THE 3/10th GRAVEL TRIP
It was fairly early on in the trip, that I almost beefed it on a curve. Came up too fast. Curve too steep.
Brakes. Heart in throat. Let go.
Still too fast. Brakes. Heart in throat again.
Let go. Breathe. Grass, grass, grass. Recover.
That's about as dangerous as it got, on the back roads of Wisconsin.
On Saturday morning, my friend and I packed our bikes, slapped on our gear and headed North/West, on a trip that we were suppose to have completed last year. Due to some hardships, we had to cut it short. This time, armed with more riding experience (on my part, he's got plenty), we hit the road ahead of the sun, onto the one lane highways that crisscross the American midwest.
Sun at our backs, coms working perfectly, we drifted effortlessly through those back roads up to Lake Geneva, where we had a delightful breakfast, right on the lake. It wasn't on the menu, but Eggs Benedict was what I asked for, and the little cafe, whose name I can't recall, obliged with enthusiasm.
Onto New Glauris we went. 300 miles to cover before day's end. Twisty, narrow roads. With dangerous gravel all over the place. The turn based directions in our ears, giving us shady recommendations. And almost always, too late.
3/10th of a mile, make a turn... to somewhere unknown.
New Glauris, a great little city tucked away into Wisconsin wilderness, packs a great, local punch. There's a brewery, and it is nothing if not scenic. There are culinary delights on every corner. We ate a light lunch, deciding against staying too long, and hit the road once more.
More twists. More turns. Up into the forests. Down into the fields. Throttle up. Easy on the brakes. The front ones especially. They'll bite you every single time.
We called it a night on Lake Wisconsin. Small little motel, near a bar and grill with a pretty view on both sides of the road that pierced the lake right through.
We changed and ate. Smoked some cigars. Drank just a little bit. Live music. Amazing sunset.
And then our phones died and mine wouldn't charge. Losing all the videos and photos I took along the way. Curse you, Apple.
Awww. I can't stay mad at you Apple. Ok, let's detour to Madison. They'll fix me right up, there in Madison.
With a new phone, put away protectively in my gas tank bag, we punched it back toward where we'd be eating dinner. A place where you grill your own steak. Something every man should know how to do. Correctly.
Medium Rare. You've been warned.
What can be said about taking a motorcycle trip like this. Memories get made, despite the loss of digital ones. Friendships harden. Stories get told. Half naked farmer's daughters run across the field, from barn to barn.
It happens. No big deal. Until the next one.