Libraries, Glaciation

Well, I rode TSB back up to Two Rivers to stay with a new friend Dolly. She offered shower, bed, and nourishment. It was a great time and felt wonderful to start the next day without grease matting down my hair. Dolly is a member of the IAT Alliance and has initiated a program on the trail called ColdCache, similar to geocaching, but instead of finding an ammo box of odd amulets, the seeker finds a specific feature of the Trail (often glacial) and has to answer some questions about it to gain credit. After a certain amount of success, one can earn a series of patches. The program's a great way to get young people on the trail through school programs, etc.

Slowly, I rode out of Two Rivers again and straight through Manitowoc, onto a huge road section, connecting a major gap in the desultory Trail. I took my time, deviating from the route and visiting nearby towns like Elkhart Lake and Valders. The small towns are great. Most are quiet with everyone at work. Streets are lined with taverns and small stores, usually named after last names like Huber, Steiner, Kuhtz, and other wholly German roots. I've come to appreciate a theme of the AT and the IAT. In almost every town, I make the point of finding the library to maintain contact (through email) with friends and family, and to check for more people with interest in joining my expedition. The libraries throughout the country vary in size, literary content, friendliness, and, notably, temperature. Kurt Vonnegut once said that libraries would save our country in the long run. I'm not sure what that means, but I have to agree. The quietude and hour of peace that I experience is different than that of the trail, but it's equally relaxing. Like the glaciers, libraries stand to help shape a community, serving as a refuge for young people during summer break and for elderly people researching a topic that piqued their interest in the local newspaper. The building itself engenders the feel of a permament landmark, inundated with history, both of the workers and the rolodex of literature.  

In Elkhart Lake, I sat with an ice cream cone the size of my forearm and decided with my last bite that I'd hike part of the Northern Kettle Moraine State Forest that day. So, I meandered out of town and rode the five miles to the forest where the Trail picked up. The bike had to stay at the trailhead and my gut cringed as I walked away from it, like abandoning a dog in a house for a week. It is nestled back in some woods in case I want to go back for it later, but it seemed to pout at me as our proximity lengthened. The Kettles were amazing. It's one of the only sections I'd hiked in the past. Some spots were familiar. The maples and oaks reached high above me, the canopy shading my Trail. For much of the walk, the only steady life around was the thick trunks barring me onto the path. It was in a way eerie. But it was also familiar and it offered a sense of comfort. The trail rose up on esker ridge lines, around small kettles, over drumlins, and circumnavigating arboreally riddled kames. It was a walk through geological history. To think that glaciers covered this state, advancing and retreating, depositing earth in seemingly arbitrary spots. It literally shaped the state and now, over 10,000 years later, I can traverse all these features that we think we have completely figured out. Nothing's for sure and nothing ever will be. It's nice to know that I've placed my feet in a moment of time just as relevant as any. The preservation of such places by people like Raymond Zillmer, Dolly, and the IAT Alliance is as fascinating and inspirational as the natural development of the area.

The Kettles have a shelter system. A camper is supposed to reserve sites and pay a fee. I thought up a good story each day to obviate a ranger's demand for the fee. I never saw a ranger. But, the first night, I got to a shelter eight miles in and found three people camping with a fire already started. We got to talking. They're all students at UW-Stevens Point, my alma mater. Not only that, but they all met through a wilderness program I attended and later worked for, called Pathways to Point. We talked all night about everything we could. I couldn't help but offer some advice from my time up there, including skinny dipping in Lake Joanis, being sure to take Eric Anderson's classes, and how to get free meals when they're out of the dorms and off the meal plan. I hope to see them up in Point as I pass that way. I'll probably squeeze out a free meal.

The rest of the Kettles were great. I camped alone from then on, which was nice in the deep woods. That section brought to mind the Appalachian Trail and its ruggedness. I look forward to getting more of that experience, maybe in the Southern Kettles.

I'm in West Bend now, about to head out to the trail. Yesterday, my friend Eva and her family brought me in (they live 100 yards off the trail) for lake swimming and meals. Gordy, Eva's father, is a vintner and it happened to be the day to rack the wine. This means to syphon it out of primary jugs into secondary jugs in order to dispose of the sediment. While doing that (I didn't actually do anything), we drank a bottle of wine from the 237th 5-gallon batch, a 2006 Door County Cherry batch. It got me a bit crocked and I had to swim off the buzz in the lake. The three of us floated silently for a while, then chatted a few minutes, and floated a bit more. We took the canoe across the lake to the only other pier, and harvested water crests foo a meal of beats, feta, and our newest harvest. It went well with a savory venison dog, in true Wisconsin spirit.
It was great to see Eva and meet the Heules. The meals and company were equally fulfilling. The hospitality was above and beyond anything I'd expect, but the Heules are a generous bunch. I now can walk for a day in clean shorts and socks, with something new to think about.