St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin to Haugen, Wisconsin - July 18, 2023

Crossing Over

This morning, we woke up, packed our gear, and cycled a short distance to Three Arrows Coffee, just half a mile away. Sitting outside, we ate and resolved to make for Haugen, roughly fifty-eight miles in the distance.

The Road Ahead

Fountain

School Site

As we traverse Wisconsin, we encounter fewer stops for food and water. In Balsam Lake, a charming town on our route, I refilled my water supply (three full bottles) at a local Subway. I'm beginning to plan more strategically, which proved advantageous when the place we had intended to stop at, the County Line Restaurant, was closed.

Welcome

Poor Folks’ Scene

We arrived early in the evening (around 6:00 PM) at Shady Rest Campground, situated just outside of Haugen. We checked out the lake, but it was too shallow for swimming. After taking a shower (for which I should have used four quarters instead of two), we entered the Poor Folks’ Saloon, a restaurant/bar located within the campground.

Inside, we discovered a shrine to country singer George Jones, also known as "the possum". I later discovered that Donald had a deep connection to this Western songsmith.

Upon our entrance, we found the place abuzz with locals engaged in bingo, each round carrying a potential prize of over $50. This was a serious affair. Early on, I caught a stern look from a player who seemed to think I was speaking too loudly. Donald and I ordered pizzas and drinks and retreated outside to eat.

Once the final game was played, several patrons joined us outside for some socializing. One man, Rod, who was newly retired, planted himself by our table, chain smoking and narrating his life stories. His tales were somewhat challenging to follow, owing to the astonishing frequency of curse words punctuating his speech. Over the evening, I was subjected to more expletives than I'd encountered in the past decade.

Larry cycled up around seven o’clock, pleasantly surprised by the lively scene. In conversing with him, I discovered that he was eighty years old. I had presumed him to be in his mid-sixties. The regimen of bicycle touring has evidently kept him fit and spry.

The three of us spent the night in a small cabin, furnished with a bunk bed and a queen-size mattress. Donald's snoring filled the cabin.

We covered fifty-eight hard-earned miles on our bicycles today.