Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
|
Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
|
|
Day 3 I slept well in the cool night air of Wisconsin, and was ready to get back on the road this morning. I was putting the finishing touches on packing when a lady in a maroon SUV stopped and asked me if I had seen her black and white cat. I hollered back to her- "ain't seen her m'am, but check over by the trash bins" I cleaned the bugs off the Arai, and suited up. I left Waupaca on a very quiet Sunday morning. I had the city and highway to myself. Traffic lights were blinking red as I made my through town. I made a wrong turn on my way out of town, but quickly noticed it and got back on SR 22. The morning was cloudy, and I assumed the low pressure system, that had parked itself over the northeast a few days ago, was still there. It was a quiet, scenic ride out of Waupaca. I put in some quality time with myself as the ST homed in on the Upper Peninsula. I stopped to take a pic, but my Pentax is not working. I assume it to be a bad battery, but the low battery light is not saying that. I will check on it when I get to Canada. In the mean time, I found a gas mart thing and bought a throw away. Paid way too much for it, but I had no choice, I needed it. I poked my way past a local cruiser as I entered Shawano, a silent village not far from the Packer crazy city of Green Bay. In fact, Packer memorabilia can be found at most any store or gas station in Wisconsin. SR 22 follows Main Street through town, then my nose catches scent of something. I round a curve and my senses prove correct- its pickle barrels. As I ride by I can see a small tank farm, and several workers unloading a truck of green cucumbers. I pull the ST to the side and go in for a closer look. Its a small operation, about 50, 300 bushel tanks. A mixture of old and middle age man are working the barrels and unloading the truck. Conveyor belts carry cucumbers up and over to the holding tanks. They have several of the contraptions linked together to unload the truck, a primitive method. I left the pickle business 25 years ago, and even the operation we used was light years ahead of this. I walked up the wood steps and for the first time in 25 years I was close to a pickle operation. The smell strikes my senses, and instantly I am transported back. The heading method was the same as we used at Alaga Whitfield. I could see the wooden box on the side of each tank, used by brine crews to check the salt content of each tank. The old man running the belt seemed surprised I knew what it was for- "most folks would never know that" "yeah but I ain't most folks" Salt was shoveled directly into each tank, instead of the premix we used at Alaga. These folks are indeed way behind the times. On most of my encounters I hear someone else's story, but today, the old man listens to mine. He seemed genuinely interested in it. When I finished at the pickle plant, I stopped at local bank and used the ATM.
Traffic was less of a issue in this area of Wisconsin, as population centers began to thin out. Rain clouds began to thicken as I followed SR 22. Through the villages of Gillett, Cecil, and Oconto Falls I went. Each town now coming to life on this Sunday morning. Churches began to fill and coffee shops were getting crowded. A detour greeted me in Oconto. I followed the signs through city back streets. I rolled pass the rows of wood frame houses, the most common construction type outside the deep south. Until I became a Long Rider, I did not notice that. A lot poor folks in Alabama have brick homes, because the cost of living is so much less. Two hundred K puts you in the finest neighborhood in Prattville. Total brick homes of 2,000 sq ft. on a half acre lot. The local baseball field comes into view, and I see a game is about to begin. The players look to be 11-12 yrs old. They are playing ball on a Sunday morning? I see the name of a city from down the highway on the team in white. This is a tournament game, probably sub district. The 2 teams are battling it out trying to earn a spot to Williamsport and the World Series, but to get there you have to win a series of tournaments. Sub district, district, state, sub region and regions. Its a long process and these 2 teams are just starting out. I assume they are playing on Sunday because of a series of rain outs, and the tournament is way behind. There is a good chance they won't get this game in today, so they better hurry and get started. A few blocks later I stopped at Citgo station and gassed up. I bought a Mountain Dew and Payday bar and took a break. I've covered 102 blissful miles so far this morning. It was fun seeing a pickle plant again. I left Oconto on US 41 north and crossed into Michigan about 40 miles later. The morning was still gray and cool. In Menominee I switched to SR 35. The highway traces the edge of Lake Michigan. The route is marked as scenic in my atlas, but I fail to agree. Its ok, but nothing great. Lunch time found me at Escanaba in a Denny's like place. The sky was really dark, when I went in the restaurant. The place was busy, and I took a stool at the bar and placed my gear on the one next to me. The accent in this area is quite pronounced and I fear there is going to be a communications gap. I was right, because I was asked several times by the waitress to repeat my order of pizza burger and coke. A loud pack of Harleys rumbled by as I ate, heading to the dark clouds in the east. After lunch I walked slowly back to the ST. The air looked like it was going to burst any second. Bright flashes streaked across the sky. I knew I was going to get blasted. I pulled the rain cover over the Moto Fizz and battened down the hatches. I hit the starter and rolled out of the parking lot. A few blocks later the bottom fell out and I was up to the pegs in water. I kept my wits. I knew storms this fierce seldom were very large, and it is possible to ride out of them in just a few miles, and that is what happened. I broke free into partly cloudy skies about 10 miles. I followed US 2 East across the UP. I have to say, I was disappointed with the riding. Not enough scenery and too many cars. I was stuck behind long lines of weekend traffic. Near Gulliver I saw the sign for the Seul Choix Lighthouse, so took a side trip to check it out. It was ok, but nothing special.
By now all I wanted was to get out of the UP, and meet up with my friends in Sault St. Marie. I turned left at SR 117 and bolted over to the SR 28 cut off. The landscape here is mostly timberland. A few miles after turning on 28 I found a Exxon station and gassed up, and took a butt break with a bag of chips and a Dew. I checked a few messages and got back on the road, heading for more dark clouds. When I saw the sign for Chippewa County, the old Gordon Lightfoot song got stuck in my head. " The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, on the big lake they call Gitcheegume." Now I kind of know what those lyrics mean. The concert was short lived as I hit another thunder squall. This one knocked me for a loop, as I battled strong winds and torrential rain. Visibility went down to just a few feet, but I continued on, despite the fact many 4 wheelers were taking the shoulder. It took almost 15 miles to break out of it. At last I broke out into a little sun, and the ramps of I-75 came into view. I took the north bound lane and hammered on to the Soo. It felt good to get away from the long lines of cars. A short ride later I crossed the bridges and came down to the border crossing. It was nothing like last year near Niagara, where I was drilled for 10 minutes before being allowed to pass. This time I was on my way in 1 minute. I'm in the Soo, but have no idea where the motel is. I know the name of the street where it can be found, but can't find it as I ride up and down the city. With eyes scanning traffic for trouble, I keep looking. Finally I give up, and go in a car rental place for some help. I asked the young lady behind the desk- "look here sweetie, I'm tryin to find the Quality Inn" "ohhhhhhh aren't you a long way from home" "yeah I am baby, and I'm lost as heck" "well I can get YOU in the right direction, I even have a map" "awwwwww ain't you sweet" With a map and good directions it was easy, and a few minutes later I find the motel and enter the back parking lot and come around to the front to meet the gang. West and Brenda are on the scene, and so is Coop. I also see JerryR, and ST stalwart Rob Hart. I learned I was not the only rider soaked today, and rode 310 rainy miles. It seemed I went further. I get unloaded and up to the room. I'll be rooming with Coop for the tour, because it's a known fact he doesn't snore. About an hour later Uncle Phil arrives with his wife on pillion. Other riders began to filter in, and we hang around outside kicking tires. Brenda Grundt is serving as ride marshal and she announces the meeting time for supper, so I go upstairs for a shower. We taxied the short distance to the restaurant. I don't remember the name but Docks was in the title somewhere. I ordered the fish and chips and chatted with my good friend Rob Hart- "dang brother they let me right on through the border crossing this time" "well yeah, thats because you're already in the system" It was a great social gathering and after supper Rob invited us back to his room for more. We hung around till it was getting kind of late, and then we were off to bed. It was fun getting to see my old friends and meeting new ones. I was going to watch the news, but the bed felt so good I passed out. I don't even remember brother Coop turning the lights out. Next: Train ride to Agawa Canyon. Lots of fun.
|
