Stevens Point
Stevens Point is a potentially nice town that has fallen victim to some incredibly stupid civil-engineering decisions. I don’t think I’d ever live there—the Christian hard-right is strongly in evidence—yet a few simple decisions would make it a much more appealing place to visit.
Downtown is nestled into a pretty bend of the Wisconsin River. Boating heaven—except that some idiot built a bridge for Highway 10 whose sides are so low that no boat can possibly pass under it. Not even a kayak, I should think. Dumb. Dumb design decision.
And then there’s the main downtown square, framed by handsome late-19th-century brick buildings with jaw-bending Polish names inscribed on them. The main exit therefrom leads straight to the river. Maybe I’m too yupster for my own good, but this space is just crying to be a pedestrian mall with some outdoor dining, locally-owned shops, maybe a boat landing at the river…
Instead, it’s a parking lot. A PARKING LOT. Argh. Who runs this place, Lee Iacocca? Come on, Stevens Point. It’s too late to do anything about that damned bridge, but the square can be reclaimed. Do it.
In Stevens Point’s favor is a lovely, personable reference librarian in the main public library. (Speaking of bad design, by the way… the exterior of this building is disgracefully ugly.) I didn’t catch his name, but he’s a white-haired, bearded gent who speaks fair Finnish. He’s the right sort. Hope the library system can hang onto him.
We drove out County Highway P to Route 54. Cranberry country. Yes, cranberries—Wisconsin regularly dukes it out with Massachusetts for the honor of top cranberry producer; eat that with your Thanksgiving dinner. Eventually we found an unlabeled and practically un-signed road that leads through Black River State Forest. Once you’re on said road, you find out that it is an official “Wisconsin Rustic Road,” which I suppose is why it’s not labeled.
The forest is gorgeous, and I heartily recommend the drive through it—but beware of getting out of the car, because there are ticks everywhere. We did our level best to keep them off, but both of us still ended up bitten. No sequelae as yet (I can’t even find my bite site any more), and let us hope there will be none, because ticks are nasty.
We stopped off at a wildlife-observation tower. The critters in Black River are shy; this is clearly not a heavily-human-travelled area. Even the geese resented our presence, swimming off with loud remarks about how the neighborhood was going to pot. We did see a number of cowbirds and a pair of great blue herons.
The south end of the forest drive opens onto County Highway O, which winds through hills and valleys as impressive as anything in Kettle Moraine. It is possible to tell that you’re nearing the end of the glaciated area; outcrops of sedimentary bedrock start to peek out here and there. It’s not clear why the glaciers spared southwest Wisconsin, but spare it they did. The bluffs get right steep and dangerous-looking as one nears La Crosse.
Which, while I’m complaining about places, is the culinary armpit of the universe if you’re vegetarian. You can eat anything in La Crosse as long as it comes from a dead cow or a dead sea-critter. There’s a huge opportunity for a restauranteur whose menu can do better than “Vegetarian Selection.” I won’t mention the name of the Chinese-Thai place we finally ate at. I will just say that what was billed as pad thai might have made an acceptable lo mein, but was about as Thai as I am. And I’m not.