A Grand View

The morning air was cool on my face as we waited for the car to pass by.  With no cars in sight, we ran across U.S. Highway 33 and parted a clump of bushes that lined the highway.  Prickly thorns snagged our clothes, but with a shrug of our shoulders we were through.

I immediately felt like we were trespassers -- there must be some law we were breaking by being here.


Beyond the thicket was a worn path that snaked its way past land that was dry, sandy and broken, dotted by burr oak, hickory, maple and basswood trees.  I looked straight up toward the sky and found myself looking at sandstone cliffs, one nearly 30 feet high.  Above the bluff, cotton ball clouds floated in a powder blue sky.

"This way, Paul, " I said.  "We can climb to the top from here,"   My companion was Paul Mundinger, a backyard neighbor for nearly six years, and someone I could count on to skirt a little trouble.

My eyes followed the man-made trail as it wound its way immediately around and over sections of rock that had been exposed by centuries of pounding rain, wind and sun.

Adjusting the back packs on our shoulders, we began the climb, focused on the flat landing twenty feet away.  I grasped a handhold of weeds strong enough to support my weight, before finding an exposed root that offered additional guidance for the final few feet.  From this height, we could already see over the rooftops of the neighborhood houses we had come through on the other side of the highway.

Always one to feel a little queasy about heights, I took a deep breath and kept my eyes focused on the steep, rocky incline leading to our right.  Paul, wearing grey sweat pants and a Packer tee shirt, already streaked with sweat, wasted little time observing his surroundings.  He quickly disappeared through a thicket of trees, before appearing again twenty-five feet above me, smiling with the knowledge that most of our classmates were sitting in school, listening to Bunny Bowler -- who by now was boring them to death with tenth grade math.

I finally caught up to him another fifty feet later where the path leveled out through an open stretch of prairie grass, still wet from the morning dew.  "Look what I found," Paul said excitedly, as he held up a woman's red silk bra, coated with dust and dirt from being smashed into the ground.  "Someone obviously got lucky," he continued and hung it on a nearby bush for the next hiker to see.

"Well it wasn't me," I said, a little embarrassed at the thought of how it got there.

"Duh!  That's for sure!"  

Paul moved on as the path continued to rise through more hickory trees, moving left, then right and finally to an area above the exposed, rocky face of Welch Bluff.  Standing at this vantage point, we could follow the broken trail we had just climbed, twisting its diminutive way back to the highway. Vehicles, the size of a mini-matchbox cars, zipped in and out of town as drivers headed to work for the day. 

Three hundred and seventy feet below us, etched in the bright sunlight of the morning sun, was the city of La Crosse, Wisconsin.  Looking west -- across straight, tree-lined streets -- wound the Mississippi River, looking like a brown trickle of water I may have created with my finger in the dirt.  Further west, on the Minnesota side of the river, rose more bluffs, covered in a thick blanket of dark green and black.  The La Crosse coulee region -- God's Country -- if you believed the Old Style beer commercials, stretched into Iowa to our south and Minnesota to our north. 

"Come on, let's keep moving," I said, finally exhaling in relief.  "We didn't skip school today to stop now."




Having grown up in the La Crosse area, I'm positive I've become spoiled.  Like all things in life, if you do something a hundred times, you are bound to take it for granted.

La Crosse is in the heart of the "drift less" or unglaciated area bypassed by the great glaciers of the Ice Age.  Glaciers passed west and east of here.  A small portion of the Lake Superior lobe went into the Chippewa River area to north and a small portion of the Lake Michigan lobe went into the Green Bay area.  Both glaciers were headed toward La Crosse, but they were going uphill and they were melting, so they never reached here.  This left the undulating hills now known as the Coulee Region.

Then glacial deposits melted and drained into the Mississippi River -- with far greater volume than now -- and cut the valley between the bluffs, leaving their edges hard and flat.

Today, this valley has become home to more than 100,000 people living in La Crosse and nearby cities  We are sheltered by the bluffs, some rising more than four hundred feet above us.  Through the years, I have either climbed or driven to the top of most of them -- Miller and Grand Dad bluffs to our north, and Cliffwood, Hedgehog and Welsh bluffs to our south.  I'm not as familiar with the bluffs on the Minnesota side of the river, but I have driven the bluffs above La Crescent and Dresbach, past the sweet smell of apple orchards and scenic river views that are to die for.

There was a time -- before conservationists and naturalists organized to make a name for themselves - that these bluffs were used as quarries for limestone that were used in the construction of buildings during the early history of La Crosse.

By digging through some old Tribune new stories, I found a history of quarry activity on the bluffs that increased as the city grew.  It goes back prior to  the Civil War when the city was but a small village, limited to a few blocks of residences and business housed near the water front.  As the town grew, the limestone rock from Grandad and the surrounding bluffs was in greater demand.

The quarrying business -- run by La Crosse Stone Company and Wolley & Hanson -- never had much of a foreign business, it was practically a local industry, running only to meet local demand.  Many of the buildings still located downtown sit on foundations made from this limestone.  Some of the more famous buildings are the Mons Anderson home on Cass Street and the George Zeisler building, which currently houses Satori Arts and the Pearl ice cream shop.  Smaller pieces of crushed limestone were used for macadamizing (paving) roads and highways, while dust was used to make concrete.

 

After years of quarrying, however, the beauty and symmetry of the bluffs was being lost, so the citizens of La Crosse wanted the practice stopped.  Unfortunately, they didn't have the money to buy the land, so they looked for someone else with deep pockets and found Joseph and Irene Hixon, who eventually bought the bluff land in 1909.  The family held the property in trust until 1912 when the land was donated as a park to the city of La Crosse.   A group of residents, led by Gideon Hixon (a lumber baron who lived in the now historic Hixon House) raised $15,000 to construct roads and purchase more land around the bluff.

Another person that had to do with the ownership of Grandad Bluff was Henry Bliss, who at one time had a summer home on top of the bluff.  The road leading to his home was called the Bliss Road, and it is still known by that name today.

In 1928, there was a movement to change the name of the bluff to "Granddad Mountain," and to name the series of bluffs along the Mississippi River the "Mississippi Mountain Range."  While neither proposal ever happened, it was important to the survival of the bluff lands surrounding the Mississippi River that conservation, not quarrying, was pursued as a legacy to the future.

Today, Grandad Bluff and the surrounding bluffs of Miller, Clifford, Hedgehog and Welsh, have become a popular destination for thousands every year.  Recent renovations to the bluff area have allowed better views from the 600 foot bluffs that overlook the city of La Crosse, the Mississippi River valley and the three states of Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa.  Wisconsin Trails readers recently voted the bluff area as the "Most Scenic in the State."

For most of us locals, it remains a symbol of the Coulee region.  It's who we are - we ride bikes on the dirt bike trails, practice climbing the limestone faces, or walk through heavily forested trails,   We feel it in our legs, arms and backs the way our bodies feel while floating in the muddy waters of the Mississippi.  When we move away to go to college, start a family or to find a job in another state, our memories of climbing the bluffs never fade away.



"Do you know why they call it Grandad Bluff?" I asked Paul as we lay on our stomachs creeping closer to the edge.  A couple hundred feet directly below us someone was cutting some grass.  With my finger tip, I covered him up and most of the yard he was mowing.  "Some say because it's the grand daddy of them all.  It's the largest bluff in the area and offers the best views."

Our point of view was slightly to the left of Cass Street, which ran in a straight line from the base of the bluff to the Cass Street Bridge, its light blue tresses reflecting the late morning sun as it crossed the Mississippi River.  

"I always thought it was because the rock formation looks like an old man's face."  Paul's thick glasses had slid down his nose, threatening to fall off and over the edge.  With a dirty finger, he pushed them up, then continued.  "It doesn't really matter.  I like it over here better anyway.  Not so many people and a lot more room to explore."

And explore we did.  Our adventure had taken us up Welsh and over Hedgehog before back up Cliffview to our current location.  I rolled over to my back and looked up to the sky, which by now had become partly cloudy.  The leaves of the trees had begun spinning in the wind, making it look like the some of them were full of silver tin foil.

"You know, I've never called in sick before," I said, "when I wasn't really sick.  That was pretty cool calling in as each other's dads."   A smile crept across my face as I remembered how nervous I was when the office secretary answered the phone.  "I don't think shouting into a pillow made much difference though.  My voice is about as low as it's going to get." 

I looked over at Paul who was sitting up digging through a lunch bag, looking for the sandwich he had made earlier at his house.  His face suddenly looked grim as a cloud moved in front of the sun, casting a shadow that slid across his body like water flowing downstream.  "I just hope the school didn't call back later to verify that we were really sick.  It seems like I'm always getting blamed for something.  I don't need anymore trouble."

After lunch, we continued on our way, finding new paths to explore.  We climbed down a path that narrowed as it passed beneath one of the rocky faces of Cliffview Bluff.  Round holes pocketed the layered cliff where birds had dug nests.  Some of the larger holes contained bees which for the moment left us alone.  With my right hand I was able to rub loose some of the soft sandstone, creating a shallow ridge that I used for balance.  

Between two large rocks that had fallen from above, we found a shallow cave that provided shelter  from the hot sun.  Inside was an abandoned campfire, with remains of blackened sticks and tree branches scattered around a flat, sandy area.  Empty Papst beer cans were thrown in the back of the cave along with a two-month old newspaper that was probably used to light the fire.  The words FUD WAS HERE! was scratched on one of the limestone walls -- a meaningless scribble that archeologists would someday question.

I felt strange sitting in this cave, as though we were violating someone's private dwelling. I pictured a hobo spending a few nights here, or even some Indians from long ago using this cave as a temporary shelter while exploring the valley below.  I imagined these bluffs were climbed many years ago by New World explorers traveling west in hopes of a better life, risking lives against waring Indians and savage animals looking for their next meal.

But today, there was nothing to fear.  With an innocence that only comes from being young teenage boys, Paul and I moved fearlessly from the cave and descending through the surrounding trees and rocks.  It had taken us half an hour to climb the bluff, but coming down -- with little to stop us -- we quickly found ourselves in someone's backyard and headed for home.  The freedom and sense of adventure I had felt while we climbed the bluffs was still with us and would remain there for many years, but never repeated.

Glancing behind, I could no longer see where we had walked.  No footsteps creased the grass -- not even a broken branch hanging from a scrub bush.  It was as if the green shadows beneath the swaying trees and hardened rocks had swallowed our footsteps, leaving no sign that human beings had ever existed.  

In Tandem We Trust

Liz and I are sitting quietly in the Three Rivers Lodge, watching rain fall from cloudy skies, causing unsuspecting people to rush to the nearest dry shelter.  Sunlight, from a break in the clouds to our left casts a sunny glow on sidewalks that continue to be pelted by the heavy rainfall.

We are drying out ourselves, after being caught in the rain as we bicycled to my downtown office. The weather forecast had called for afternoon showers, but I foolishly thought it would hold off.  Liz reminded me of this fact as the first drops of rain pelted our jackets.  Part of the problem was the bicycle we are using. The other part is when we would need to be on it.

 

We are using a Burley tandem bike for a 32-mile fun ride as part of the 2014 Festival Fitness Coulee Region Bike Tour in La Crosse.  At ninety-six inches long, the bike is too big to put into the back of the Toyota Highlander and too long to mount on our bike rack. 

As a result, we had decided the best way is for Liz to stop at my office after work, drive us home in my car, then ride the bike back to the office, leave it in the break room, and finally take her car home.  A little complicated, but really our only option. 

The bike tour is taking place at 7:30 tomorrow morning, so we had to deal with it now -- rain or shine.  And so we did.

As I bite into my batter fried cod, I watch the Mississippi River flow rapidly to our south.  The combined flow of the Black, La Crosse and Mississippi rivers (and others further north) is enough to flood the banks of Pettibone Park, its campground and boat landing.  The official flood stage in La Crosse is 12 feet, and the river is currently sitting at 12 feet 6 inches.

Much like the combined strength of the three rivers, riding a tandem bicycle uses the peddling power of two riders, combining them into a synchronized push that takes less effort and allows for faster travel.  Essential to this coupling is teamwork, empathy, cooperation, and mutual understanding.  The most important "essential" is communication.  Starting, resting and stopping is impossible without communicating. 

I am excited about tomorrow's 32 mile ride, but I'm not sure Liz feels the same.  I originally wanted to run the 5K, but after Liz convinced me that her running days were over, I asked if she wanted to try the fun ride to Stoddard and back.  It was not a timed race, and we had wanted to do more bicycling this year, so it sounded like the perfect solution. 

Tomorrow's ride will decide if I am right.




Prior to the bike tour, I'd never paid any attention to tandem bikes. I probably paid more attention to recumbent bikes -- and that was because they looked so strange.  The reason we were even considering a tandem was because of Tom and Marilyn Tiggelaar, friends who happen to have three of them. They've been trying to get us on one for a year.

Tandems are surprisingly popular today, but that wasn't always the case. Patents related to tandem bicycles date from the late 1800s.  The two-wheeled configuration that we see today seems to show up in the early 1890s as "courting bikes" designed for a man and a woman which put the woman in the front seat with the man behind and steering the bike through a linkage from the rear position.

These frames were very common at the start of the next century.  Some variations included racing tandems designed for men and women, others included triplets, quads, quints and even a ten-seat goliath from the Orient Bicycle Company.

Early tandem bikes became popular because of their use in courting rituals, as interested suitors could take ladies out for a bike ride, without the woman having to exert herself physically.  That may be true, but I can't image it being very easy to get on and off the bicycle.

By the end of World War I, tandem bikes were being replaced by more traditional single seat bikes.  From 1920 to 1970 names like Gazelle, Raleigh, Fugi, Cannodale, Huffy and Schwinn dominated the bicycle world.  Many of them still do.

It wasn't until the 1970's that tandems made a comeback in large part because of Bill McCready and Santana Bicycles.  Due to better technology and higher performance with single bicycles, Santana was able to design a bike that was accessible to more people, with features that made them fun to ride.  As enthusiast level bicycles became more popular, so did the tandem. 

Today, you can buy tandems from high-end manufacturers like Santana for $10,000 - $12,000.  But you can also buy one on Amazon.com for $275.  Typically, I'd expect to spend a couple thousand dollars for a good tandem bike.  Like most bicycles, what's available depends on how much money you have in your wallet.

 

So how does it work?

With the two person bicycle, the rider who rides at the front is termed the captain, pilot or the steersman, while the rider who rides at the back of the bicycle is termed the navigator or the stroker.  You can tell already -- just by the terms used -- that riding a tandem will challenge even the strongest of marriages.

The biggest thing about tandems is the level of cooperation between the captain and the stroker.  By definition, the front rider should have good bike-handling skills and good judgement.  That includes control of the bike, balance (whether stopped or in motion), steering, shifting and braking.  To keep the stroker happy, the captain must earn the stroker's confidence by stopping when she wants to stop and must slow down when she wants to slow down.  Since the stroker can't see the road ahead, the captain has the special responsibility of warning her of any bumps, obstacles and road hazards.  Or beer stops if you are so inclined.

The rear driver has responsibilities too.  She is not just a passenger, but an equal participant.  The stroker has the responsibility of providing power when starting.  Since the captain is standing on both feet to begin, it is the job of the stroker to provide enough power to maintain balance and power to move the bike forward.

The other responsibility is a lot tougher.  The stroker must not try to steer, since unplanned weight shifts on the part of a stroker can make the captain's job much harder.  Same philosophy applies when taking turns.  As a tandem, both riders should lean over the centerline of the bike to avoid accidents.

As simple as these things sound, trust me when I say it gets very tricky when you are in a narrow space or surrounded in traffic by other bikes and automobiles.  A quick maneuver on a single bike is easy -- on a tandem not only do you lack such flexibility, but you also have to anticipate your move or you will find yourself in a ditch or planted in someone's car door before you know it.  Beating an approaching train is usually not a good idea, although it has been done.

In terms of speed, tandems are faster than two regular bicycles; you have less mass, double the engines and better drafting.  At the same time, tandems don't accelerate well and they don't climb well, but once they get going on a flat stretch or into the wind (which is always), they are very fast.

Fortunately, once you get the hang of a tandem bicycle, you are able to do things together that you can't always do when you are on separate bikes.  That includes taking pictures, answering the phone, enjoying the view, rubbing a stiff back, eating (or drinking) and talking.

Given these advantages, it's not surprising that tandem bikes are so popular.




Liz and I have a direct path to the bar where they are serving Pearl Street beer.  Our choices include the brewery's DTB Brown ale and El Hefe Bavarian beer.  A muttered request later and I am tilting the El Hefe to my lips, quenching a thirst that began 10 miles earlier as we passed Goose Island Park for the second time.

"That's got to be the best damn beer I've had in a long time!" I say to Tom Tiggelaar who has opted for the DTB.  Tom and his wife Marilyn are joining us for some beer and brats after we had put the tandem bikes in a secure area.  "Almost makes me want to ride another 32 miles."

"Not quite," says Tom as we find a picnic table near the beer tent.

We are surrounded by people who have finished the 5K run and half marathon, wearing tin foil capes and running shorts.  An odd combination, I think as Liz smiles and bites into her brat.  For that matter, Liz and drinking beer is another odd combination.  She never drinks beer, but here she is enjoying the full-bodied flavor of one of Pearl Street's most popular brews.  Earlier, I discovered that she and I make a good team on the tandem, and now I find out that she likes an occasional beer.  What's next -- a sudden passion for biking up 3 mile?  I doubt it.

The four of us are feeling pretty good having completed the full thirty-two mile trek in 2 hours and fifty minutes.  Only 45 minutes slower than our son Sean who had completed his ride in 2 hours and five minutes.  Liz had doubts that he even stopped in Stoddard to rest and grab an orange or bagel.  After seeing him bike past us -- heading back to La Crosse -- I was inclined to agree.

"I'm really sorry about the bike," says Marilyn who is sitting opposite me.  "Tom took that bike in earlier to fix it.  The gears shouldn't have been slipping the way they were -- I think we'll drop it off on our way home and make sure the bike shop fixes it this time."

"Don't worry about it," I say.  The sun, which is peaking out behind some white fluffy clouds, warms my face which has gotten cold.  "The only time it was a problem was when we were in sixth gear or pushing it.  I either went with fifth or seventh, although Liz didn't like it when I went to seventh.  I've always known that she likes a lower gear than me.  Today just meant that we had to find common ground."

Other than the bad gear slip that Marilyn was talking about, things had gone well.  So well in fact that I could see doing it again next year, maybe taking it a little further.  Chaseburg was the next stop on the tour which would mean a 43-mile ride.  Certainly doable, but it would mean going up a long hilly stretch which even more experienced riders were talking about -- and not in a good way.

Well, Liz and I would have a year to get ready.  I wonder if...


"Daisy Daisy,
Give me your answer do!
I'm half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won't be a stylish marriage,
I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!

We will go "tandem" as man and wife,
Daisy, Daisy!
Ped'ling away down the road of life,
I and my Daisy Bell!"

-- Dacre 1892