Coop's Corner: Old '61

Monday, April 30, 2018

Old '61

Originally a Military Road from St. Paul to LaCrosse starting around the 1850's the highway from St. Paul south that followed the Mississippi River and later was MN Star Route 3 until the 1920's. From what I can tell, this section was paved in 1926.

Hard to imagine today's traffic barreling down these narrow lanes at 65 MPH.

This section south of Red Wing.....

As a Federal Highway, 61 ran from the Canadian border in Minnesota to New Orleans.

A busy week with car repairs, cars replaced, a deer incident (we're now up to 8 total) but this weekend I managed some miles again on both the TW200 and the KLR. The bike being sold was on blocks all week, missing its front wheel and had the rest of them blocked in well enough that it was just too much trouble to get anything else out. A new tire on rim, wheel on bike and the Sold bike out for a test run. Soon there will be time on some of the other machines.

Next weekend, we gather for the Slimey Crud Run. It will be the next blog Post.

14 comments:

motormikeApril 30, 2018 at 9:54 AM
I read that todays interstates were designed first for military use.. supplies.. troop deployment...ect etc. The Roman's built roads for the same purpose.

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mohessianApril 30, 2018 at 7:58 PM
Doug, is the KLR on a part of an old alignment of 61, and if it is, how did you find out that it was? Where is it? Did you see Kathy Wurzer's TPT special about Hwy 61? Only the MN section but there's a book too.
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EricApril 30, 2018 at 9:13 PM
Enjoy the SCR weekend. I’ll be with you in spirit.
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EricMay 1, 2018 at 9:07 PM
Looking forward to your writings. Taking a saw?
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ScottyMay 5, 2018 at 7:32 PM
There of plenty of old HWY 61 remnants right around the eastern Iowa area too. From Dewitt north to Dubuque there are the odd sections one can see when traveling north on the new 61.
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TrobairitzMay 6, 2018 at 10:10 AM
I imagine you are out having fun at the SC right now. Sounds like you needed some fun after a hectic week.
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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

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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

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"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

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