Sidelined
In Wisconsin

It wasn’t meant to turn out this way. I was supposed to be out there, riding with my friends through the hills and valleys of Prairie Du Chien, Wisconsin. Instead I found myself, in the middle of the night, vomiting my stomach out on the floor of some third rate hotel bathroom. And for what? A salad?

But let’s rewind a bit.

I have this core group of riders that seems to be growing every year. And what’s funny is that I’m actually a bit of a loner rider. Regardless, I’d spent every summer doing one bike trip somewhere with at least one other person.

But once I’d discovered the insane rural roads in Wisconsin though, I just couldn’t stop going back. I could spend five years going back and not ride every road that exists there. And what’s more, no one seems to know about them. That’s crazy to me. I haven’t seen one bike out there other than myself and the group I brought with me this time around.

The Great River Road runs through that whole area. It’s the Mississippi river, folks. Look it up. I’ve been going there since last year, most of the time by myself. The roads go up and down and side to side. They do everything a great motorcycle road should do. The small towns flash by, sometimes in less than a minute. And sometimes I stop and explore bigger cities like La Crosse.

I don’t like huge group rides. Especially with people I don’t know. Bottom line is that I am, being an MSF instructor, somewhat safety oriented. And you never know who shows up to these rides. Or what their level of riding is. Or what their commitment to safety is. I do one big group ride a year and it’s for a good cause. It’s called the Distinguished Gentleman’s Ride, but that’s a subject for a different article.

This year I wanted to bring some of my friends to these Wisconsin hills and valleys I’d so thoroughly fallen in love with. I’d even roped my fairly new-to-riding step brother into it. Suffice it to say, expectations were high.

I'd spent days pouring over google maps, planning various routes via their map making tools. I could then export and turn them into gpx files that could then be imported into my BEELINE navigation unit.

Day one was solid. No complaints besides the aforementioned technical issues. Getting out to the fun roads can be a little tedious from Chicago. But that’s kind of where you shake the gremlins loose. Maybe that’s when the breakdowns happen. Or you remember you forgot something important and you can stop somewhere to get it. You work out your issues on the way to the fun stuff.

It rained a bit. Which made for some dramatic footage on my GoPros. Riding in the rain is… whatever. Look. If you got the right gear on, it’s not going to be an issue. Slow down. That’s it. Your bike can handle it. You can handle it.

We rode the Great River Road, hugging the Mississippi river, all the way to our hotel. We unpacked, changed into our comfy clothes and went out to eat. And that marks the end of the good times for me for the next twenty four hours.

Turns out, two of my co-workers and I, happened upon some very dangerous salad the afternoon before. It had turned each of our stomachs into toxic sludge in exactly the same way, at exactly the same time, sidelining us all for a full day..

I must have thrown up at least eight times, rendering me useless.

This was my trip. My routes. My plan.

Fortunately I had a second in command, and despite his health issue, he was up for taking over while I recuperated in the hotel. With a wary eye on the heavy storms in the surrounding area, it was decided that the group would take an auxiliary route I’d planned just in case. It was shorter and it took the group away from the rain, returning them to the hotel before the thunder was meant to rock and roll above us.

And where was I? Sweating under the sheets, half way through my puke-a-thon.

The silver lining is that I was right. The roads were great. The group was hooked. They had a great time. So much so they wanted to hit those roads again on the way back. But once I cleaned the sick off myself, I overruled them.

I had one last road up my sleeve to get us back home.

It’s a road that runs southeast to New Glarus. And no, my Midwestern friends. I’m not sharing. Go out there and figure it out yourself. It’s much more fun that way, anyway.

When we got up for day three, it was like I was a new man. Like the last twenty four hours happened to someone else. I mean they did. To my two co-workers. But you get what I’m saying.

I was starving, having only eaten an apple and a Gatorade I had apparently stolen from the hotel food kiosk in my feverish state. We ate some continental breakfast and stepped outside to be greeted by the best possible weather. Mid seventies and sunny.

Riding weather doesn’t get better than that.

The road to New Glarus is stunning, with lazy twisties and little to no traffic. And if you’d never been to New Glarus, it’s mostly known for being German with a pretty great local brewery. You may have heard of it. Though they don’t sell their beer outside of Wisconsin. I mean I guess something other than cheese has to bring people there.

But for me, being slightly lactose intolerant and having no particular affinity for beer, it’s the roads of South West Wisconsin that keep calling me back. It’s the Great River Road that snakes its way around the Mississippi river. It’s the gravel roads that scare the crap out of me when they come out of nowhere, while flying way too fast down hill.

And finally, it’s the discovery of a new and exciting road. They’re out there, somewhere. Hiding in Wisconsin of all places. And no amount of food poisoning is going to keep me off them this time.