Coop's Corner: Old Sol....You Trickster!!

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Old Sol....You Trickster!!

Unable to take it any longer, I suited up and went out to the garage about 11:30. Cool hazy fog was what I left in and cool, hazy fog is what I came home in. One time and only one time, did I see the fuzzy outline of the sun. Oh well, it was a great ride though not a very efficient one; I made 74 miles in about 3 hours. I'll never be an Iron Butt'r at this rate.

My handy, dandy, always along thermometer....

I headed toward Red Wing, wondering if the steep-closed-in-winter road up to Memorial Park would still be open. The park sits on a steep bluff, the downtown area of Red Wing snugly rests between the bluff and the river.

Only a hint of downtown today, no clue as to there being a Big River very near.

This bluff as well as others in town were once quarries, the limestone used for many local building projects. This area has changed since I saw it last, so some exploring was in order. I'll soon be walking up on top of that distant mound.

This is where all of our local prominent sacrifices occur; luckily I wasn't among the Chosen this year. 2013 may be an entirely different matter.

Looking downriver, this view is normally spectacular. It didn't help that the steep climb into the park put me even deeper into the mist. bob, this one's for you....

From there it was out of Red Wing, out to the Cannon River Bottoms and where the Cannon meets the Mississippi.

At the end of the road, a backwater channel of the Miss. River. This is the mainline of the Canadian National Railroad that follows the west side of the river.

For some odd reason and I'm not sure why, the highwater marking on all of the trees from last spring's flood seemed to tweak my equilibrium a bit.....or....maybe it was due to the fact that the Prairie Island Nuclear Plant is less than half a mile from here.

A huge contrast between last year's flooding and the current very low water conditions. You can see how high the scooter is above the shoreline; the water mark on the cottonwoods was roughly shoulder height when I stood next to the Yamaha.

More hazy river bluffs. Honestly, I enjoy this weather and being able to actually be outside and feel it, just not so much for riding.

Back out to exit the Min. Maint. Road and around the corner to Treasure Island, our casino neighbor. This was only the second time I've actually been there. Our family stopped years ago for the buffet one evening and we've still not ever been among the noisy, brightly lit machines.

Here I'm in the parking lot between the Convenience Store and the Car Wash, the hotel, marina and casino in the distance.

Up the curvy and now mostly obsolete County 18, towards Welch. I thought about stopping for coffee at the Trout Scream Cafe but pushed onward to the Cannon Valley Bicycle Trail Parking Lot.

I spent 15 minutes 'selling' scooters to a bicyclist that had ridden over from the town of Cannon Falls, the western portal of the trail. He seemed to be impressed with my long, low machine and he wasn't even on a recumbent.

Trail Map mural...

Just around the corner is the Welch Village Ski Area. They were busy today and this was the only snow I saw today, though it felt like it might start snowing at any point on my ride.

Just before I pushed it into the garage....

9 comments:

SonjaMDecember 3, 2012 at 12:02 AM
Coop, it's cool (literally and metaphorically) that you are still riding. Your scoot makes a sharp silhouette in front of this bleak background. The mist makes for very atmospheric shots.
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Coop a.k.a. CoopdwayDecember 3, 2012 at 6:24 AM
Sonja, the anticipated 50's would have been welcome but we had fun regardless.

There's just something about the mist I find pleasing; London might be a bit much. Here in the heartland ....maybe it helps define infinity. Like a blanket's comfort, even when you aren't cold, it provides an edge.
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TrobairitzDecember 3, 2012 at 12:22 PM
It looks like a good day for a misty mountain hop, or scoot.

I like the misty shots, they have a mood about them. Glad you could get out for a ride.
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UnknownDecember 3, 2012 at 6:17 PM
Coop:

Is that a Morpheus ? I'll bet it rides like a sofa . They don't sell them up here.

that water level sure looked high from last year.

bob
Riding the Wet Coast
My Flickr // My YouTube

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VStar LadyDecember 3, 2012 at 8:53 PM
Coop the mist on the mighty Mississippi - beautiful in its own right. I was awe struck (such a romantic for history) when I crossed the river once again this summer. Can't imagine doing it at this time of year - good for you!
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Keith - Circle BlueDecember 8, 2012 at 6:51 PM
Greetings from farther downstream.

I was going to look at a Morphous once. I showed a photo of it to Heather. She told me if I bought it not to bring it home. I didn't buy it.

I, too, like being out on misty days. There is a special feel about them...wonderful in their own way.
~Keith

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Coop a.k.a. CoopdwayDecember 9, 2012 at 5:10 AM
Hey Keith, greetings from an upstream, whiter Sunday morning.

I don't know Heather but I do know she's got good taste; the Morphous isn't for everyone, it may just be one of those acquired tastes we hear so much about.

Hopefully I'll get back down to Potosi again sometime; sure enjoyed my time there a year ago.

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Others say....

"it was auspicious to approach any situation from a deferential, inquisitive place. Conceding that there is much to learn is the best blueprint for discovering something new." ----B. Fuller

The Man straightened stiffly above the block of salt fixed to the stake and looked at the young cattle ringed about him. The pasture was holding out well and the stock was looking good. This bunch would be ready to sell in another month, maybe sooner if the market was right.

A stir among the cattle down near the river brought him round to face the swinging bridge he'd built years before. Someone was coming toward him from the bridge. Someone in breeches, but it didn't look like a man, somehow. What was a woman doing in his pasture this time of night?

He bent over the salt again; maybe if he paid her no heed she'd go on past and let him mind his own business. He heard her footsteps come nearer and stop. "Good evening," she said.

Her voice was smooth with book learning but friendlier than most, and somehow almost shy. When he made no answer she went on, "I've been sitting on your swinging bridge....I thought I'd like to say thank-you...." Her voice stumbled a little, then she tried once more.

"You are Mr. ____". His name sounded strange in her voice, but she went on to tell her own.

"That's what they've called me the last sixty-eight years," he said, looking past her face to the hills fast darkening under a single star. "I reckon the woods are free for those that like to walk there."

The unfamiliar voice laughed a little. "That's what Emerson said: the grove belongs to the man who walks in it with an open heart....On that basis I guess I've owned part of your woods for a good many years.....". She made a final effort. "I've always wanted to thank you....."

Something deeply hidden stirred in him. "There's a stump up there, in the notch of the woods", he said slowly, "that before the timber grew so tall you could stand on it and see all over this country."

He kept still a minute, remembering, then, "I used to stand up there an' look at things, an' wonder how they come to be like they was, an' how the hills was created, an' all the things in Nature.... I told my wife I guessed all the religion I ever had I got standin' on that old stump, a-wonderin'..." He turned his face away from her.

She helped him out. "I know about that, a little. This afternoon I saw......." Her account of a thing she had really taken time to look at eased him, and he answered with telling of the badger den at the foot of the swinging bridge.

When she had gone, he turned to watch her. After a moment she stood clear and unmoving against the sky. You could hear the sounds of the river where she stood. She was one that could stand still long enough, he thought, really to hear what a body was saying, or a river.

Then she walked down the farther side of the slope and was gone. ------Margaret Snyder from A Chosen Valley

Fall was the end of harvest, end of the growing season, a burst of color and sun-warmth before killing frost turned the land gray and cold. Fall was a moody time, full of both life and death, a time when we were reminded of the power outside of us, reminded that the seasons happen to us. We do not invite the change to come.-------Ben Logan, from The Land Remembers

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold onto them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes or should have been all along, what would you do if you knew you only had one day, or one week, or one month to live. What lifeboat would you grab onto? What secret would you tell? What band would you see? What person would you declare your love to? What wish would you fulfill? What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee? What book would you write? ------- Ben Tyler

We were also cautioned about journeying far from home. As an example of the dangers, the town had a badly crippled lady named Lucy, who as a girl had traveled to New York City. As she traveled along a sidewalk, sightseeing, she was struck by the outstretched hand of a suicide who had leapt from high above. Her spine had been shattered and for the rest of her life, she was to walk bent forward at the waist, tapping the sidewalk with two black canes. Whenever the subject of travel to a big city was raised, someone would say, "Just remember what happened to Miss Tripp." ---- Ted Kooser, from Local Wonders

"Steamboats are like wedding cakes without the complications...." ----Mark Twain

"It's not about having lots of money, it's about having lots of options......." -----Chris Rock

As the very proud father of three former ponytail wearers, hopefully I can get away with this....."For the past few years it's been fashionable for young women to wear ball caps and to snap the strap on the back under their ponytails. I like the looks of that, their shiny ponytails jauntily swinging, but it's hard not to think of the rear ends of horses. There's a piece of harness called the crupper that goes just under a horse's tail to keep its nose down. If the horse lifts its head to look for a way out of whatever predicament it's in, the crupper tightens and hurts the horse. But it's foolish for parents to think that a ball cap might keep a young woman from running away. Anybody can see they're made for running." ------Ted Kooser, Local Wonders

"I tell the guy's girlfriend that the only difference between the book's main character Phaedrus and myself is that I am neither brilliant, tortured or insane, she looks at my bike and there is an uncomfortable silence." --------ahendepe (a.k.a. Vermin)