Coop's Corner: "There Will Be Sand......"

Monday, August 26, 2019

"There Will Be Sand......"

I told the guys that there would be sections of sand and they took it to heart; neither Steve nor Paul had spent time riding in the Chequamegon National/Washburn County Forests like Eric and I had so they weren't really sure of what to expect. To give them some background, I shared some of my blog Posts with them from previous adventures so that they could at least see some of my photos.

Steve tire'd up, new rear tire with very pronounced and sharp profile Kenda knobs. Paul was ready to give the sandy roads a go. Right out of the shoot Friday morning, we'd no sooner left the blacktop when Steve was opining....."You said there would be sand and then you take us through miles of 2" deep granite shale.....that is Not what I was expecting! All I've heard about is sand, sand, sand..."

Later on during our 2 day journey on the back roads, I'd made great mention of a puddle, a puddle to end most puddles and Steve was excited at the very thought of it. He was excited because we heard tales this weekend of his vast experience with puddles, VERY deep puddles that only NEW tires were qualified to conquer. Throughout the weekend, Steve's confidence and tales continued to expand and grow...there was little, well maybe just a little, doubt that he could actually do it.

He was ready for deep water!!

When we got to 'Doug's Puddle', it no longer existed...vanished...gone....disappeared....dry. Honest, it's been there every single time I've ridden FS-448. My very first time, it was so bad that it frightened both the TW200 and me to the extent we didn't even attempt it, we reversed and turned tail. Last fall Eric and I were there and the only reason I was able to get the KLR through it at all was because Eric, as mentor, guided me through and it ended up being a successful crossing. Heck, I've even got it marked as a Waypoint on my GPS..."PUDDLE" to make it very official, unforgettably located.

Below, what Eric and I braced for last year.....we stopped, walked down and made the decision to Do It. The Puddle? It's hiding down there at the bottom of this steeper-than-it-looks slope.

My credibility with Steve damaged, it may take 10, 15 years to get it back. Reparations have begun.

Here's the puddle as it existed Friday and the rest of the story.....

4 comments:

motormikeAugust 27, 2019 at 5:23 AM
I can attest to the sand.... while visiting Corny ...walk'n the beach.... got back to the skateboard (Solstice).. returned to the flea bag motel and found half the beach on the floorboards.
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redlegsridesAugust 28, 2019 at 7:19 PM
A ride to conquer obstacles and then to find they're not there...ambiguous feelings.
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"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)