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The Wisconsin desert

(Part 2 of the narration of a three-day bike trip I took in July 2014. Part 1: Black Earth energy receptor fields)

The Spring Green Preserve lies off of a quiet country road, about halfway between the village of Spring Green on the flat banks of the Wisconsin and a long, steeply-rising bluff. Between laneways with farmhouses at the end is a little gravel parking lot with a Nature Conservancy sign. Just past the parking lot the path into the preserve begins; it is no more than a few steps before you realizing you are walking in sand, and prickly-pears – mostly gone to seed by that time, but one or two still blooming – line the path to either side.
Late prickly-pear flower (Opuntia sp.), Spring Green Preserve
It is properly a sand-prairie rather than an actual desert, but the effect of sand and cacti is strange enough in the Upper Midwest that you feel thousands of miles have been travelled between one step and the next. Once there was a great deal of sand-prairie; the Spring Green Preserve is one of the few remnants. On a hot July afternoon it hums with life. Though I saw none of the several species of lizard and snake – to my disappointment – there were, for example, plenty of butterflies. There were painted ladies, and a profusion of American coppers (Lycaena phlaeas):
American copper (Lycaena phlaeas), Spring Green Preserve
Grasshoppers were a multitude, flying up in all directions every time I moved. On the sand, velvet-ants (actually a kind of wasp) zoomed about so fast I could not even get decent video, let alone still pictures; distinctive looking genuine ants moved at a less frenetic pace:
Ant, Spring Green Preserve
and scarabs, looking as though they had escaped a wall of hieroglyphics, skittered along the path:
Beetle, Spring Green Preserve
The open sand-prairie gave way to a cover of oak-trees, and then it was time to turn around and head back to my bike.

From Spring Green it was only about another ten miles to my campground. I followed the highway to the village of Lone Rock, and picked up a bike trail that paralleled the highway to go the remaining few miles. The trail is not quite so well-maintained as some of the state-managed gravel trails, but the prairie scenery to either side was fine, and before very long I was able to make a quick dash out across the highway to the campground.

To my surprise the campground – a private one, not DNR-run – had pretty decent WiFi, and I was able to check for crises at work and let people know how my trip was going. After that I pitched my tent, deployed the contraption that turns my Thermarest into a makeshift chair, pulled out a can of beer and my e-reader, and presto: all the necessities. I read and rested my legs. The site smelled of pine-trees, which slowly rained down tiny droplets of resin. Reading was increasingly interspersed with dozing, and at nightfall I crawled into my tent – no need to put up the fly, even – and fell deeply asleep. It had been a fine first day of traveling.

Resting at Fireside Campground after day 1; the Typhoon among the pines

Continued in:
Part 3: Mother of Waters
Part 4: True journey is return

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