Teen Treks

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We woke with the swiftness of Germanicus’ legion, quiet and efficient as top of the line Cuisinart kitchen appliances. Our quarry was neither Visigoth, Hun, Gaul nor Vandal. Rather, Miles, of which sixty stood between us and the charming capital of America’s Dairyland. We slew them quietly and mercilessly in The Driftless, the last falling beneath our clip-ins as the sun crowned a sky the color of oxidized copper. 

The riches of the city lay at our feet… bike shops, pizza, book stores, and hobby shops   lent ample fodder with which to fill our bindles ‘n bellies. Yet these trifling materialities would pale like sun bleached arm hairs in the face of an even greater gift which lay blocks from Badger country, for we were welcomed into a lovely home by Lela’s parents, Emily and Ankur.

Despite stalwart Trekker Lela being away on another outdoor adventure, Emily and Ankur graciously saved us from a night in weather stormier than the Etta James classic.

A relaxed evening saw us lounging and puttering about the nearby shops, turning another blistering day into one of our more restful and peaceful. 

Lela joined in spirit for our pre-coma glamour shot, then we tucked in as the cumulonimbus curtains pulled back to reveal their late night entertainment. Thunderous  drums, electric  guitar and plenty of wind rocked the trees until the transformers blew louder than Satchmo on steroids.

We are grateful to our hosts for sparing us from the wrath of rain deities and giving us a delicious spoonful of Madison to steel us for our two-day sortie into Second City.

We rode from Brewster to Chatham and back. We lost the older Charlie at a pizza place when his aunt picked him up because he wasn’t feeling well. It was great to have him and the trip won’t be the same without him. Then we went to the pier and saw seals. They were hanging out by the fishing boats waiting for the crew to throw them a scrap to eat. We decided to take the bike path back to camp to avoid some busy rodes. On the way we played 100 bottles of beer while we rode our bikes. Then we built a fire and Gunner and the food crew cooked burgers.

A mighty storm blew in last night, rattling our tent poles like animal bones. Felines and canines pelted the rooftop of our little pavilion at Laura Ingalls Wilder Park, but somehow Mateo stayed dry while sleeping outside. He credits the mobility of domicile-free sleeping, though he may actually be a meteorological shaman of sorts…

Our goal today was La Crosse, WI 

, a town named for the oldest organized sport in North America whose stick resembled a bishop’s crozier, or ‘la crosse’ en Francais.

La jeu de la crosse can be traced back at least as far as the 12th century, when it was played with teams of 100 to 1000 over fields miles long.

From Wikipedia: “These games lasted from sunup to sundown for two to three days straight and were played as part of ceremonial ritual… Early lacrosse was characterized by deep spiritual involvement, befitting the spirit of combat in which it was undertaken. Those who took part did so in the role of warriors, with the goal of bringing glory and honour to themselves and their tribes. The game was said to be played “for the Creator” or was referred to as “The Creator’s Game.”

Anyways, we didn’t end up in La Crosse. 

Our ride took us just north to Onalaska, and despite heat that could melt a Denny’s sous chef’s slip resistant soles,  we had a grand slam of a ride, managing to stay close together as a party of 8, which made the miles go down like eggs and bacon with a steaming mug of arabica.

Like ducklings over a charred marshmallow roadway we waddled past lily lined lakes and fields bursting with corn 

 destined for the tummies of gluttonous Yankees.

Our sweat sizzled like syrup stuck to a griddle until we cooled off with ice cream and air conditioned retail flooring, to the delight of the workers, who deemed it ‘bleeping awesome’. The group vetoed mint chocolate chip, which had served three consecutive terms ala FDR, so we had “Truman” Vanilla and “Eisenhower” Cookie Dough. In terms of group preferences, Doughy Defeats Truman.

Our last 23 mile split went by in a blinding flash, and we doubled down on DQ before a Philadelphia Experiment-ish protein pancake dinner at the park.

One more atomic day tomorrow, but the mileage will be lesser and we have already penciled in a swim after our early, cooler start. We hope this new deal will usher in an era of bikepacking prosperity which will see the Across American Dream made real for all who wish to attain it. 

We woke up early, prepared and a bit nervous for our first day of covering notable mileage on the bikes. After a calm morning of breakfast and packing tents, we maneuvered out of Provincetown, pointing our front wheels down the Cape. We had 30+ miles ahead of us, packed with scorching sun and steep punchy climbs. After a difficult morning overcoming a few emotional breakdowns and a big challenge to our spirits, a quick lunch at a local eatery provided some shade and a chance to refuel. A local also advised us on a shadier route than our original plan. After lunch we followed beautiful rural roads that wound along marshy shorelines. Leader Aaron made the fatal mistake of trusting the navigation on Google maps, leading to 3 extra miles on sandy and hilly backroads. After lots of intense emotions and a near Lord of the Flies style uprising, the group finally located the bike path that would take us all the way to our destination, Nickerson State Park. We enjoyed 12 more miles of lovely, shady bike path, miles that passed quickly as we found ourselves distracted in comradery and soon at camp for the night, still hours before sunset. Pizza for dinner capped off an excellent day, one marked by the first real challenge in which the trekkers rose to the occasion and realized how strong we all really are!