The Trailsplitter

Wisconsin man makes historic two-wheeled escape across border

by

School was out and the kids’ summer vacation landed on our house with a thud. The sight of our two teens parked on the couch had me thinking. If they weren’t going to go anywhere, then maybe I would.

For years I’d enjoyed day trips biking on the Glacial Drumlin and Military Ridge state trails, but I disliked having to turn around and come home before dark. The idea of camping along the paths had long intrigued me, though I was hardly a seasoned camper or cyclist.

With the completion of the Badger State Trail in 2007, it even became possible to bike south from Madison across the state line into Illinois. What I needed was a destination worth a few nights of sleeping on the ground.

I’d been reading Sarah Vowell’s Assassination Vacation, in which she riffs on her visits to oft-ignored historical landmarks. After I finished reading Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals, the Land of Lincoln beckoned anew.

My destination would be Freeport, 20 miles below the Wisconsin border and site of a Lincoln-Douglas debate in 1858. Due to the geekiness of my quest, this mission would have to be carried out alone.

Other cities have glorious histories, but Freeport has a political doctrine named after it. It was there that Lincoln got Democratic Sen. Stephen Douglas to declare that despite the Supreme Court’s Dred Scott ruling (which said blacks had no rights), he believed that territorial voters could still ban slavery. This outraged southern Democrats and two years later their convention was split over “the Freeport Heresy.” The seeds of Lincoln’s electoral victory were sown here. The bike trail would lead me right to the spot.

A quick search on the internet indicated a campsite along the way, in Orangeville. A call confirmed the small town had free camping right at their trailhead, two miles south of the border. Now I had no excuse.

I had pedaled long distances before. I’d made a similar pilgrimage from my home to the farm where Bob La Follette was born and raised, in southwestern Dane County. On that trip, the driftless hills proved to be real thigh-busters, but I did reach the Bethlehem of progressivism.

The farmer pulling out of his driveway gave me a knowing nod as I took pictures. After I made it home I charted my ride online. I’d biked exactly 100 miles. My horizons had been widened.

So my plan was to make camp in Orangeville the first day. The following day, I’d head to Freeport and return to my tent by nightfall. It would take one more day to return to Madison. I’d just wing it — no training, no complaining. I wasn’t even going to stretch.

I’d travel light, with a one-man tent and bedroll stuffed into the milk crate on my bike, wrapped in plastic sheeting. With no cookware, Lycra or Gore-Tex, I hit the dusty limestone.

The day started hot, but the trail was shaded most of the way. Nevertheless, I was parched. A tiny arrow sign promising COLD BEER appeared pathside near Paoli. I repaired to Dot’s Tavern, a bar in the basement of a house. As the first customer of the day, I was warmly served up carbs and conversation by the lone bartender.

Other towns along the Badger State trail also deserved my investigation, but I wanted to make Orangeville before sundown. Towns like Belleville and Monroe had peaked with the railroads, yet the removal of the tracks gave me access to their shops and cafes. Maybe on the way back.

I reached the highlight of the trail, the Stewart Tunnel. Blasted out of solid rock in 1887, the tunnel is 400 yards long and has a bend to it that blocks the traveler from seeing the light at the other end. Walking my bike into the blackness amidst the trilling of unseen birds proved rather unnerving, but my headlight spared me groping the walls. An unexpected thrill.

As I crossed the state line, the trail became the Jane Addams Trail, named for the Chicago progressive. With the sun going down ahead of me, Orangeville was living up to its name. The trail opened up and I arrived in the small park that would be my bivouac.

It was barely a campsite, but it had shelter, grill and Porta Potty. Its main feature was a defunct mill that had been dressed up as a haunted house.

I was eager to go into town and get my fish fry on, so I quickly set up my pup tent. I imagined myself in a slasher flick, with the audience screaming at that idiot pitching his tent next to the clearly marked HAUNTED MILL.

Orangeville’s few businesses sit halfway up a hill, featuring a diner, a pizza parlor and two taverns, both seemingly named Bud Light. Famished, I feasted on a fish basket over the bar. As a beer seeped into my bloodstream, I felt I’d conquered Illinois.

I woke the next morning with aching calves, but hit the trail to Freeport right after breakfast. With only 16 miles to go compared with yesterday’s 60, I would soon be treading where Lincoln trod, in Debate Square.

I confess that I was underwhelmed. Freeport, a city of 25,000, has all the charm of any Midwestern village with its storefronts of formerly useful shops crowded with crafts, but somehow I expected something grander. I know Lincoln was there for only a day, but I craved a city decked out in bunting and stovepipe hats.

Debate Square carried some of the built-in awe of “It happened here,” but I was annoyed by the second-rate statues of Lincoln and Douglas. Not only did they seem carelessly rendered, but Lincoln is folded into a chair while “the Little Giant” Douglas speaks standing, towering over him. The plaques lining the grounds told me nothing new. A C-SPAN video featuring lousy re-enactors wasn’t helping. Daniel Day-Lewis is a tough act to follow.

I rubbernecked downtown a while longer. After a pleasing ride through a few humble neighborhoods, I pedaled back to Orangeville.

I woke Sunday morning to a windy drizzle and reckoned I’d dry out my tent under the shelter. A villager approached, in fact the guy I’d called from the number on the website. He was checking up on me. I told him I was pleased with my Orangeville stay, although I’d thought there would be more campers. He said that I’d been their third camper that season, halfway through June. Still, he liked telling me about the town, and the Haunted Mill, which the state had shut down for want of a sprinkler system. He wished me well, kidding that my ride back was going to be uphill, owing to the generally flat trail’s slight grade.

With the drizzle dissipating, I headed for home. My knees began to scream, but with the sun now flickering through the trees, I was trying not to listen. Still, they persuaded me to pass up the towns on my way back. Fie on me.

Maybe I should have stretched.

Badger State Trail http://dnr.wi.gov/topic/parks/name/badger/

The trailhead on Purcell Road outside of Paoli connects to Madison’s Southwest Bike Path.

Jane Addams Recreation Trail janeaddamstrail.com

For those seeking a more communal trail experience, the Friends of the Badger State Trail (friendsofbadgerstatetrail.org) offer a host of activities from full moon rides to Halloween trips to that haunted mill in Orangeville. They’ll also post updates about the Stewart Tunnel, which was closed recently for repairs. The DNR hopes to have it reopened by Memorial Day.