Jim picked up the new quads the day before. He’d been working double-hard, drilling new holes and bolting the old cargo boxes onto the racks of the 650s. He used washers and locking nuts, and then sealed around the old holes in an effort to keep possible moisture leaks at bay. We crossed our fingers that the contents would stay dry. I packed a lunch and a few bottles of water into the cooler. Good to go.

We rode in snow, rain, sleet and a few spots of sun--every kind of weather except warm. Jim’s seals held true. It’s a good thing too, by the end of the day I was wearing every item of clothing from my cargo-box. And it would’ve been a real downer if any of it had been wet.

Lucky to have nearby trail access, we headed out for a quick preview ride before the feature presentation—The Flambeau River Trail System, about an hour and a half away.

After our mini excursion, we trailered the quads over to Park Falls in Price County (north-central Wisconsin) to ride the Flambeau River trails. Park Falls is a pretty little town, advertised as the Ruffed Grouse Capital, and a good area for black bear. Unfortunately, the mill closed a few months ago and the community is reeling from the loss of hundreds of jobs.

The reverse side of the map has useful information about access points to the Chequamegon Nicolet National Forest, trail passes, licensing information, and points of interest. There are ads for restaurants, lodging, camping, etc., as well as event and ATV club information. It also warns that “Services along the trail are limited ….” and to come equipped with your own supplies.

We parked at the Blockhouse Lake access point which had a smaller turn-around that could probably hold three or four trucks with two-place trailers, but the promised “rustic toilet” turned out to be the bushes.

We started out close to town on a paved ATV route, but the trail quickly dropped us into forest. Most of the way (trail 111) was two-track. What started out as a slow stony ride yielded to long sandy corridors winding between rows of Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) red pines planted in the thirty’s. We crossed through some young stands of poplar growing up over clear-cut areas, stopped to admire the river from a couple wooden bridges, and descended into a few dark hemlock groves. “Picturesque” is an inadequate word. There were no dramatic vistas, but it was Wisconsin’s northwoods at its finest.

A few weeks before, one of the biggest black bears I ever saw appeared in the wilds of our backyard, terrorizing the horses. That was scary enough. I really didn’t need to see one on the ATV trail. Putting on my best disappointed face, I patted Jim’s back and said, “That’s okay, honey, maybe I’ll get to see it next time.”

Jim was stopped a little way up the trail. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he said when I caught up with him.

“I guess the motor drowned your voice out. What?” I asked.

“There were two cubs behind her, and a fourth, maybe a year old or so, behind them.”

“You mean on the other side of trail as in ‘I’m between them and mom?’”

He laughed at what must have been a terrified look on my face before we gunned it up the trail to Round Lake where we ate lunch.