Locomotive in Crandon, WI
Time out: 7:25 AM (after breakfast)
Temp: 56 (f); windy (headwinds)
I saw this rail yard switcher locomotive in Crandon at the Crackerbox Restaurant.
I barely remember these things from my childhood. They still sell them in
model railroad gauges.
The Adventure Cycling maps won't help me today. A man from Shawano
that I talked to at breakfast said there is a 25 mile detour between Crandon
and Shawano and that the detour makes US-32 a viable alternative. He suggested
that I ride all the way on 32. So, that's what I did. From Crandon, I climbed
a series of big hills. They seemed like ancient sand dunes or prehistoric
beaches.
This must be a historic railroad area, for at Laona, I saw some old (50's)
passenger train cars.
There was no indication of what they were doing there and nobody
in sight to ask.
South of Laona, I came upon a woman standing deep in the bushes along the
road. She was picking raspberries. She complained that I was taking her
picture in her "Sunday go-to-meetin clothes." It sure looked like
a dense raspberry patch.
I told her about the big bird I saw yesterday and she said she thought it
was an eagle; that she'd seen them in the area and had even photographed
one recently.
I enjoyed Wabeno, Wisconsin (pronounced "wuh-bean-oh").
The architecture was interesting and they had a wonderful museum dedicated
to the logging industry.
The most-prized piece in the museum collection was indeed unique
and interesting, a steam-powered Phoenix Log Hauler.
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This thing is NOT a locomotive. It just looks like one. It has
4 steam engines, but instead of wheels, it has bulldozer-like tracks (a
Phoenix sent to England during World War I became the model for the first
tank treads). This piece of machinery was used from around the turn of the
Century until 1929 to pull a string of sleighs heavily loaded with logs
to the sawmill at Wabeno. This is purported to be the ONLY working steam
log puller in existence and it is still operated twice per year by a citizen
committee. It was an impressive historic piece.
I was amazed to see how many logs two horses could pull.
As I departed from the museum, I spotted an interesting old car--a
Crosley--parked on the street. Gosh there is a lot of history around here.
 (I left the pickup in the picture for scale) |
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I can't remember when or where Crosleys were made. Perhaps somebody
can fill me in. [Note 12/96: I never heard from anybody].
Outside Carter, WI, I passed an Indian casino similar to the one near Watersmeet,
Michigan. This one also had a lodge and restaurant.
[Note 12/96: I just recalled that one summer early in my college years, I took my brother (who had I believe just graduated from high school) and a friend of his camping at Chain Lakes, Wisconsin. It seemed a lot more remote then (over 30 years ago). We camped at the back of a corn field on one of the lakes. We were city folks. I didn't realize that feed corn was different from sweet corn, so cooked up some feed corn for dinner. I was surprised to find it inedible. Also, I recall I was over 18 (the legal age in Wisconsin then to buy beer) so bought some for myself and my underage companions. What a bad influence I was.]
I stopped for lunch in Lakewood with 35.5 miles under my belt.
Coming out of Lakewood, the shoulder shrank down to about 15" and the
traffic started becoming heavy (1 car every 100 yards/meters). The stress
of watching out for cars coming from behind me brought on another migraine
headache.
A few miles past Lakewood, I noticed the first cornfield I'd seen since
1995.
When I left Michigan in May, there wasn't any corn yet. I didn't
see any corn between Fairbanks and this part of Wisconsin. I've missed having
corn on the cob. None of the restaurants I've dined at on this trip have
offered corn-on-the-cob.
At the town (one service station/convenience store) of Breed, the shoulder
on Route 32 completely dried up. There was no shoulder at all. The traffic
remained intense. I became real tense. I tried riding right down the middle
of the lane to halt the practice of passing me in the face of oncoming traffic.
It didn't work. The cars were passing me even if there was a double-yellow
line or a no passing sign. I was afraid a head-on collision would be caused
by one of those idiots.
I stopped at the service station and talked to the owner/mechanic. He said
that 32 remained shoulderless for the full 7 miles I intended to ride on
it. I was no longer willing to ride on 32. I had been petrified of getting
run over for several miles. I wanted a safer alternative. The mechanic got
out a county map (which he gave me) and showed me how I could proceed on
a snowmobile trail for 2.5 miles, then utilize a series of lightly traveled
back roads to get toward Shawano (pronounce "shaw no"). I did
it.
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Woodchucks had dug numerous holes in the trail bed. Sometimes
they were hard to see. My front wheel went into one such woodchuck hole
and I was going fast enough that the rear wheel swung around. I was surprised
to discover that my physical conditioning enabled me to stay upright, apply
power to the pedals, pull the front wheel out of the hole and recover my
momentum. I was really glad to have 1-3/8"-1-5/8" (37 mm) low
pressure (80 lbs) tires. This was a mountain biking experience: woodchuck
holes, soft sand, mud, loose gravel, etc. It was clear that this trail had
not been used by bicycles at all--that it was a snowmobile trail--heavily
grown over in some places with weeds.
When I finished riding on the trail, I reached a gravel road, where I turned
to the west. After only about 1/3 mile, I discussed my route with a man
getting the mail from his mailbox. He suggested I go back about 1/2 mile
east. I did that and it worked. For more than an hour I rode without any
significant traffic on a paved road.
I passed an old abandoned and collapsed schoolhouse on Red Bank Road.
Also on Red Bank Road, I passed a large church: Christ Lutheran
Church. It was a surprise out here in the cornfields.
As I got closer to Shawano, I was told also to avoid Hwy. R;
that traffic was too heavy with no shoulders there too. So, I plotted a
new course to a point where I could jump over to the Adventure Cycling route.
I passed a huge collection of rusting old cars (at least dozens--if not
hundreds). In the collection I was able to identify a 1961 Chevrolet Corvair
(I had one) and a 1948 Buick (my mother had one that I learned to drive
with). It was truly amazing. I asked a person getting mail from the mailbox
whether this was a personal collection of cars. They responded in the affirmative.
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As I got closer to Shawano, it became apparent that it was Saturday
night in a resort town. There were no vacancies. I stopped at a convenience
store, drank a bottle of juice and inquired about motels. They called several--all
were full. They called private cottage/resort owners--no vacancies.
I decided to go to the County Campground. What a weird place--a county campground
with a bar on site. The sign at the entrance said the campground was full,
but to check with the bartender. She advised me that there were no campsite
vacancies. I was tired and out of options, so I asked to talk to the manager.
They couldn't find him. I informed the bartender that I was going to camp
there, with or without the manager's blessing--that almost everywhere now
has a "never turn bicyclists away" policy. As I headed out toward
the campground, I saw the manager. He indicated that there was indeed a
policy there not to turn away bicyclists. He took my $13 and showed me where
to pitch my tent.
I pitched the tent and rode my mostly empty bike across the road to another
bar, where I ate a hamburger and fries and drank copious quantities of water.
Though I was in a bar, I decided I was too dehydrated to drink a beer. I
drank at least a gallon of water.
It was quite noisy at the campground when I got back, so I decided to buy
a beer in the County Campground bar. What a busy place; kids, teenagers
and adults all milling around, in and out of the bar. I had just a small
glass (10 oz) of beer, then crashed in my tent for the night.
Another Editorial on Bike Security
I should mention how I handle my bicycle and tent in a crowded campground.
I am far more nervous about the security of my bicycle and panniers in these
crowded places. I lock the bike to a picnic table, tree or whatever is available,
including power poles, plumbing, electrical conduit (the best--nobody is
likely to cut through a power line to steal a bike), etc. I then pitch my
tent as close as possible to the bike, so that I'll hear and feel any movement
of the bicycle in the night.
When I'm camping, I put everything in the tent and close the
tent up tight when I leave it to go to the restroom, breakfast or dinner.
There's no way to lock the tent, so I can only hope that not seeing anything,
folks won't be as tempted to steal it. If I'm particularly nervous, I'll
take the computer and handlebar bag with me--as I did tonight, but I usually
don't because I'm worried that I'll forget such things at the restaurant
or bar where I eat.
82 miles.
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© Ed Noonan 1996, 1997
