Great River Road
La Crosse might have some things to stay for, but I refuse to spend more time in the culinary armpit of the universe than I absolutely must, so we left early Wednesday morning and headed for State Road 35, also known as the Great River Road. The river in question, of course, is the Mississippi.
“Great” doesn’t do this drive justice. Try “spectacular” and you’re closer. The wide, slow river is enough, but add the steep bluffs on one side and the green hills on the other, and, well, “spectacular” really doesn’t do it either.
North of Genoa, a bit upriver from Lock and Dam 8, there is a “wayside.” Most of the Great River Road waysides are simply quick turn-offs where you can stop your car and gaze, but this one is different. Recognize it by the “narrow and steep entrance” the sign for it warns you of, and for heaven’s sake don’t miss it.
The entrance is just as narrow and steep as the sign says, but Snub-Nose handled it easily. At the top, you find three short walking trails. I recommend walking them all, in the order 1-3-2. #1 takes you through pleasant woodlands. #3 takes you along a ridge overlooking the river, and has a couple of terrific stand-and-gawp spots.
#2, however, is the utter pinnacle, quite literally; it goes all the way to the top of the bluff, which as best I could tell is the tallest in the area. Watch the turkey vultures sail right overhead, and the rough-winged swallows do unconcerned aerobatics around them. (The swallows have nothing to worry about; turkey vultures are carrion-eaters, not hunters.) See the river disappear into haze to the north, and career into the Lock and Dam to the south.
This wayside has picnic areas, pit toilets, and drinking fountains also, by the way. Great place for a quick lunch. It was well-designed, too. From 35 I couldn’t even see it.
(Which leads me to a brief fulmination against the jerks who build gigantic follies where nobody can help but see them. Honestly, people, have some respect for the world, will you? Nobody particularly cares how rich you are, okay?)
We followed the Great River Road to the mouth of the Wisconsin River, where we turned west on 60 toward home. The Wisconsin is rather like a scaled-down Mississippi: gentler bluffs, lower and rounder hills, a river just as slow but not so wide. Another wayside served us for lunch; cows in the dell opposite gave us the occasional baritone solo to accompany it. As we packed up to leave, a big old pileated woodpecker flew across the clearing into the woods surrounding. Them one doesn’t see often.
We drove up toward the Kickapoo Indian Caverns. Nice drive through a farm valley, but the setup itself looked so thoroughly kitschy that we decided to pass. Besides, we were both pretty tired by then.
So we drove home. We had considered a stop at Taliesin or Cave of the Mounds, but… some other time.
This isn’t exactly everybody’s idea of a vacation—no glamour, nothing exotic—but for me it was just about perfect, and I told David so every chance I could get. I’m not much of a traveller ordinarily, and the greater the distance or faster the pace, the worse the stress. This trip didn’t rush me and didn’t go too far for me to keep up. I couldn’t ask for better.
I saw things I haven’t ever seen before, learned things I didn’t know, and came home just pitifully grateful that places like Horicon Marsh and Kettle Moraine and Black River exist and are tended and cherished.