Rather than the usual run-down of a whole week's travel, I decided to profile one interesting small town where I spent the better part of two rainy days.
Last Tuesday afternoon, the first day of summer, I sat under a wayside pavilion in Cornucopia, Wisconsin, shivering from the damp wind blowing off of Lake Superior. I had ridden only twenty miles from Bayfield and the third wave of thunderstorms that day was rumbling overhead. Torn between staying frugal and staying dry, I was desperately searching my phone's GPS for a cheap motel nearby.
Campgrounds were aplenty, but my tent had already been soaked when I packed it in the rain that morning and it wasn't likely to dry with a forecast calling for two more days of wet and cold.
Remarkably I found a pinpoint on the map identifying the Willow Motel less than ten miles down the road in Herbster. I waited for the ripples in the puddles to show me the rain was easing, filled my water bottle at the artesian well and started pedaling southwest under the slate sky.
"Hello?" I called into the depths of a dark house. The sign by the door had read 'Office,' but I found myself standing amidst several pairs of shoes and boots with coats hanging on the nearest wall of what I would call a mudroom. I heard the faint jabber from a television in a distant room, but nobody appeared.
From a quick glance behind the house, I had only spotted two or three rooms in an outbuilding. The hand-carved sign in the front yard read 'Vacancy,' but there didn't appear to be an easy way to attach a 'No.'
I tried again. "Hello? Anybody here?" As I was turning to leave with scenes from Psycho playing in my head, I heard footsteps. A sleepy looking woman with gray hair and glasses shuffled into the room.
"Sorry to barge in. Is this the motel?" I knew that it was, but felt obliged to ask when no greeting was offered.
"Yes it is and you need a room. Let me show it to you." She slipped into some boots and herded me out the door toward the outbuilding.
Despite my initial thoughts, Marge was a friendly woman with a lively step and the sort of laid-back attitude which I appreciate. In fact, the same casual perspective seemed to exist throughout the entire population of 104 citizens, or at least the people I met. The street pole banners sum it up well: "Relax, You're in Herbster."
The room had an up-north cabin motif with a kitchenette, wood paneling walls and a snowshoe lamp. Marge bustled around finishing the housekeeping duties while I unloaded my dripping gear from the bicycle.
"Is there a store or restaurant in town where I can get some food?"
"Well it's Tuesday afternoon, so both the restaurants are closed already, but you can get sandwiches and groceries at the gas station."
After I had warmed myself by the space heater and settled into my new quarters, I strolled through the drizzle, to the South Shore Convenience Store which was also a gas station, a laundromat, an ice cream parlor and a mechanic's garage. The usual road-trip snacks and camping dry goods adorned the shelves. The coolers were rife with cheap beers and pop. I grabbed a few items and set them on the counter before a blonde-haired woman sporting a genuine smile as she hung up the telephone.
"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to help you find things, what with the phone ringing off the hook." I couldn't imagine needing help locating anything in the three, six-foot long aisles, however when I told her I was searching for dinner, she pointed out a frozen pizza cooler I hadn't noticed.
"Unfortunately my room at the motel doesn't have an oven."
"Well I have one here. I can bake it for you. You just have to try these pizzas!" The freezer wasn't stocked with DiGiorno's like I expected, but with Racheli's Deli stuffed-crust pies, made in nearby Washburn.
A half-hour later I was walking back to the gas station, now also a pizzeria, to get my dinner. Janine, the only employee I had seen working, was heading out the door before I got there. I believe she might have delivered it to the motel had I not appeared. It was wrapped in foil and had little sections of drinking straws sticking in it like birthday candles to prevent the cheese from melting onto the aluminum.
I didn't know how to thank her, but she didn't give me a chance. "Hurry back and eat before it gets cold!"
Back in my room I devoured several slices, drank a delicious cherry ale from Wisconsin's New Glarus Brewery, and promptly fell asleep.
The next morning I awoke to the white noise of a downpour hammering the driveway outside my door. My phone told me it was 46 degrees, would rain the entire day and that I should go back to bed.
Around 10:30 a.m. I walked briskly through the rain to Tracy's by the Lake, the local cafe. There were several people lounging in the bar area, already drinking beer, and music was pumping through the speakers. The Gourds were playing their alt-country cover of "Gin and Juice" while I ordered breakfast.
As if only to confirm my idea that Herbster was a care-free town, the clock on the wall had stopped ticking at 10:10 one day. Nobody had seemed to notice or at least bothered to change the battery. Beside it stood the self-serve coffee station. Feel free to as many refills as you'd like. I poured myself a mug and waited for my food to arrive.
"It's not usually like this in the morning," Marge shouted over the music as she delivered my eggs, hashbrowns and toast. The motel owner waitresses there in the mornings.
"What's it usually like?" A country song about driving trucks began with the realistic sound of a big rig's engine and drowned out my question. I never did find out the special occasion, but things were already simmering down by the time I paid my five dollar tab and headed back into the blustery rain.
I thought perhaps the drinkers were simply protesting the unseasonable weather. This inspired me to walk across the street to the convenience store and purchase a few Leinenkugel's to take back to the motel. I had decided to stay another day.
Janine's husband Darrin was behind the counter and already knew about my travels from his wife.
"You picked a bad time to visit Herbster. There's nothing going on." He paused a moment, then smirked. "Though there's usually nothing going on."
He told me that tourism is the livelihood of most of the residents. Vacationers, hunters, fishermen and snowmobilers pass through on WI-13, the minor highway that runs through town. Some stay at the Willow or at the city campground on Lake Superior's shore. Despite their excellent location for outdoor tourism, business has been slow lately due to strange weather and high gas prices.
Later that afternoon when the rain had paused for a spell, I took a quick stroll around the local streets. There was an excellent shoreline, a few nice houses and a couple artisan shops selling local crafts. It wasn't much, but it sure was peaceful.
I stood alone for a while on Bark Point Road staring out over the cold water of Superior. As the white-capped waves came crashing down on the beach, somehow, despite the bad weather, I was relaxed. I was in Herbster.
If you want to learn more about Herbster and it's history, there's a little information on Wikipedia.
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Location:US-2, Bena, MN, United States
