May 17, 2022
Enacting The New Plan
Sandhill Station State Campground
This morning I remembered another Madison institution that I should have visited yesterday. Before leaving town, I knew I had to correct that omission.
The Onion is a satirical newspaper that proclaims itself "America's Finest News Source." More importantly, it is MY favorite news source. Political and cultural satire has been my favorite literary form since I discovered Mad Magazine in about the 8th grade. In my jaded college days, it was Rabelais, Swift, Twain, Wilde, and the National Lampoon. Later came The Onion.
I Googled the address of The Onion's headquarters and learned that, yes, it was founded on the University of Wisconsin campus in 1988, but it moved to New York City in 2001, and then to Chicago in 2007. SON-OF-A-BETELGEUSE!
I've been reading The Onion since the beginning--when it was still a printed newspaper--and I've continued to be a loyal subscriber after it became an on-line only publication. I cannot believe they didn't consult ME about their moves.
I got over my disappointment.
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The first half of today's ride was a mixture of city streets, a nice urban commuter bike route, County Highway BB, and rural/suburban backroads. I saw many happy cyclists doing their cycling thing, like I do when riding in MY Town. Madison is definitely a bike-happy town, and anywhere cyclists are happy, I'M happy.
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The second half of my day was spent on a thing called "The Glacial Drumlin Trail." I hear it's a pretty famous trail, but I didn't see many happy people on it. I wasn't particularly happy either, given that only three days ago I said I don't care for long distance trails all that much.
But with only a couple hours to plan a newly devised route between two large metropolitan areas with which I am unfamiliar, I thought it would be prudent to include the trail. I knew for sure it was illegal to ride a bicycle on the most direct route--Interstate 94.
The Glacial Drumlin Trail sort of follows the I-94 corridor, but it doesn't allow huge semi-trailer trucks. Motorhomes, recreational vehicles, automobiles and motorcycles are not permitted either. If that wasn't enough of a reason to ride it, I learned the trail runs by small villages, oak savannahs, hilly farmland, prairies, wetlands, glacial swamps, glacial drumlins and glacial moraines. What are drumlins and moraines? I didn't know either until I checked them out on Google.
All in all, I've never been let down by any place that has been formed by ancient glacial activity.
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I've got to admit, I found all that stuff to be quite visually appealing. Even so, the highlight of the day came when I stopped to take a picture of what I assumed was a glacial swamp. Suddenly I was distracted by an incredibly loud guttural squawk. I squinted my eyes in the general direction of the squawk, which had become repeated squawks by then. Sure enough, it was a pair of sandhill cranes, squawking like there was no tomorrow.
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I stood there while straddling my bike, watching and listening to them for the longest time. I also spent a lot of time zooming in and out on them for the optimal picture. The one you see above was the one that was the least blurry.
Only after the cranes disappeared into the greenery did I start pedaling again. Then I realized that I had forgotten to take that picture of what I thought was a glacial swamp.
Cute Kid Story
At a little park in the town of Lake Mills, I watched a guy walking his little dog. It was a male dog. I know that because it lifted his leg to take a pee on a tree. Nearby, a girl of about four years of age shouted in a most excited voice, "look mom, that dog is balancing on three legs."
I think that girl thought the dog was performing a trick just for her--just as I thought the sandhill cranes were performing just for me a short time earlier.
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Just a couple miles off trail, south of Lake Mills, is Sandhill Station State Campground. That was my destination for the evening. I didn't know what to expect, but even though I had no expectations, it totally shattered my expectations.
It had 12 sites, all nicely separated from each other, all accessible only by walking or biking. I had it all to myself, and this time nobody else joined me all night.
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It was a great place to be. In previous journals, I've celebrated great places to be with a headstand. I've reserved cartwheels for exceptionally fine places. This site deserved both.
I know it wasn't the greatest cartwheel of all time, but hey, I'm not a gymnast, I'm a bike rider.
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Toto, I don't think we're in the Driftless Area any more.
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