Day 43: Into Iowa, Skinny Dipping, Myrtle The Turtle

Day 43:  Friday July 18th, 2014.
La Crosse, WI to Prairie Du Chien, WI.  66.7 miles.

Up early, and reluctant to leave such a beautiful setting, I was fortunate to not have to decide whether or not to stay another day.  A wedding and reception scheduled for the weekend prompted the resort to setup tables, chairs, runners, and decorations, all unfolding around my site as I was packing up.  My site was in the middle of it all, and thus not available for the weekend.

The Great River Road continues South on both the Minnesota side as well as the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi.  I could take either route, and decided to follow the Minnesota side for the first part of the day.  Leaving the island, I pedaled over the river to La Crescent, then proceeded South, continuing to ride the floodplain along the bluffs.

As the road merged with the river, an overlook provided a great expansive view of the Upper Mississippi River National Wildlife and Fish Refuge.  Stretching 261 river-miles from Wabasha, Minnesota to near Rock Island, Illinois, it has been a haven for fish, wildlife, and people since 1924 while protecting 240,000 acres of Mississippi River floodplain.

A sign at the site explains that this refuge hosts 306 species of birds, more than 250 bald eagle nests, 5,000 heron and egret nests in 15 colonies, 50% of the world's canvasback ducks, 20% of Eastern U.S. tundra swans, 51 species of mammals, 42 species of freshwater mussels, 119 species of fish, and 3.7 million visitors per year.

About 25 miles down the road, I crossed the state line from Minnesota into Iowa.  I had been skirting back and forth along the Minnesota and Wisconsin line over the past few days.  This was my final departure from Minnesota.  With "Fields of Opportunities", Iowa will be the 8th state I will be riding in.

Highlighting the scenic, but rugged topography immediately surrounding the flat floodplain along the Great River Road of Iowa, I was now on the "Driftless Area Scenic Byway".

Greeting me across the state line was the town of New Albin (pop. 522).  By now, I was pretty hungry, and looking for a place to eat.  On the main highway heading through this small town is a red barn-like building with a few small windows and one door.   There's no sign out front to indicate what might be inside.  The only hint I could work with was the neon signs in the windows, one for Budweiser, the other for Bud Light.  I decided to peek my head in the door, hoping it was a place to eat.

Inside, a full bar with tables, a few of them occupied by locals taking a lunch break.  This was a classic small-town eatery - a bar and grill, with the expected menu items presented on the wall-mounted menu board.  I had the 4-piece fried chicken with hash browns and coleslaw.  While eating at a corner table near the bar, I took in the scene.

A TV at the end of the bar played old episodes of Bonanza.  A sign over the hard liquor bottles read, "Taking my husband shopping is like going hunting with the game warden".  At the other end, a waitress chatting with a customer was asking, "Are you going to gather up bales of hay this weekend?"

Just then, a short, overweight man in his 60's wearing overalls and a plaid shirt walked into the bar.  The waitress already knew what he wanted.  She pulled out a cheap large bottle of wine, the bottle chilled and half full, the contents tinted pink, pulled a glass out, setting it in front of him as he arrived at his seat, and poured almost to the rim.  I looked away as I dove into another piece of chicken.  It could not have been more than 2 minutes before the wine in his glass was consumed.  He was already hailing the waitress down, signaling that he had made room in his now-empty glass for a second pour.  After about 10 minutes, his was finished, the second glass consumed, his check paid, and he was walking out the door to resume the day's work.  I could only hope that he was headed North, away from my route.

I cautiously headed South for another 12 miles to Lansing, Minnesota.  It was here that I would cross over the Mississippi River for the last time, transitioning back into Wisconsin, and leaving my trusty Adventure Cycling Route to make my way towards Chicago.  The Adventure Cycling route would have taken me further South in Iowa to Muscatine (near Davenport), before turning East heading through Northern Illinois, but avoiding the greater Chicago region all-together.  I needed to find a way to get into downtown Chicago in anticipation of my Wife's arrival on the 22nd of July.

Like a green beacon of light signaling my transition, I came upon a giant 2-scoop ice cream cone near the bridge crossing, at "The Skinny Dip" ice cream shack.

Their slogan, "Life is like ice cream - enjoy it before it melts!"  Not too clever.  But nonetheless, I stopped for a chocolate shake before proceeding.  The large group of motorcyclists behind me followed my lead as well, and the picnic table seating out front next to the road was suddenly bustling.

While eating my thick shake made of real ice cream with a spoon, I used the bicycle routing feature within Google Maps to calculate my route options.  I also had some recommendations from my Uncle Mike and Cousin Fay to determine the best way to go.  It was here that I realized the value of the maps I had been using all along.  Would Google Maps send me down a road with wider shoulders, smoother surfaces, bike lanes, less road construction, less traffic, not too steep, less blind curves, with services along the way, etc.?  I could only hope so, and chose what I thought would be the safest way to go using insight from my family.

Finishing the shake, and now feeling a bit heavier, I made my way over the all-metal bridge out of Lansing and into Wisconsin.   At the end of the bridge, I turned right and pedaled South on Highway 35, still following the Mississippi River in the floodplain, anxious about the inevitable departure I would have to make from it's edge, heading Eastward and having to climb up onto the bluffs, even though it wouldn't be until tomorrow that I would have to make the climb.

Whenever the road would dip down to the level of the river, wetlands would surround me, beaming with life.  In one such location, I watched as a large turtle  (I'll refer to her as "Myrtle"), her neck extended and head swaying back and forth, attempted to "dart" across the highway from the other side of the road.  There was a decent amount of traffic on this day, and vehicles were passing by in both directions at fairly frequent intervals, probably between 55 and 70 mph.

Myrtle was just as oblivious to the imminent danger ahead as the drivers of the oncoming cars.  As her neck crossed over the white line on the left, an oncoming car rounded the bend.  I was about 100 feet away, and I held my breath, neither Myrtle nor the car making any effort to deviate from their path to avoid a collision, Myrtle's momentum still moving forward.  Yet, somehow, as they passed each other in a fraction of a second, no collision occurred, and Myrtle hadn't noticed a thing.  I gasped for air, still moving forward myself, perpendicular to her path.

With Myrtle now in the center of the oncoming lane crawling towards the double-yellow, the driver of another car rounding the bend veers over the double-yellow line and into the opposite lane to avoid the creature.  Phew!

As I was now about 25 feet away from the scene, Myrtle now on the double-yellow, I glanced in my side mirror to see a large bus behind me, a second away from passing, that had veered into the middle of the road to give me more room, but consequently in a head-on trajectory with Myrtle.  

It was a split-second, the bus passing right over the top of Myrtle.  She disappeared from my sight at that moment.  I thought it was the end.  As her profile re-emerged, her arms, legs, and head were gone.  There wasn't any contact that occurred between the bus and Myrtle.  But, she noticed that time, and instinctively retreated to safety in her shell, as if that would have protected her. Her nose slowly emerged, then the rest of her head, trying to sense if her predator was gone.  Then, her legs popped back out and she was once again on the move.  By this time, I was alongside her.

I had to do something.  But, it was tricky, as cars trying to give me room, mainly, weren't focusing on avoiding her.  I stopped quickly, spending no time to carefully lay my bike down on the ground or lean it up against something as I usually do.  The bike flopped over on the shoulder, I saw an opportunity to run out and move her.

Still not having completely departed the double-yellow, I reached down from behind to grab her.  Her neck extended out, she whipped back around and snapped at my hand.  WHOA!  That was a close one.  No time to spare, I used my foot to slide her like a hockey puck across the lane.  Her feet clinging to  the pavement, she didn't move far.

As a car was approaching, slowing in response to the scene, I grabbed the edges of Myrtle's shell and carried her over to the shoulder next to my bike, her legs flailing around all the while.  She was heavy.  I took a quick picture, then used my foot to push her off the road completely, where she crawled down the slope headed to the marshland, her original destination.

I felt good about saving her, as the roads of the past 2000+ miles of my trip have been littered with a tremendous amount of death.  Far more than anyone would see from the vantage point of a car, I've witnessed over and over, a constant reminder of the toll that roads and their traffic take, a diverse and repetitive display of those who didn't make it.  I've thought about taking photos of the road kill I pass, sometimes curious about the species I encountered.  But, I would have to stop all-too-frequently to make any progress.

Most common, probably passing by at least 10-20 per day, are birds.  Many of them with intense colors of bright red, yellow, green, and sometimes blue, are often found on the shoulder, sometimes hidden slightly from the view of oncoming cars by grasses.  They're light and delicate, probably resulting in an impact that goes unnoticed by drivers.  Also very common are snakes, with turtles and frogs becoming equally as common East of Fargo.  I also pass by the remains of larger animals daily, often alerted to their presence by the smell, but also having to weave around them.  Deer, racoons, and in the West, porcupines were common.  But also, I've seen badgers, many rodents, antelope, fox, coyote, and other unrecognizeable animals.

Continuing on, I passed by one of several Army Corps of Engineers Lock and Dams that control the flow of the Mississippi and provide passage to the many boats and barges using the river for transportation.

A tugboat passed me pushing six massive barges, connected together, moving upstream.  Each was the same style as the one that I spotted in La Crosse that was loaded with sand.

Near the end of the day, I ended up at the town of Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin.  More French than Chinese, the last part of the name is pronounced "sheen".  A small town on the Mississippi, it's a haven for river enthusiasts, providing a launching pad for house boating, river cruising, and watersports.  I ended up at the "Sports Unlimited" campground, which was packed.  While they didn't have any availability, sensitive to my inability to get much further down the road on a bike, they allowed me to pitch my tent between sites in a grassy area next to the restroom.  Many of the sites were occupied by what looked like long-term residents, with their custom firepits, sunshades, patio furniture, and other modifications adding a sense of permanence to the scene.  They were camped out for the Summer to take full advantage of all that the river had to offer.

The town was cute, with lots of neat shops and restaurants, some providing not-so-subtle reminders that I was in Wisconsin.