We were in Glidden, Wisconsin, the self-labeled Black Bear Capitol of the world. There is not much in Glidden other than a restaurant called the Bruin which they promise, “You’ll love at first bite.” and two gas stations. One was called the “Bear Crossing”. We chose the other one. The one with the retail outlet for our cell phone company. I was going to send out a message while I was there, but we couldn’t get a signal… just one of the many fascinating moments on the way to the Inland Sea Symposium…

When traveling to the Bayfield/Washburn area from our location in central Wisconsin there are two choices, The interstate highway which covers more miles but is the faster route or the more direct 2 lane, highway that takes almost an hour and a half longer. We took the longer route. Highway 13 draws an almost perfectly straight line vertically through the center of the state. It also cuts through an amazing, post card image of rural 1940′s America. Highway 13 travels through miles of farmland and state & national forest, all the wile dotted with small communities that each seem to have a claim to fame. Each it seems is the capitol of something; Sometimes interesting like Colby, “The home of Colby Cheese” or mysterious like Mellon, Wisconsin where in 1981 a UFO visited and hovered over a Silo for awhile or a bit scary like Adams-Friendship which was once known as the “Murder Capitol of America”. Whatever it is, this “something” has influenced the very foundations of the community. Each little coffee house and street sign is often emblazoned with something to remind the community of it’s claim. (Well, other than the murder bit.)

It only seems appropriate that it is here on Highway 13 that you would come across the concrete art of a man by the name of Fred Smith. Mr. Smith was born in the late 1800′s and was a north woods lumberjack most of his life. In 1936 he and some associates built a tavern, in 1950 be began to build his famous sculptures using concrete and the empty beer bottles that had been stacking up at the tavern.

We finally arrived in Washburn around 7:30pm. The campground on the symposium site is “first come-first server” and once again it was full on Wednesday which sent us down the road to find a motel. We chose the same little Great Lakes themed spot as last time around. This year however our room is full of fishing nets, jumping bass, and open face reels. I keep hearing that narrator from all those Disney “3 animals lost in the woods” movies from the 1960s. I think he is dead and now haunting our motel. “Yup, that little rascal decided to take a bath again.. What kind of adventure will he get himself into next…”

Once we were settled in our room we unloaded the bikes and took a little ride around town, down passed the hip bar with the live band, and onto the dusty ATV trail that passed through a forest of tall weeds and lupines. We buzzed by the still quiet symposium grounds and I stupidly road my bike out onto the slanty pier. We road back to the hotel just as the sun began to fall behind a wall of big pine trees.

Well, obviously roasting hot dogs on a campfire was out, so we took a walk down the empty streets of Washburn to find a late night snack. I’ve said it many times, I hate playing tourist. Travel, even near home means little if you are simply jumping from prefabricated tourist trap to glazed glass coffee shops. In the end we found a small local tavern called the “firehouse” which was coincidentally still filled with smoke and proudly displayed a picture from when it had caught fire the year before. We played a game of pool in a dank back room with painted blue walls, while we feasted on a toasted 12inch sausage and mushroom pizza. Occasionally my eye would wander to various regalia filling the room.  Chairs covered in tape were stacked in leaning towers under a  dusty RCA television hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered with antique fire extinguishers and posters of bikini clad women hawking beer. In a little corner almost out of the light there was a hole. Across the front of the hole had been placed a strip of masking tape. On it was written, “A mouse lives here.”.

Day 2….

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