fun to realize that we had met those same guys in North Dakota.
We rode on the nicest bikeway I have ever seen. I have to show you a few photos because we felt like royalty.

The bikeway must draw a lot of people, because at the end of the day we discovered that every lodging option was full. This was a low moment of the trip. I like to know in the morning where we will stay that night so that we don’t get caught short. The previous evening as I was scouting out the days ahead, Mark had argued, a little too forcefully in my opinion, for not getting tied down with plans.  The next day when we ended up with no place to stay, it was an I-told-you-so moment, but I admit I was a tad over the top in my umbrage. We had to clatter along for another 15 miles, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that I had been thinking a hot shower and a bed were imminent. We tried one state park campground, and of course it was full on a Saturday night in July. We tried the next one, and, to my deep relief, there was a spot for us.  No need to stealth camp in the woods with no water, and mosquitoes at their peak. This state park was fantastic, with a sandy beach and, as we learned, “only 1/32 of the shoreline is privately owned.”

Once back in farm country, I was happy to see some field edges left unmowed, and, sure enough, wherever there was milkweed, there were Monarch butterflies. Throughout the trip I’ve been keeping count of rarities good and bad. So far I’m up to eighteen Monarchs, five Kestrels, and three guys in pickup trucks announcing their outrage at our existence with a horn blast and expressive acceleration.

Though we have yet to experience falling rain during the day, Wisconsin has had torrential storms. The fields are over saturated.

This condition is a stark contrast to North Dakota’s, where by this point in the summer extreme drought has the farmers hoping the rain will just continue to stay away so they can get federal disaster relief.

After so many miles in Wisconsin, I’ve come to appreciate the unique road naming system. County roads have letter names, either single, double, or triple, depending when they were built. Plain but practical. I hoped to find road ZZZ. When we do end up on busy stretches, for example to find a motel if there’s nothing on the route, it’s unpleasant biking. However, at one awful spot where it looked like we’d have to ride on a busy divided highway, there was a bikeway sent from heaven (and from many persistent advocates, I’m sure). The bikeway paralleled the strip or chain stores that had spring up between two towns. The road was ugly, but the bikeway was well used by walkers, runners, and cyclists. Imagine such a bikeway connecting Portland and the Maine Mall, a very nasty stretch for bikers now.

Every little town has a bar; few have a shop. We’ve learned to get a cold ice tea at the friendly bars.

Almost every mile offers something interesting.

I like the one below. The government building is probably about the size that our governor would favor. Susan, would the ACLU have something to say about the decor on the left?

Now we have reached Manitowoc on Lake Michigan. Our motel was right next to a museum about the twenty-eight submarines built here in WW II.

We found a nice bike shop, and Mark did some repairs by the lake.

We’re taking the SS Badger ferry across to Michigan this afternoon.

One last thing: Louisa is a trooper. She has lost her tail, but she’s still with us. We haven’t given her the freedom that Meri had; we’ve tethered her with a hair elastic. Otherwise she would have hopped off in North Dakota.

I understand. It’s been a sweaty ride. We are ready for four hours of sitting on the ferry, and then Michigan.