Circling the U.S. Chapter 24: Wisconsin's Northwoods - Part 1

July 28, Sunday evening, we'd left Door County and were on our way to a Warm Showers host in New Franken, just north of Green Bay. We'd ridden over 70 miles; I was hoping to hit 80, keeping an eye on those clouds. Carl, our Warm Showers host, was expecting us any minute. We had just a few miles to go. It started raining, my phone rang, I ignored it, wanting to keep up our steady pace. I figured it might be Carl. At 78 miles, a car came toward us, and stopped. It was Carl, come to rescue us from the pending storm. I didn't get in my 80 miles, but how could we refuse such a kind offer?

Monday, July 29 - Saturday, August 3, 2019

Take a look at a map of Wisconsin and the number of roads crisscrossing the state can leave anyone from away baffled as to the best way to get across it on a bicycle. We decided to trust the wisdom of the folks at Adventure Cycling and chose part of their North Lakes route for the next part of our journey. But first we had to get through Green Bay to connect with that route. 

Carl, our Warm Showers host, helped us meet that challenge. Monday morning he led us on a tour of Green Bay and showed us the way out of the city along a paved bike path. He knew the best roads to avoid traffic, taking us through the industrial area of Green Bay, past a small local amusement park, and along the Fox River, with sculptures, gardens, and condos. While riding, Carl told us that Green Bay produces cheese and toilet paper. He said, “We have you covered at both ends.” We also learned that the original Green Bay Packers worked at the meat packing plants and played football during their time off.

Rob and I had decided that we wouldn't spend time in Green Bay so this impromptu tour was a bonus, another example how fortunate we are to be a part of the Warm Showers bicycling community.

Past Green Bay we were once again in farm country.

This picture and the following two are all of this modest property. I was struck by the frequency of the message of the countless signs in front. When I stopped to take pictures, it did occur to me that maybe the owner would come out with a shotgun, but he or she did not.

A little bit of patriotism thrown in for good measure. And why not? There's a little-known verse of Woody Guthrie's This Land is Your Land, that goes like this.

There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me.
The sign was painted, said 'Private Property.'
But on the backside, it didn't say nothing.
This land was made for you and me.

After 69 miles and a hot afternoon fighting a headwind, we arrived at  Rivers Edge Camping Resort, in Leeman. It looked deserted. The bar at the entrance was closed and the office locked. But the bathroom was open and eventually we saw a few RVers here and there. While Rob set up our tent and I went to get a shower, but it needed two quarters which we didn't have. I found a woman who gave us change so we got showers and eventually the owner did come by and collected his fee. We were the only tenters that night and we never did find the river that gave the campground its name.

The private campgrounds in this part of the country are not like ones we've visited elsewhere. Where most private campgrounds have seasonal sites with the owners addiing decks, sheds, outdoor patios and firepits, giving an overall tidy feel, the seasonal sites here have a much scruffier feel to them, with outdoor furniture and other camping accoutrements scattered about in a haphazard fashion and no effort made for "curb appeal." 

They also have a bar and grill on their premises. We had dinner at one of them - burgers, fries, and beer for $24. Not particularly healthy but delicious and affordable. However, we didn't feel like we belonged. I saw a sign that said, "Guys, no shirt - no service; Gals, no shirt - free beer." Rob said that he saw a number of interesting T-shirts. An example: "If you can read this, the bitch fell off the bike." While we were eating an old guy came up to us and asked, "Why would you want to ride a bicycle around the country?"

I couldn't understand the ambience of the taverns at the campgrounds. Here they were in the middle of the great outdoors, sometimes right on a lake, and they had no outdoor seating; the inside was dark and dreary. In the middle of the afternoon about half a dozen people would be sitting at the bar watching one of the televisions. We'd walk in, several people would turn and look at us, then go back to staring at the TV.

We passed lots of bars during our journey through the Northwoods. We also passed many tidy farms. Check out the flower garden below.

I noticed signs along the road that referenced barn quilts and assumed they refered to the quilt square on the side of the barn. We saw a number of them. Here's what I found on the internet: A barn quilt is a large, hand-painted wooden block typically displayed on the front or side of a barn. They usually measure 8' x 8'. Created in Ohio by Donna Sue Groves as a way to honor her mother, the barn quilt movement has now spread to over forty states (as well as Canada!).

On Tuesday morning, July 30, Rob and I stopped for a second breakfast at the Home Plate Cafe in Shawano, Wisconsin. We sat at a table under a television with the sound turned off, Fox News with two young adults on the screen holding mugs that said, “Kelly Ryan.” At the neighboring table six old men were talking. My ears perked up when I heard, “San Francisco…” “homeless people…” “People in San Francisco getting what they deserve…” I wanted to listen more closely but couldn’t make out much. As we were finishing our breakfast, Rob said, “They’re still going on about San Francisco,” when we heard them again mention that fine city’s name.

Wednesday, July 31, we rode 60 miles with no town, no convenience store, nothing. We didn't bring extra water for those miles but fortunately it was not a hot day. Our stops had to be at a church, on the steps of a closed bar, and in the field of a storage facility. But the riding was terrific, on quiet back roads, with scenery changing from cornfields to forests. We had hills to climb followed by long downhills.

While we were taking a break, sitting on the steps of a closed tavern, a car pulled up and came to a stop. The driver, a local man, told us that the scenery around there wasn't as nice as it had been before the tornado blew through the week before. You can see the damage in the above picture and piles of debris below. We felt lucky to have missed them.

We passed many scenes like this one throughout the Northwoods.

After riding for 60 miles with no civilization, we came to the town of Crandon and this lovely, affordable motel. We explored the town and picked up dinner from the grocery store - rotisserie chicken, macaroni salad, and green salad - and watched a Democratic presidential debate, a rare contact with current events.

The next day, Thursday, August 1, after a lazy morning going out for breakfast and to the library, we rode 33 miles of hills.

We camped that night at Anvil Lake Campground, a national forest campground in the middle of nowhere. No showers, no problem. All we needed was a swim in this beautiful lake.

This shelter on the beach was built during the Depression by the Civilian Conservation Corps. It is a designated historic landmark, built to last forever. Throughout the country we see examples of the great work accomplished by this program and I wonder, as our infrastructure keeps falling apart and we have people needing jobs in dying towns, why don't we do something like this again?

I had to take a picture of the stone chimney.

On Friday, August 2, we rode 56 miles. Along the way we encountered a supported bicycle group who invited us to share their lunch - brats, chips, lemonade, raw veggies and fruit. Then we came to the picturesque town of Boulder Junction, filled with art galleries but without an ice cream shop. 

Past Boulder Junction we came to this beautiful bike path going exactly where we needed to go.

The next morning, Saturday, August 3, as we continued riding along the Vilas bike trail we stopped at Rest Lake near the town of Manitowish Waters.

The lake was pretty nice but what struck us was the pavilion in the public park.

It was so inconguous, we felt like we'd stumbled into Brigadoon or some other fairy tale place. We decided to spend a little time relaxing and snacking while we enjoyed the view and the comfortable chairs.

While we were sitting there a young man wandered into the park. I hoped he could help us clarify the puzzle of this opulent shelter and the bike path. He did. Although not from these parts, he'd been spendiing his summer interning at the Discovery Center nearby. He told us that a woman named Uline had donated a ton of money to northern Wisconsin that included the development of the bike path and shelter.

I can be cynical at times. Oftentimes the very wealthy will donate  money to some cause as a smoke screen for their otherwise nefarious activities. Andrew Carnegie founded many public libraries while busting unions and refusing to pay his workers a living wage. I decided to do a little research on this Uline woman. 

From a June 7, 2018, NY Times article:

"Few political donors are as influential, yet little known, as Liz and Dick Uihlein.

The Midwestern couple has joined the upper pantheon of Republican donors alongside names like Koch, Mercer and Adelson. They have spent roughly $26 million on the current election cycle, supporting more than 60 congressional candidates, working outside the party establishment to advance a combative, hard-right conservatism, from Washington to the smallest town.

Mr. Uihlein (pronounced YOU-line), a scion of one of the founders of Schlitz beer, underwrites firebrand anti-establishment candidates who typically defend broad access to assault weapons and assail transgender rights. He has also bankrolled partisan newspapers and backed Roy Moore in Alabama even after he was accused of sexual misconduct with underage girls.

...
Perhaps nothing illustrates the couple’s determination to set the agenda more than their efforts in the Wisconsin town of Manitowish Waters. They have spent millions remaking the small community and buying up much of its downtown. In 2016, shortly before Mrs. Uihlein joined the Trump campaign as a major fund-raiser, she threatened to divert $300,000 in planned donations if the town didn’t move a boat ramp that was near a pavilion she had built."

But I was curious about other things besides the origin of the pavilion. What is the appeal of the Northwoods? Why do people come to this place that teems with mosquitoes and has hills but no mountains? Wisconsin was lovely, but it had not escaped my notice that almost everyone we met at campgrounds was from Wisconsin. No one came to Wisconsin from another state. Well, maybe another midwestern or neighboring state, but not from far away. Wisconsin did not seem to be a vacation destination for people from New England or the western states or Europe.

The young man said that the area hosts many winter activities - snow shoeing, cross-country skiing, ice fishing, and snow mobiling. A lot of people retire here and it's the place to be in the summer with its moderate temperature and great fishing. 

"Boulder Junction is the muskie capital of the world," he said. We had already figured out that muskies are a type of fish.

"Are they good eating?" I asked. I don't see the point in catching anything if you're not going to eat it.

"No, you don't eat them. You fish them for the sport. I've been muskie fishing once. It's great fun," he said, and added, "They are four to five feet long. The state record is 62 inches."

I said, "I see lots of lakes on the map, but we only get glimpses of them from the road."

He said, "The saying here is 'Every third step squishes.' A third of the county is either wetland or lake."

All that wetland breeds mosquitoes, our constant camping companion. 

Later that day we came to the town of Butternut, charming but deserted.

Sadly for us, the cafe was closed. 

I took this picture for Alan, Sylvia, and Anne, my accordion-playing friends. Maybe they've heard of these musicians from Butternut, Wisconsin.

A view of Butternut as we left town.

We rode 62 miles on Saturday, keeping up a pretty good pace of 50-60 miles a day. We were on track to arrive in St. Paul by August 9, when a friend was expecting us. But Rob and I hadn't really talked about our trajectory for getting to the west coast. I was beginning to fret that we were running out of time. We had another day of solid riding before Rob told me about a problem he had that we couldn't ignore.