Essay:  ”Chequamegon:  The Secret Within the Forest.”

“You’ll have to swear never to tell a soul…” He pitched forward and looked me straight in the eyes. “Do you know what a Chequamegon is?”

There’s been talk of unusual creatures roaming northwestern woods of Wisconsin for as long as I could remember, but it couldn’t be true.

“No, I guess I don’t,” I admitted. 

He went on. The day before the very first Chequamegon race, some his men went missing on a particular trail section as they made their way to Cable. He was the only one who saw what happened. He was the only survivor.

“I saw them!” he declared. He looked over his shoulder into the darkened forest. “Listen, you can hear them.” 

As the old timer rocked back and forth in his crooked rocking chair on his porch, he reminisced of pedaling deep into the hardwood forests amongst six-foot ferns and fragrant firs. On one occasion, however, the forest grew more and more silent the deeper he and his fellow riders rode. 

“What happened?” I clutched my throat as dry as the creek bed just off his porch.

“The creatures are out there. They took my friends. We never had our race the next day and neither should you,” he warned, knowing full well that in a few months I may just ride in the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival.

“But, I…I have to. It’s the best race anywhere in the world! It’s what I live for! You said it yourself, the good times the…” 

“If you must ride…” he stated as he reached into an old burlap bag, “then you’ll have to save the others and ride with this!”

“What is this?” I asked. 

“It’s the Chequamegonian Orb. You must promise to ride in the race with the orb…”

“I promise,” I said taking the orb from the old timer and putting it around my neck.

We said our goodbyes and I rode back to my cabin on the other end of the forest. I pedaled faster than any race I’ve ever been in. Lights beaming. Heart pounding. Orb glowing. Eyes not blinking. I knew the truth. I knew I could save the race and the riders!