Over the last couple of nights, I relaxed in Tomahawk, Wisconsin.
Some of my readers may argue (as they should)... isn't that what I've been doing?
Sure, when you're on the road, it is exhilarating (and relaxing) at times; however, other times, it can be downright exhausting.
Now, I get why truckers work about a month, and then get a week or two off the road.
Here's what happens: your eyes begin to get bloodshot, and if you're moving from one day to the next, your body just starts to say... enough already.
I had had a few of those nights.
I spent one night in Ely.
Then, I spent one night in Duluth.
Finally, I caught a two-day break in Ladysmith.
In Florida, I remembered telling myself to stay at least two nights in the areas I visit.
To avoid fatigue.
Apparently, I had forgotten that little internal pep talk.
So... in Tomahawk, I basically did nothing.
I rested; I read; I napped.
I did take a jaunt downtown to take pictures and look around.
Carrie filled me in on the major industries in the area: logging, fishing, two Harley plants, and a few metals facilities.
Tomahawk is also home to a huge biker Fall Fest where about 30,000 riders come into town.
In the downtown area, I saw antique stores, a couple restaurants, a quilting business, and a few bars. I was surprised that every spot along Main Street (technically Wisconsin Avenue) was taken except for two buildings. One of them was for sale for just under $60,000.
On my return from downtown, I walked to the local public library.
It was located in a nice corner overlooking Lake Mohawksin.
Later, I took a stroll along a covered pathway around that same lake.
The walk was extremely peaceful with only the sounds of birds and trees filling the air.
I only saw one boat out while making my trek around the body of water.
Upper Wisconsin seems to have about as many lakes and streams as parts of Minnesota.
According to Carrie, people in Illinois definitely know that... residents from that state own quite a bit of property in the area.
That discussion took me a back to party in Chicago where I remember a young woman (originally from Wisconsin) saying how she despised Chicagoans for thinking her state's sole purpose is to serve as their national park.
I closed my two evenings in Tomahawk with a visit to the local grocery store.
Salads and more salads.
Being on the road means eating junk food (remember that run of hamburgers I had), so I have to make up for the bad food by eating the green stuff.
During my salad dinners, Carrie and I swapped stories.
A motorcycle rider, herself, she shared many interesting ones.
Like how she wears sunglasses during big biker runs so as not to make eye contact with some loser at a bar.
An artist by trade, she is a huge Anne Rice fan.
Entering her house is like walking back in time to the Victorian Era.
He would have loved my dwelling: the goth room.
My favorite story involved how she met her husband Karl. He was one of her first customers during her very short time gig as a bartender. He didn't even drink; he just came in to see her.
When they first married, they had he two rules: no kids and no credit cards.
Now, they both do what they want when they want.
In the not too distant future, Alaska is definitely where Karl would like to be, and eventually, I think Carrie will agree to his wishes.
In the meantime, they will continue to open their home to complete strangers like me and offer a place of refuge to us road warriors.
Next stop: Norway, Michigan.
Until we meet again, my friend.