Just Beyond My Backyard

In previous motorcycle tour posts (My Back Yard and My Back Yard Part II), I shared some discoveries close to home. The excursion into the Driftless area left me hungry for more, so I planned a trip just a little beyond my backyard, into southwestern Wisconsin in what they call Coulee Country.

My post-World War II upbringing left me with a different definition of coolie, but this one is synonymous with the Driftless area, at least in Wisconsin. A Coulee commonly refers to a kind of valley or drainage zone, a word of Canadian French origin from the French word coulée, meaning "to flow." My reference point is the Grand Coulee Dam on the Columbia river in Washington state. There are all kinds of nearly grand coulee's in western and southwestern Wisconsin, as I was about to learn. I went in search of vista's, small towns, oddities, and winding roads upon which to exercise my ever more stable motorcycling skills.

I found all of them. The road to La Crosse was well known to me, and a good place to get back on the saddle. I hadn't ridden in a couple of months since teaming with my motorbike instigator, Randy, for a day in northern Wisconsin. I took the Wisconsin route to travel through towns I knew better by their marina's with The Wayback - Pepin, Fountain City, Alma, Trempealeau, and, finally, La Crosse. I stopped here and there to admire the river valley views, which are spectacular from the top of the bluffs, and poked around some of those towns a bit to see what lay beyond the waterfront. My route planner (yes, I had one) aimed for a small motel in Westby, another 40 or so miles from La Crosse. Having left mid-afternoon following a long morning of raptor flying, and with five hours of riding under my belt already, and only about an hour of good light remaining, my better (senior) judgement said that was enough.

The Welsh motel had a number of good reviews on Yelp, and was located on the southern end of town, at the doorstep of Coulee country. The manager, who walked out into the small lobby through a very narrow entry from the attached residence, was very efficient, friendly, and accommodating. As my mother would say, "they had clean towels, a nice table, and clean sheets." And a low rate. Perfect. As was my sleep.

The next morning I walked north to one of the few remaining classic, old buildings on Mormon Coulee Road, which I had always known as highway 61, where the Hungry Peddler bar and restaurant was located. The interweb suggested they had one of the finer breakfasts available in Lacrosse, and it/they were not wrong. The inside was fairly dark, with dark wood lined walls, stained glass ceilings,  and all kinds of old-time pictures on the walls, sending me back at least 50 years. By 7:30, the place was packed with seniors, juniors, bikers, bankers, and a few tourists like me. Fantastic atmosphere, great service (the coffee cup was never below half empty), and a satisfying breakfast.

After packing (about 3 minutes) and suiting up (about 10 minutes), and searching the thirty or so pockets in my jacket and pants for my ignition key (seemed like 30 minutes), I was on my way. The air was cool, slightly humid, with bright sunshine to melt away the fog and dew. Within five minutes the Kawasaki was climbing up to Brinkmans Ridge on Rustic Road #26, aka county road MM. It was to be one of many ridges we would climb that day. Coulee country is a seemingly endless series of ridges and valleys - one or the other, not much in-between - interconnected with winding country roads with 90 to 120 degree corners and curves  sure to bring even the most unemotional motorcyclist to tears. Many of those curves reveal the most interesting surprises, along with farm after farm after farm after farm.




Rounding the first corner on the top of the ridge I suddenly came upon a chairlift terminus. Turning off the road, I parked the bike and walked to the lift house looking down the face of the hill. Obviously a small ski area, but one with what must have been all black hills. Man they were steep. A ski hill in La Crosse - who knew? Google Maps said it was Mount La Crosse, which claims to have the highest vertical, at 530 feet, of any ski area in Wisconsin.

A ski jump and golf course - in the middle of nowhere.

The ski jump also caught me by surprise. Climbing to the top of a ridge on county road P, approaching the junction with county road S, I saw the backside of a tall ski jump perched on top of a hill. Rounding the hill, and moving south on S, the front side of the hill revealed two ski jumps, one very large and one much smaller, looming over a small, flat golf course. The sign on the building at the bottom said "Snowflake Ski and Golf Club." If you look closely at the ski jump picture, you'll see a not so insignificant building alongside the landing area that reminds you of what you might imagine Norway's famous Holmenkollbakken Ski Jump center might have. In fact, signs of Norway are everywhere in this area, since it was a major settlement area for Norwegians back in the day. Much of the character is maintained by these off-the-main-road modest but specialty places hidden in the Coulee valleys.

A non-profit nature center in the middle of nowhere.

Or the Norskedalen Nature and Heritage Center, located on country road P1. It comes up on you quickly, just after rounding one of those 160 degree corners and before entering another 90 degree curve. Signs in front indicate members only, and suggest a very tranquil place in which to observe nature, bed in a rustic cabin, or hike a remote trail. In the middle of nowhere, celebrating the Norwegian heritage. A member would really need to want to get there.

Newer inhabitants in Coulee country include the Amish. In the area of La Farge and Ontario, every other farm is distinguished by a long, very high clothes line strung with family laundry. That and the absence of vehicles and engine driven machinery, or presence of black horse carts. Several of these farms were attended by younger boys pushing reel mowers, hauling wood, or lifting hay bales. Several of them would stop and look at me pass by, waving with a daydreaming gaze of, "I wonder what that's like." At least that was my interpretation. It could have been, "you dirty, polluting, lazy, engine grinder.." for all I know.

Leaving Ontario, Wisconsin on route 33, I was taken by one sign written in careful calligraphy that said, "Country Discount Store" and another that said "Brush Creek Log Cabin" pointing down a very narrow road that led to an even narrower old bridge. The bridge looked like it would barely be wide enough for one car. I couldn't resist. After crossing the bridge I saw the general store. It was general, all right, containing everything old or home grown, from home baked goods to hand tools to what looked like stuff from a junkyard. It would be best to shop there in the bright daytime, however, or bring a flashlight. No electricity, so no electric lights - kinda dark. Behind the store were several black horse buggies. Further down the road was a small sign that said "Log Cabin" pointing up a partially washed out driveway that led around and up a hill. At the top of the hills knob was a single, lonely log cabin overlooking the valley. Right next to this small knob was a gate leading to a field with a water tank parked on an old but still functional steel wheeled cart. I can't be certain, but I think the cabin was built by the Amish land owner, as evidenced by the nearby wagon, complete with air conditioning and running water. It was clearly annexed from all the rest of the surrounding land.

That day finally ended after eleven long hours, with many stops and a whole bunch of beautiful vistas and turning and banking. I'm already starting research on other routes through Coulee Country, certain that I only covered a fraction in this trip.