Trempealeau

It wasn’t only the convincing impersonation of Florida humidity and heat.

There was more to it than the 20-plus miles on muddy double track with the back wheel of our tandem disconcertingly fishtailing between bunny hops of ever-larger fallen limbs athwart the trail.

Our missed turn and uphill mile in the wrong direction was not the worst of it, though it did begin it.

Here’s what it means: Maps are only as good as the people who read them.

This day was our longest mileage of the week. We got a late start, waiting around for breakfast at our new friends’ place rather than the early getaway I’d intended. We did meet up with two nice couples staying at the Dead & Breakfast, have a delicious meal, and get a great departure photo out of the deal, but we also did not take our first pedal stroke until the heat had already risen before we pedaled back into Wisconsin.

The maps did not foretell the road work we would run into on the Great River Road. We encountered a half dozen bridge repairs through the marshy delta of the Trempealeau River, each involving one-lane crossings governed by unstaffed traffic lights.

This meant six construction zones with a standing wait in direct sun next to idling traffic followed by a mad scramble after all the backed-up vehicles heading in our direction had passed (or alternatively, being impatiently close-passed on shoulderless one-lane bridges), desperately trying to reach the other end within the time allotted by the automatic traffic signals so we would not face oncoming impatient traffic released by a green light in the contra lane coming toward us. I am happy to report there was some patience exhibited by Wisconsin drivers that was greatly appreciated.

The heat, the distance, and the surface challenges all conspired to steal from us the ability to appreciate the route’s merits and the remarkable landscape we traveled through. The marshy grassland and wooded upland were lovely, if only we could have enjoyed them in the heat. On the road between trails we limped into the village of Trempealeau and soaked up air conditioning, sugary soda, and ice cream at the bike shop on the main drag. We were past re-charging our stores of energy and LaCrosse was not getting any closer, so it was by determined effort we mounted the tandem once again for the final 13 miles. Fortune was with us, to start. The way out of Trempealeau soon followed tree-shaded lanes and pasture-flanked paved trails. The going was slow.

When we emerged into LaCrosse we topped a small rise and were hit in the face with a knock-down headwind.

“Aw, man. Not fair,” I muttered.

“Not fair!” Avery shouted. He may have shaken his fist at the sky, too.

We did make it. We did shower. We did Uber to dinner. It was a tough day, but it was a great meal with my son. Over steaks and (root) beers, even so soon after the rough patch, we could already laugh about it and savor our time together.

Then, as challenging as this day was, my mind turned to our day ahead, the forecast portending a day on the bike that could be even less pleasant. Raise a glass now before the wind blows tomorrow.