Coop's Corner: Slimey Crud Weekend

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Slimey Crud Weekend - October 2018

Wet and cool, great riding but it was hard on attendance all the way around. As 'Crud's go, it wasn't the wettest or the coolest that I've participated in but our consensus was that it was the least attended, at least in Leland. I decided this year that I wouldn't try and make it to Pine Bluff Sunday morning, instead take a more leisurely effort and be early to Leland.

Scott wasn't feeling well, Steve decided that there was just a bit too much wet and cool. One or the other would have been OK but the prognosticators were favoring an abundance of both. Eric and I arrived Friday morning, meeting really only by chance in Westby, the 'intersection' of both our paths to Richland Center. I saw Eric's rig parked across from Borden's and pulled in right behind him.

His breakfast a reasonable omelette, mine a reasonable slice of Raspberry/Rhubarb.

Colleen greeted us at Alana Springs only minutes after we'd arrived, bikes unloaded and off we went. I drove down in light rain and heavy drizzle and our Friday morning ride began in those conditions.

We two did the Red Route on Friday...

All of our fun isn't free, but the little ones are quite miserly.

Roads were wet, potentially slippery from all sorts of things....sand, flood mud, harvest mud, horse exhaust mud, etc.

That yellow tractor in center is the model that was my 2nd favorite of all I ever ran; an M670 Minneapolis Moline. The very most favorite was also yellow, a G900 Minneapolis Moline. Always fun to see these late '60's units still running and doing work.

Here stopped next to the Kickapoo River, one of the rivers and areas hardest hit with the late September flooding. The river is quite a distance off to the right, this area normally a cattle pasture. In that small tree, grass debris even with my 6' height.

We swapped machines, Eric gave the Hyosung a spin and I got a turn on Kawasexy which I thoroughly enjoyed. I should buy one.

Eric stayed in front since that was the machine with the Purple Line to follow. We stopped, as we often seem to, at the Hogback.

Back and forth out to the Mississippi a couple of times, we settled down in Prairie Du Chien for lunch at the Winnesheik. I was surprised and delighted to be served our lunch (some zingers too!) by the famous Jackie Jones, once proprietor of Jackie's place in Boscobel.

A few weeks ago I described some planting patterns in a field of soybeans....I have no idea what was going on here.

Every once in awhile we ride past someone's beautiful long grass plantings...

We see many of these signs.....we ride these/their roads.

IIRC, we saw twosies a total of three times on Friday plus another single or two.

Biedermann Hill, a far cry from the first time I rode it and when it was on Chad's Trans Wisconsin Adventure Trail.

Dutch Ridge School up at the top.

No place to park a Cadillac.....

Eric said, "...one of the best roads in Wisconsin..." This happens to be Kickapoo Valley Road. I'd originally planned (and worked hard to make it so) only pavement for our group all 3 days. Since Friday was an Eric and I day, I jumped off of 131 on this decadent gravel and the GPS is complaining, wondering if I want to "RECALCULATE".

No I did not, my squeegee index fingered glove ready to respond as such.

We've been by together and solo past this place. This time Eric wanted to stop and get some images of the cool old barn so we did.

It IS a really nice road....

No place to start a tractor on fire....

Back to camp and a text from Pat that he'd arrived in Richland Center. Plans were made for dinner at the Dragon Buffet....

Out to Covered Bridge Road, a campfire was started, the heavy canopy of leaves above us kept us dry until the rain got serious and it was bedtime. Brother Kevin rolled into camp about 9.....we heard him but didn't climb out of our cozy slumber places to greet him. A text message was the best he got.

I was up a bit before the others and got a few steps in out on the road next to camp....

Saturday breakfast in Richland Center and off we 4 went, this time instead of a SW direction, we went NE.

The Blue Route.....

Not mud or the horses at all, rather walnut stains. I often aim for the nuts but someone else must have already got them all.

We saw a lot of this; damaged roadway, washouts, mud/gravel covered.

A stop in Cazenovia for a break...

We stopped in Hustler for lunch but the place was packed and the bartender overwhelmed....

So, it was on to Oakdale and Laughing Larry's for a dining experience.

Every fence post with flood debris....on and on. This near Wildcat Mountain State Park.

We rode past (all I've ever done, know very little about it) The Blue Highway Motorcycle Lodge.

Saturday evening we were still satisfied with Laughing Larry's substantial late lunch, so we enjoyed some of Eric's cheese curds, Pork Jerky from Eric's stop at the City Meat Market and so on. A just about perfect campfire and no rain. The end of a very, very fine day of riding and time together.

Sunday morning, my brother Kevin left for home, a gas stop and breakfast on his own before leaving the area. Eric and I met Pat in Richland Center, ate some breakfast and then used the Yellow Route as our trip to Slimey Crud destination, Leland.

There were only a handful of bikes there when we arrived, Rick showed up on his Husky only minutes after we did.

John was there and a very good thing, hadn't seen him since early summer.

Bert was there, introduced me to Vince. Rick and I met Don from Madison.

Arriving back in Richland Center, we gave Pat a hand getting his nice Motosport back on the trailer, then Eric and I hustled our bikes on our own trailers and off we went, homeward bound.

Almost home.... some washing required.

In my mind, we got off pretty easy weather-wise. Yes, it was cool and the sun never really spent much time with us but it never really rained either. Mist, light drops was all we really had. Mike, Jeff and I had a lot worse the year we motelled it in Reedsburg.

Come the first Sunday in May, I plan to return.

11 comments:

motormikeOctober 10, 2018 at 8:51 PM
Attended one year if you recall with horizonal rain... was surprised my British lump stay'd a runner... but the crowd was larger then this year.
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FJRickOctober 11, 2018 at 12:30 AM
Thanks for blogging Doug! Attending any part of the SCR is always fun and interesting! I sure didn't get much riding in, but it was still well worth the drive to enjoy the truly one of a kind experience!!! It was very nice to meet up and hangout with You, Pat, and Eric too!!!
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redlegsridesOctober 11, 2018 at 9:09 AM
Least attended CRUD eh? No Peter Egan? Those roads do look nice to ride on....or in my case....meander on. Could be the overcast lighting you had, but Fall Colors, not really at peak yet?
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mohessianOctober 11, 2018 at 5:41 PM
Picture 25, looking at the 2 bikes and then down the road in the background is AN EXCELLENT picture!
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ScottyOctober 12, 2018 at 8:25 PM
My VFR has been sold. I am seriously stumped for my next bike. My heart says some El Stupido Mongo bike. But you said think and ride small. I am looking at Honda 500 CBX's. Although I did not fit on Sheri's FZ6. If I am honest. My riding style is big bore road bikes with a whiff of gravel. Eastern Iowa and my locale doesn't have much fun times.
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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)