Of Bridges and Bearskin

Stayed on Lake Minocqua over last week, and Rocinante (my good old Trek road bike) came along.  The weather was moderate, alternately cloudy and sunny.  Our big concern had been mosquitoes, reported to be the worst in years.  But apparently a big explosion in the dragonfly population meant an equivalent collapse of the mosquito kingdom -- I got nary a bite during the entire week.  Except when fishing, there I got lots of bites and a few keepers.  But that's another story.  This is about the bike (regardless of what Lance says).



Tuesday afternoon I finally got on Rocinante and headed out, intending to ride the entire 18.2 miles of the Bearskin, which starts just a few blocks and one bridge from our resort headquarters.  Unfortunately, that bridge, across a narrow neck of the Lake, is on Highway 51, the main route up North,  built in the days preceding pedestrian- and bicycle-friendly engineering.  Nothing overwhelming, just disconcerting to have logging trucks and RVs rumbling past, with no shoulder at all -- there is a sidewalk, but it's raised, so one either commits to it or the roadway from the get-go.

Highway 51 Bridge -- not as bucolic as it looks.

Once past the bridge, and following a sharp left turn across traffic, tranquility reigns.   Crushed red rock on a old railroad line, bordered by tall pines and birches, the chitters, chatters, and squawks of birds framed by the distant drone of outboard motors, the soughing of the wind and the smell of the outdoors.  What could be better? 

Not much.