Final installment: 1 of 2

It's been almost a month since we've finished... and it's time to wrap this blog up.

For those of you who have diligently been checking this page EVERY DAY... even in my delinquency... I'm writing this because you followed us all summer and I want to offer you closure. You need to experience how we finished. It's kind of selfish that we left you hanging in Wisconsin.

So. Wisconsin, then closing thoughts.

I know... this is a long time ago, but I kept good notes, so don't fret.
We made a couple mistakes along the Mississippi river. We got so excited that we had made it to Wisconsin, and then inadvertently 50 miles later crossed back over into Minnesota again. Whoops! Wisconsin was not kind to us at first. Our BOB trailer had the only tire that hadn't been flat the entire trip (which, I guess is common with the BOB). Once in Wisconsin, we got not one but TWO flats on the BOB within 30 minutes of each other. Yep, David had swept the tire... it was just all the razor blades + glass that were hanging out, waiting for us. I was also kind of a whiny butt that day... we left Minneapolis and my ankle was still feeling like it was tearing something, so after 55 miles this whiny butt called it a day.

Our first night in Wisconsin was spent in the unincorporated town of Diamond Bluff. Une 'business' called "The Nauti Hogg". As in Nautical. And Harley. We found a lady out in her yard yakking on her phone and moseyed around town until she was off the phone before we asked if we could set up shop in her yard. We got a cautious yes. When her husband came home later she was much more sociable, which...really...I get. I mean, it's obvious we're not slashers (c'mon! Florescent yellow construction vests!), BUT we're still strangers on bicycles. Cherri made us brownies despite the vests and the distinct possibility that we were crazy... and gave us tomatoes from her garden. Bob checked on us in the morning when he got back from work to see if we got the brownies. mmm.

The next day started with the first ever (and only) bloodshed on the trip. Brace yourself. David was pointing out a sign I couldn't see, and I didn't realize he was turning as we slowed down. I tipped over and scraped my knee. Yeah. Pretty huge, huh? Although, I was sweaty so the blood started dripping in rivulets down my leg and it looked really impressive.
Biking along the Mississippi is pretty terrific...you have lots of rollers, lots of scenery, and lots of people driving who are used to seeing bikers. I kid you not, we saw at least 50 bicyclists when we crossed over into Wisconsin. It's like biker heaven. When we crossed into Minnesota (accidently)...no bikers. Back into Wisconsin? Lots of bikers. On an especially big roller, we were passed by probably thirty motorcyclists. One by one, each threw his fist in the air with the "rock" sign as he passed.
"Is that for us?"
"I don't know... but it's pretty cool."
"They're saluting the next bicyclist up too! It WAS for us!"
"I feel like a rock star."

The next group of bicyclists in front of us were three women in their mid 40's. We stopped at the same gas station for water, and obviously, due to our shared bike-nerdiness, we talked. All three women are training for the Madison Ironman (which happens Sep...7th?). 2.4 mi swim, 112 mile ride, followed by a full marathon. Really? REALLY?!?! They all looked like normal, healthy 40 year old woman...not like crazy she-men. One was overweight! We told them they were crazy. They told us we were crazy. Then we all mounted our bicycles and continued on secretly hoping for more motorcycle salutes from other people who thought we were crazy.

As we traveled down the Mississippi, we diverged off the Adventure Cycling maps (which travels on the Minnesota/Iowa side of the river before crossing into IL). So...back to our fickle friend, Google maps. Google maps loves bike routes. It loves them so much, it puts you on them, even if it makes absolutely no logical sense to get on them (aka, extra miles on a DIRT ROAD). We got to one stretch that was 'trail'. I will use that word very loosely, because what we had was a dirt path that was barely visible from the rest of the brush. Not so cool when your bike is of the 'road' variety. Extra-not-cool when your bikes are loaded. We got off that route as soon as opportunity afforded. This dumped us out near a subdivision in the middle of nowhere (well, ok…it was close to Trempealeau, which is also the middle of nowhere). We broke our cardinal rule of house searching, and knocked on the nicest house in the subdivision. (Hey, it never hurts to try...) (ps. This is the cardinal rule because we have never...and I mean never... had success)(pps. I guess really it's not our cardinal rule. Our cardinal rule is probably 'no crack houses'). Allene Horton opened the door, and was delighted to offer her yard.

Bob and Allene have adopted four boys (Kyle, Ethan, Michael, and Robbie). They were the most considerate little boys I have met. Kyle had been mowing the lawn, stopped when he was about 50 feet from our tent, came over and meekly asked, "Will I be bothering you if I mow over here?" Um, no. We’re in your yard. David played some basketball with the guys, Allene brought out some wine for us, and then Bob got back from helping coach Robbie's baseball team. They invited us to stay in their spare bedroom...! We quickly tore down our tents, showered, and joined them for their family movie night (Avatar). Again, fun, well behaved boys. Allene and Bob were fun to hang out with, and…after a 95 mile day, it was nice to have an incredible place to stay.

The next morning, Bob and Allene directed us back to the ‘sketchy’ path…except…that the path got exceptionally less sketchy right by the subdivision, so it was no longer a dirt road overrun with weeds, it was now gravel. We pretty much stayed on that trail system (which right near Trempealeau turns into a Rails-to-Trails network) for the next 200 miles. I was still kind of iffy about the whole gravel thing...it takes a lot more concentration, and, honestly, more work-per-pedal-stroke (more resistance). However, the trail is graded for a train, which doesn’t go up or downhill quickly…very even keel, which in bucolic Wisconsin is a nice thing to follow. Sometimes we were riding high above the rest of world, other times the trail was sandwiched between thirty foot high rock walls that had been hewn out from the surroundings. The whole 200 miles was especially punctuated 90 miles outside of Sparta, WI, when we reached a GIANT entrance to an old railroad tunnel through a ‘mountain’ (hill). Thirty feet from the entrance, it felt like we had ridden into a refrigerated cooler. We came around a bend, and saw the mouth of this…cave… with mist rolling out, and giant wood doors attached to either side. It reminded me of “Lord of the Rings” when Gandalf + the Hobbits must solve the riddle on the door outside the mountain to enter the dwarf kingdom. There was a sign that read, “Please walk bicycles through tunnel”. We both thought, “Yeah...Right.”, but ten feet in realized that, even with our lights on, we couldn’t see a single thing in front of us. The walls were rock. There were tiny, slippery streams that ran on either side. We got off and became obedient little bikers.

This tunnel was in.sane. Even though temperature outside was 90+ degrees, the tunnel was freezing cold; . There was some kind of strange, eerie music coming from far in the distance…which…if you looked hard enough, you could make out the end as the size of a dime. The light had a greenish cast. There was a train whistle. Halfway through, we could barely make out the entrance or the exit...just a lot of darkness. A little closer to the other side, we met a group of musicians…the strange eerie music that had sounded like a distant carnival. A man had brought in a wooden whistle that sounded like a train. Eventually, finally, we emerged on the other side. The tunnel was three quarters of a mile long. There were two other tunnels like this, but a little shorter.

That night, we stopped in Elroy, WI, and found “The Sportsman” bar. Real dive bar… no one really interested in serving us, but plenty of people interested in looking at us. We ate a smorgasbord of fried foods, and then found Rachel and Terry, who offered us their yard, a shower, and peaches. Rachel read up on our blog while we showered (“You know…just to make sure you guys aren’t weirdos”), chatted up a storm with us, then wished us goodnight. In the morning, Terry brought us out some coffee, and wished us well.

I don’t remember too much of the riding between Elroy and Madison, except I remember looking up and seeing a bald eagle seated on the side of the road slowly take off, circle just above us, and then beat away. I remember a dog tearing after David, biting at his heels, then turning around, seeing me, and disinterestedly walking (not trotting…walking…sauntering almost) off. I remember David’s ‘hymns’. I remember the potholes coming into Madison and praying that we would not be hit. University was the pot-holiest street ever. I remember that it was a long day, but we were close to home.

My Uncle Dan and Aunt Deb WERE surprised to see us… apparently, Jacob did forget to mention to them that we had called. We left to ‘allow them time to get settled in’ (aka eat the best ice cream of the trip) (no really. We would know). Dan and Deb were awesome hosts…they shwooped us up into a bedroom, made dinner, and chatted with us. We stayed an extra day to see Madison, watch an ultimate Frisbee game (which has inspired us to sign up for fall league here in Chicago…which required us to field a team…which requires us to be an ‘expert’ on Frisbee affairs. I’ll leave that up to David. I can catch. I can (sort of) throw. I cannot be an expert…on anything that requires hand-eye coordination), and really, not have to be on our bikes. Madison is a pretty fun city. Grad school, anyone? hmmmm… options…options.

The next (and final) day I should have a lot to say about, but I don’t. We rode the most we’ve ever ridden, 140 miles. We were motivated to get back. I prayed half the day that we wouldn’t get killed…because honestly, the way we took I would never take again, or recommend to anyone. Rt 12 is a death trap. It was a poor choice. Still, we made it. I was thankful every second for my bright green/yellow vest, and for every millimeter of road I had. Still, I was praying that God would allow each driver to see us. We were riding against the sun, and rode down Belmont into Lakeview just after the sun had set. There was something incredibly surreal to entering our neighborhood, in our city. I yelled out “We rode 3700 miles to get here!!” when we got close to the train station… it was… crazy. It was bizarre. It was everything I had hoped that moment would be.

Thoughts looking back tomorrow. That is a promise. And it will be the final segment of the bike trip blog.