TSB rolls into Manitowoc, WI

First things first, I apologize for the lack of pictures. I've taken plenty, but have not found a library that offers the availability to upload them. They will come.

After leaving Algoma (which, if you're in the area, you ought to pass a day there), I headed south on 42. Semis barreled toward me, pushing their warm after-drafts against my body, forcing me to purse my lips and throw a shoulder into it. A mile or so down, the trail led to more country roads. They reminded me of the Farm, where I grew up. Barns nestled behind rows of evergreens with dogs and kids chasing each other in the open yard. Laundry on the line, waving like a rural flag. The ditch grasses stood to my knees and moved all as one organism, the way Brewers fans do the rally wave, only with less beer. When the wind gusts, the grasshoppers hop and get swept to middle of the road, then again to the other side of the road. "It's alright," I think. "No cars come down here, save the occasional Lincoln Towncar or Buick LeSabre." Then I see a squashed grasshopper. Even the old fogies do some damage, I guess.
It took little time to understand the "connecting routes" of the IAT. They're hot, they typically lack shade, and they're tough. The sun beats sharply on my vulnerable head. I consider the option of wrapping my bandanna around my neck, like I did on the Appalachian Trail, but it just seems too hot. From time to time, I dip into a cornfield for a moment of respite, or stand in the slender shadow of a telephone pole. Cars slow down when they pass me, eager to see the face of this rural vagrant. They look out the corner of their eye, then speed along, as if they never noticed me. I have a lot of time to think about this stuff. Trust me. I know it's strange, but you can ask all the questions you want. With about fifteen miles of road walking behind me, I am worn down, inching down Lakeshore Road with a bowed gait, recalculating every two minutes the distance to Father Marquette Memorial Park, where I intend to stealth camp. I put my thumb out for each car that passes, knowing that anyone who picks me up will take me the 1.5 miles to the park. One car passes, two cars, then a cop car (driven by a laughing and pointing cop), and finally a 75-year-old man named Dave (in a Lincoln). It took us at least ten minutes to get to the park, which gave me ample time to chat with him. He didn't quite understand the idea of the Trail, but he said he had a lot of respect for anyone who would consider doing it. He was a good man.
In the park, I napped for a spell while the neighbor gardened around her mansion with a little punt-me dog charging circles around her heals. She kept looking over at me. It was the first time I felt like a bum. My campsite was in the only spot signs forbade entering. Right on a small peninsula that reached into Lake Michigan. The waves lapped against the boulders next to me, singing a sweet song that careened me to my side and into a deep sleep.
The next day, after a morning hike along the Kewaunee River, I came to more road walking and knew my lower body couldn't handle it. I hitched a ride, expecting only to get to the main highway, but Russ drove me all the way to where the trail reconnected, about 20 miles out of the way. I think we both craved the companionship. I'd been getting lonely and wanted to hear a voice. We chatted the whole way about nothing at all. It was great to meet him and take a ride down the country roads with him. It's second only to the woods as a good spot to shoot the breeze. I was back in the woods.
Point Beach State forest to be exact. I saw my first owl of the hike. I had spooked it up high in an oak tree. I walked slowly, hoping to spend a moment with it. It launched from the bare branch, swooped low over my head, and out into a meadow. Owls are an experience to me. They carry with them an austere presence, an abased countenance, and they have been given the traditional role of the sylvan sage. Point Beach led me through wonderful stands of tall red oaks and red pines, then out to the pristine sands of Lake Michigan. The PBSF is a gem of the Wisconsin shoreline.
I leave my shoes under a shrub, next to my pack, and slip my feet into the Lake. The waves roll over my toes, back to my ankles and up my shins, wrapping around my sore calves. Then it recedes like a glacier, sliding under the next wave that performs equally. My heels sink in and drag my toes with them. I think about the ocean. I went with Natalie to the Pacific a few months ago and the view was similar. The vastness of it all assumes the same mysteries to ponder. The depth and width seem eternal. It's daunting to me and I have as much respect for Lake Michigan as I do for the oceans. They are all enigmatically majestic.
I bought a bike! That's right, a three speed granny cruiser that I named the Trinity Speed Bitch. I have a huge road section coming up and I'd hate to blow out my knees, leaving me stranded by a corn field. Instead, I'll ride the TSB all the way to the northern Kettle Moraine State Forest. Since this will dramatically economize timing, I may take a few side tours to small towns like Elkhart Lake, the home to a wedding I recently attended (congrats, Jesse and Liz). Many people have contacted me, asking to join me in the Kettles for the upcoming holiday. I hope people can be flexible. I want to join as many people as possible. An abundance of IAT volunteers have contacted me, offering showers, meals, shuttles, etc. I will take them all up on their graciousness. It will also abate the loneliness that I've come to accept and appreciate. The acceptance makes me feel more alone and less lonely. And really, who doesn't like to be cosseted here and there?
I hope TSB is still outside the library. Thank you for reading and wish me well on my latest knee issues!

Gandy Dancer

John and Lauren drove me up to Potawotami State Park a few days ago. It was a blast driving up with those two. They both want to maximize on the potential for fun. So, the whole way, we goofed about, laughing out our windows. We stopped at Lake Michigan (which we claimed as the ocean), dipped our feet in, and felt the chilly water lap up on our shins. Then, we stopped at a sunflower farm and took one for our own, furtively slicing off a yellow face and driving away with it. Lauren loved that.

After a hug, they drove away from the trailhead and south to Sturgeon Bay. I did the same, on foot. The trail travelled through open stands of oak. I walked beneath a waving canopy. The breeze dropped down from time to time to cool off my enthusiastic smile. Soon, I hit road and walked through a town that I came to realize was Sturgeon Bay. John and Lauren were still there (only 2 hours) and we met for a drink and free soup at a happy hour bar. What a way to start a hike through Wisconsin! He also returned my knife I loaned him to cut off the sunflower head.

That night, I watched a softball tournament until dark and eventually made my way to a cornfield, which acted as the side of a six-foot corridor, with a hedgerow on the other side. It was stealth camping, which I will have to do the entire way along the trail. The next morning, I woke with the sun and ate a tortilla with peanut butter next to the scraping corn stalk leaves. It's nice to get going so early in the morning. The air is cool and I can't feel the humidity as harshly. The entire day followed an old railroad bed, now a straight shot of crushed gravel with a verdant tunnel arching over me. I could for miles down that straight trail. Anyone with any sense of humor has to laugh at that when they know they're going to walk through it. It's disheartening to see, but slowly the trail mindset eases into place and I realize that I'm not trying to get anywhere, so I may as well keep going. The roads are great to cross. They feel like state-lines felt on the AT. A nice little landmark that symbolizes progress. It's fun to imagine the history of the railroad, knowing that gandydancers slugged away at the earth, and firemen, hands packed with coal and calluses, stoked the fires below the cars, and engineers, faces weathered and eyes afixed screamed the trains up and down the Lake Michigan coast.

I take a lot of breaks. Every few miles, I sit down in front of a nice view of an old barn or a silo peaking out of an ocean of corn. I sit and drink water, jot a few notes in my notebook, or read a page of Population: 485 by Michael Perry. It's an appropriate read for my situation. It's a humorous and tragic book about getting reacquainted with a place he had once loved. I feel his words strongly and I get a real hoot out of his insight into Wisconsin culture.

In Forestville, I stopped, considering finding a place to camp, as I had done more miles than I had expected for the day. I was tired and my body ached. Forestville is a quiet town where it was clear who was from town and who was not. Whether by the vehicle they drove or the pattern of speech, I could decipher, while eating a brat outside of the gas station, who was passing through to get to the peninsula to eat cherries and play on the bay. I sent home a few things that I immediately recognized as worthless and chatted for an hour with the Post Office worker. We had a good laugh together, although it was my recognition of her accent that really heightened the experience.

Someone told me it was only 11:30 in the morning so I immediately packed up my lighter pack and kept walking. "Two more miles and I'll camp next to the Ahnapee River," I told myself. Within a minute of that I saw a sign warning me of incarceration if I stepped off the trail. A little harsh, I thought. All the land around the river was marsh or residential, and by that time, I was feeling pretty good. My lower joints all hurt and every muscle stretching the length of the backs of my legs pierced, but my mind was strong. That's all that matters. If I let my mind wander, the pain abates. It's easy.

Leaving the marshy land, I spied an opening in an evergreen stand. I hopped off trail, risking the potential of lawful punishment, and set camp. Again, my routine of water, writing, and reading, went along until I fell asleep. It was a deep sleep. I woke and saw the clouds had been replaced by blue skies. With a bag of peanut M&Ms in my pack, I couldn't resist. Natalie had sent me away with those. She knows me all too well. I call it the simple man's GORP. Again, I abandoned the idea of camping.

Algoma was only a few miles away and I had to resupply food. So, I figured I'd camp a mile outside of town. At Ahnapee State Trails Campground, Joe the caretaker gave me a free spot to sleep. It rained like hell last night. The wind whipped rain against my tent for a couple hours, bending my tent poles down to my knees, then popping back up with the echoing cacophony of thunder. Lighting lit up the inside of my portable abode and water began seeping through everywhere.

By morning, the rain had stopped and again I woke at sunrise. The hike into Algoma this morning was wonderful. A cool breeze swept through my hair and beard, glittering my face with mist. I'm really feeling the love for Wisconsin that I grew up with. It foments my ardor for hiking and ensures that the Trail is for me.

"Forward!" as the state motto goes.
 

Snail Shell

I understood from the Appalachian Trail that I should lack expectations for the future and be ever open to alternative routes. Good thing I was prepared because last night around a bonfire at John's house, his girlfriend Lauren expressed a deep concern for my travelling by bicycle up to Sturgeon Bay. While there was no concern about the three months to follow, she clarified to me that she would not allow it. Being more inclined to appease than to argue, I told her I'd sleep on it and inform her, come sunrise.

At about 7:30, my brother creaked open the door to the basement and grumbled down to me that he got the day off and that he and Lauren were going to drive me up to the eastern terminus after breakfast. I thought for a moment about the dissonance coming from the bike with each pedal, the entirely-too-short frame, and the the lack of space to carry my pack on the bike. All things considered, an easy choice. Plus, my anticipation for the beginning of another journey burgeons every minute. I had to start soon.

So, in about a half hour, we'll leave the bike behind, and drive up to Door County. It will be a sojourn for them and the commencement of a full-on adventure for me. It's been good to pass time around Oconomowoc and to visit with old friends and John. I'll see them all again in a few weeks as the trail will lead me to within only a few miles of where I sit right now.

I intend also to write a post about the trip back to Oconomowoc and the time spent here. For now, I have to pack up the last of my belongings into my snail shell of a backpack, and head to the Trail.

Heading Back to Wisconsin

Tomorrow morning, I will drive from Steamboat Springs, CO, to Oconomowoc, WI, to see my brother and a few friends. There, I will finish preparations for my hike across Wisconsin via the Ice Age Trail.