An Odyssey Among A Sea Of Cows

May 29, 2015

Siren, Wisconsin

Yesterday's story ended rather abruptly at the Franconia Sculpture Park. I failed to report on the Interstate State Park, which is called Interstate State Park because it has a Minnesota unit and a Wisconsin unit on each side of the St. Croix River. I camped on the Minnesota side and I really liked it. The fun began with my check-in at the park office.

"I'd like to get a campsite for tonight," I said, which is what I always say to the campground attendants.

"Okay, that's not a problem," which is usually what they say back to me. "Would you like a site by the river, or one closer to the restrooms and showers?"

The myriad of possible responses did not occur to me at the time, but in retrospect I came up with these:

"Is there any way I can get a site with the scenery of the river AND the stench of the bathroom?"
"Please put me next to the restroom. I mean, how would I get all the way from a riverside site to the bathhouse without a car?"
"Are you insinuating I might need a shower?"
"I'll take a site by the river. I can do all my toileting right there."

I opted for a riverside site. Also, you may have noticed I changed tents after my break at home. This one is my four-season Marmot. It's an older tent, a heavier tent, but a proven performer. (And check out the riverboat in the background.)

Beginning around 2:00 a.m some heavy rain moved in. It cooled off the stifling 80-degree midnight temperature, and there is something I find sleep-inducing about raindrops pounding on my rainfly. Indeed, I fell into a death-like sleep and didn't wake up until the rain stopped at about 8:00. I made a leisurely cup of coffee, (no pictures nor poems this time) carefully removed the rainfly from my dry tent, packed up, met a couple of fellow campers, and rode off into a new day.

After only a mile I had to stop to see the most significant geological area of Interstate State Park--the glacial potholes. One BILLION years ago, the St. Croix River was a raging torrent after the glaciers receded from this area. Massive water flow moved sand and silt and other debris in a swirling motion that carved out these huge, deep holes. (Well, that's one version of the story. Another version is that "The Creator" made them in one day only a few thousand years ago.) This park has the greatest concentration of glacial potholes, and some of the largest, in the world. Only Switzerland has potholes that can compare. I am a bike rider, not a geologist, so I admit that I learned this information from a brochure at the park office. (Note: The Biblical version did not come from that brochure.)

This is the deepest glacial pothole in the park. It bears some resemblance to some of the potholes I rode past in a stretch of Highway 61 near Gonzalez, LA.

That's Wisconsin on the other side of the river.

This park is also a major destination in the upper mid-west for rock climbers.

Thank you, Wisconsin. Thank you, Governor Walker, for the welcome message. (But not for your backward policy-making.)

Once in Wisconsin, I rolled through the pretty hills of the state's dairy country. Cows, cows, cows. Thousands of cows. I saw some farms with signs bragging about their "registered" Holsteins and Guernseys. "Woe to the UN-REGISTERED Guernsey," I thought to myself.

I arrived in Luck, WI at almost exactly noon. Some towns still have an incredibly loud siren that goes off every day at noon. Luck is one of those towns. As luck would have it, a drenching rain began within a couple minutes after Luck's noontime siren. I continued on, rather valiantly I thought, to the town of Siren, WI. Believe me, I'm not taking poetic license with my inclusion of the sirens of Luck and my luck in getting to Siren in the same paragraph. It really happened.

Going one step further, I believe it was Homer's Sirens who tempted me to get out of this downpour and check into a motel in the town of Siren.

Today's ride: 40 miles (64 km)
Total: 1,689 miles (2,718 km)

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