The 2025 Condo Week Trip, part four

This is part of a series of posts, which you should read in order. Read the first part here. And you can see all the pictures from this trip in the Google Photos album here.

 

Tuesday, August 26

  After polishing off the last of my pizza for breakfast -- always a good start to any day -- we headed up to the Dells for the Boat Tour, hosted by Captain Abby and Emma the Award-Winning Guide, who shares a writer with Jack from the Duck Boats. In fact, she told many of the same jokes, eliciting all the same groans. But she also told some different dad-jokes, and some different puns. But both of them made a fuss about Sherry's and Nancy's crocheted hats, so we like them. And of the two tours, I clearly prefer the Boat Tour, as the time spent bumping around on land in a poorly-sprung vehicle behind a loud smoking diesel had nothing to recommend it, whereas at least the smoothness of the water passage was relaxing, even with the noise of the boat's powerful engine. 

The clear water in Witch's Gulch

 

Stand Rock

 The boat tour stops at two locations in the river, both of which I remember fairly clearly from my previous visit here in 2012, with Kirby: Witch's Gulch, and Stand Rock. The first is a spot where you can walk up a narrow defile to a concession stand near the road that passes through the state park. Then the boat goes just across the water (it's a lake or reservoir, held back by the hydroelectric dam next to downtown Wisconsin Dells, and 17 feet above where it would normally be, but the locals insist on calling it a river, as though it had a natural flow to it) to Stand Rock, a pair of adjacent pillars of sandstone where, in the 1800s, local photographer H.H. Bennett took a famous photograph of his son leaping between the two pillars. It was one of the shots that made the Dells a popular tourist destination back then. Nowadays, though, what with insurance costs, they let a dog make the jump. They employ three, just for that purpose.

 By the end of that tour it was time for lunch, so we repaired to the River's Edge Pub, where we had been for dinner earlier. We hadn't planned that, but it was there and we had started wandering in circles a little bit, looking for inspiration. I had a so-so fish sandwich; I didn't make a note of what anyone else had. It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad, so it was good enough. And it was there.

Apollo & Slim

 "There," in this instance, means it was just at the end of the road we took to get the Lost Canyon wagon tour. The Lost Canyon is a very narrow crack-in-the-mountain type place where horses pull wagons of up to 14 tourists through the rock's channel. In our case the horses were Slim and Apollo. Slim is a Clydesdale with a mustache worthy of Hercule Poirot; Apollo is a larger American Paint Drafthorse, one with a butt worthy of a Kardashian. (I'm guessing; I don't actually know what a Kardashian looks like, but I picture them all as having huge asses.) 

 After a couple of rearrangements of personnel on the wagon, Sherry and I got to sit up front with the driver, so we had the best view of the tour. There are lots of places where you think there's no way this wagon is going to fit through the crevice ahead, but it opens up just enough as you round the last curve. 

Oncoming traffic

 There's one point where the narrow passage is long enough that you have to be concerned about unseen wagons coming in the other direction. They have a signal light arrangement there, and as it happens we encountered another tour group at that point. 

 I think that of the organized group activities we've been in on this trip, the Lost Canyon tour is my favourite, even though it's fairly short, only about half an hour, and a little bit bumpy; and my preference, it turns out, is unrelated to the cost, which seemed more modest than either the Ducks or Dells tours, but were in the same cost-neighbourhood. The Lost Canyon was just very relaxing and the scenery, seen up close (extremely; I was afraid of hitting my head more than once, and I'm sure Slim's ear brushed the underside of the rocks a few times) was captivating.

Champions all

 Following that, we had to make a choice: miniature golf, or cheese-ball croquet? Jeff pointed out the danger of getting your jaw smashed by a mallet just as you go to bite into your cheese ball, so we opted for mini-golf at a place called Pirate's Cove, which has like seven separate courses. The one on top of its hill is billed as "almost completely accessible," so we picked that one. There were two holes that required climbing half a dozen stairs to get to, which Jeff could have negotiated easily enough by leaving his rolling walker at the bottom, but in the event it wasn't necessary, as he was on a bathroom-break at that point and skipped half a dozen holes, including those two. So he technically Did Not Finish, while the rest of us came in in a fairly tight cluster of scores. I won, with even a hole-in-one, which may have never happened before. 

 We celebrated completion of the Once-A-Year Athletic Club Members' Meeting with drinks and light snacks on the back deck of the Lake House, where we'd heard the fiddler a couple of days earlier: cheese curds (not great), artichoke dip with pita bread (I didn't try it), and soup for two, plus a shrimp salad for Jeff. Nancy and I tried a strawberry-purée mocktail, while the others opted for actual booze, the lushes. The setting was very nice, the conversation was relaxed and as laid-back as the service. We ended the evening at the condo, where there are surprisingly few stars visible despite it seeming very dark out. Stayed up late just talking about this and that.

 

Wednesday, August 27

 Since we were up so late on Tuesday, we were late out of the gate on Wednesday. I, for one, felt tired all day, and I know Jeff did too, but we all seemed to have a good time regardless. Condo week is always like that. I did breakfast at a little local cafe called Denny's Diner (no relation to the chain of lousy restaurants), where I had a couple of fried eggs, a bagel and a schmeer served to me by, I'm guessing, a couple of Romanian kids. (They seem to be everywhere here, all on summer work visas.) It was good, but somehow I expected more, I don't know, charm? As I was driving back to the condo in that embarrassing truck, I got to thinking about how many middle-class families could live in this condo development, with its roughly 175 one- and two-bedroom units and lots of room to build more. This would make a significant dent in the affordability crisis in most major cities if it could be duplicated on a cost-effective basis; but resort rentals bring a higher return, so investment goes to that instead of what people really need. 

All aboard! R&GN Railway

 Back at the condo, we had a long, leisurely discussion of the day's activities, and then set off first to ride the miniature train at the Riverside & Great Northern. This was originally a factory where miniature trains were built, from the 1950s to the 1980s. Now it's a volunteer organization of people who like these 15-inch-gauge trains. They have a three-mile ride through the woods to a turntable where the engine is moved to the other end of the train, and you head back on the same line. We sat in a cattle car which had four seats, each facing in a different direction. Other than the difficulty of getting into the car, and the bumpiness of the ride (not unexpected), it was a pleasant journey, even fun. The car could probably have accommodated more than just the four of us, but fortunately we were the entire complement. 

view from the Riverwalk

 After that we went downtown and walked around some, first on the Riverwalk -- a pretty walkway built along the cliffs overlooking the river for about a quarter of a mile -- then on Broadway, checking out all the schlocky tourist places along there. T-shirt shops, fudge shops, ice-cream parlours, and bars seem the dominant elements of the mix, but anything that might soak up a few tourist dollars finds a place along the street. It's fun to see. I was actually hoping to find a reasonably-priced long-sleeve all-cotton T-shirt or sweatshirt, but after stopping in a few of the stores I gave up. Surprisingly, it wasn't price that kept me from buying anything.

 We interrupted our Broadway Schlep with a couple of errands (post office and drugstore), then returned to see the Root Beer Museum. Nancy got a flight of root beers that we all tasted before selecting one to use in root beer floats while she debated charging us for the samples we'd had ... by which point it was really too late and we just refused to pay her. The floats were delicious, of course, and the museum was quirky and entertaining, a good way to pass the best part of an hour. The guy operating the place -- remarkably, not the owner -- was unbelievably enthusiastic and knowledgeable about the subject. 

 We were pretty drained from a week of activity after that, so we went to a local park, parked by the side of the road, and tried to nap for about an hour. I don't think I managed to sleep at all; not sure if Jeff did; Nancy and Sherry sat contentedly in the back seat, knitting. (They do that everywhere. I'm sure if you google "women knitting in Wisconsin Dells" you'll see random people's vacay Tik Tok videos.) When the clock at the nearby church chimed six o'clock, we fired up our oversized truck and meandered down the road to the Legacy Dinner Theater, where we had tickets for Sneaky Pete's Wild West Show, a local production written by the theater owner featuring an all-you-can-eat meal of carbohydrates and fried food: a cream vegetable soup that seemed to be pure cream; dinner rolls; a pewter bucket of almost-cold fried chicken, which fortunately was not also greasy (it wasn't really bad except that it should have been warmer), and all the basic forms of foods my doctor has told me to steer clear of: mashed potatoes (which felt like they were made from flakes), corn on the cob (which I managed to avoid entirely), macaroni and (soi-disant) cheese, and baked beans (which were actually pretty tasty). Dessert choices were a fudge brownie or an apple turnover. I had the turnover, which wasn't bad, while everyone else had the brownie, which wasn't particularly good by brownie standards, which are high. Bad as the food was, I still ate too much of it, and felt bloated and ill the rest of the night. (The kind of feeling where I wake up, remember my heart attacks, and wonder if this is the Big One.)

  And then came the show. We were seated at a "bad guy" table, so we were supposed to boo the hero and cheer the villain. I did neither; I'm sorry, but this show struck me from overture to closing credits as a heavy-handed commercial for all the largest local tourist traps, but geared for second graders; and I assume all those tourist traps mentioned in the show were the ones willing to pay a promotional fee to the writers of the show. It really brought home the crass commercial aspect of this resort town, and in a most unpleasant way that I'm sure my table-mates didn't note or care about, as they were fairly uniform in their mild praise of the evening's entertainment. It was, I will admit, not as bad as the usual local production (probably at least in part because the local high school has a strong performing arts program, including a Performing Arts Center that dwarfs the rest of the the school's buildings). The performers could carry a tune for the most part (though the star of the show seemed to be just the slightest bit off on a lot of her higher notes) and the musicians were more than competent. The music consisted of re-worked familiar tunes with the words changed to tell a ridiculous local story of how the town came to be called Wisconsin Dells instead of Kilbourn, the former name (until 1931). I did not enjoy the evening. I am tired of "family-oriented" entertainment, for which read kiddie shows. I am ready for some adult themes in my show selections.

 I slept very poorly Wednesday night.