We give thanks for getting the basics of the base laid, starting long ago, and now allowing the demise of the historic Hudson detour, that nearly brought historic Hudson to its knees. But in the long haul, even moreso, moving traffic will triumph.
From chaos and confusion comes wisdom and order. At least we now have those very helpful turn-only lanes, lots of them, and barrier medians and bump-outs in all the right places, although you could say it is overkill, (but no deaths or even serious injuries as we think safety was served). Was it worth the wait? Now all that’s left to do, mainly, is replant and replace large squatches of grass, some newly formed. Where there in at least one place had been barbs of branches to disrupt your step, after a storm made things worse.
Months back, when the only sign of the chaos to come was a few barriers setting on the side of the street, a local police officer was asked by a late-night clerk about what else would happen soon. The officer didn’t appear to have much information, except that the stretch in question would be long, and the clerk’s next question was more telling: How will the Minnesotans know? Again, a sorta I dunno.
Word on the street was along this idea: Get it all done before the summer tourism season, which by virtually all accounts was ruined. (One of the local antique shops said to this fine publication and a request for advertising, come back to us when the streets again have names, or such an idea). Another word cannot be printed, that being the effect on the bar scene. That word was that the city fathers were giving a big middle finger to beer drinkers and occasional hell raisers. And the business owners themselves banded into a loosely known group whey called Sustain Hudson, which picked up early strength in North Hudson with small signs here, there and eventually everywhere at intersections, and quickly spread southward.
Those same city fathers needed to come back before the public and ask for more money for the project, come summer. The need for reworkings was more than they thought. My nephew who works in the industry framed it this way: Drawings for the layouts of what is under the streets were not done until the 1930s, well before some of these streets were laid, so exact locations of where was what, and the mayhem to fix such things, was a crap shoot at the start.
But everyone should have known better.
Local officials promised there would be a sidewalk open all the way through the stretches of road under construction. That was true, basically, but this was ready for a bit of rubble, and long streaks of simply sand were present.
At one point, I was nearly emasculated by a big stick — a different one — but let me assure you, there are no issues there. Just ask my wife, uhm, ex-wife, uhm, maybe not such a good idea for a truly full-throttle, wholehearted endorsement …
If you were one of the brave few who would try to walk from Hudson to North Hudson, you’d really have to watch your step in places, and making this especially risky late at night was the checkered effectiveness of streetlights. Most of the time these did the job, but there were stretches where they were lacking. A complaint many have had about such situations for a few years is that the new LED lights did not always have range or brightness; but you could take a chance traipsing from the corner by the bridge across to the corner where you could walk to the Mallalieu Inn.
On the sidewalk on the west side of the bridge, there were a couple of places where segments of cable, pieces of other loose metal, and other riff-raff that were basically junk, that you would have to step around. Stretches of newly laid concrete ended abruptly, sometimes with scant signage, and then all that was a few inches down was sand.
The number of people driving the between village and city after midnight was, for obvious reasons, stepped down, but those would did go often were from out-of-state and in many cases really revved it up, with speed and engine roar that is unnecessary, especially under the conditions.
But now that all is said and done, things are better for the waiting.
On the corner of Locust and Second streets, for example, there are now bumps-outs at all four corners, making it attractive for people attending The Moose. It wan’t always that smiley there, as the entryway during earlier construction was accessible, but again, be careful about your step and take care not to waiver sideways.
While the front door to Ziggy’s was pushed into disuse for a while, with dug up sidewalk everywhere, it now has bump-outs just to the south, and also to the southwest if you look across the street, being of benefit to everyone, whether behind the wheel or possibly behind the intoxication eight-ball. And over by the DQ, they were not disqualified from such treatment, as the reconstruction patterns played out the same.
Down where children often cross, from more than one school, the flags-waving workers are now aided by similar treatment, and even a pair of medians about a yard in width — although far from the schoolyards — make things safer, although a bit unusual looking. Big signs atop big poles announce their presence.
All through it, sidewalks that once were sandy now also are wider, in some cases with their width doubled from adding onto existing concrete. Stone walls also are reinforced at the bottom, in a couple of cases with cement running up their creviced edges.
One time around when the traffic was backed up further than usual, in near the heart of the village, there was a kid on his bike and carrying a fishing pole joining the cars in line, as the lake was still a couple of blocks away.
Around the bend, a sign asked that people be polite, a tall order under the circumstances, and not block a driveway when waiting for the light to turn green. Most people seemed to comply.
Around the main bend, it was hard not to notice the big culverts that had been removed, since they had big crumbled edges and small streaks of what looked like rust, even though underneath was concrete not metal.
Next to the boat landing, — where parking is now set in an orderly aquare — were more big hunks of concrete the size and shape of a port-a-potty, and two were labeled A1, as it is not the sauce that was at stake, rather getting that last segment done quickly before the snow would fly
So, it is not surprising that many drivers and even their passengers, would notice the two places where the construction version of a pothole had formed, doing a number they feared on their tires. No matter how they would slow their speed, complaints were aired — even if one case to a police officer serving as a flagman, motioning for a driver to speed it up a couple of notches through the area and let traffic move better.
In the last few weeks before the project was finally finished, there appeared to be a rush put on things to get them done before snowstorm time of year. Large slabs of concrete were laid much faster, and before some people knew it, all that was left of the project was a whole line of orange cones along the middle stripe — and then taken down the next day. It isn’t easy to say why this pace didn’t occur with such urgency much sooner, and when drivers had waits of several minutes and more than one red-to-green transition before getting through, it was apparent that the lights were not synced for time of day, and rather were one size of time fits all hours. For a bit early, flagmen helped move things faster, but in fairness it seems the necessary syncing would have been very costly and elaborate.
So people passed the time listening to much of album sides on the radio, debating for how long to turn off the keys rather than having the engine idle and harmed, lamenting the forays into the ditch that at least one driver had while negotating the Trout Brook Road detour, and just generally complaining.
After being out-of-town for a few days, I had wondered way back in August if the bridge was open, and a man downtown said it was — but failed to mention it was just one lane. Those walking past by the drug store had to pace single-file, maybe on a six-inch strip connected to the brick building, and one appeared to be giving a whole new meaning to David Lee Roth and “got her toes in the sand” where there once was sidewalk. Well sung.

You don’t have to be a dear hunter’s widow at T-Buckets Hometown Bar on Wednesday night, Nov 24, but it helps.
There is $50 bar tab for best jammie or onesie — as not everything needs to be skimpy lingerie — at midnight, not to mention $2 shots of Fireball and snacks before, during and after. Bring a toy donation for added important considerations, for both them and you, as there are even more special deals to be found. It all starts at 8 O’Clock.
So the Nextdoor bar and grill is not the only such option for such people for that day and those that follow, if you are heading into Houlton and towards Somerset. Maybe take in both!
On the southern musical horizon, Distilled is back in town again, as is Hitchville, on back-to-back nights starting on Friday.

— News break: Be sure to see, when it is still published in this weekend of thanks, my many ruminations of the detour that was more than a mere dogleg, and how it effected both daily life and nightlife … shovel by shovel …–

This time it is, for both nights, at the GasLite in Ellsworth. And if the music isn’t enough in itself, there is definite eye candy appeal.
Distilled boasts “raven wavy hair and ruby lips” in one of its leading ladies, and the other is someone with the counterpoint and shorter blonde locks — for variety sake — that I swear I have seen online. And then there is that guy with a black top hat worthy of another guitarist, Slash, hoisting a bottle of what could be a namesake liquor. And so on, with the other three members of the band.
As for Hitchville, the two young and beautiful “country” people shown online could be right out of TV shows known for their glamour and glitz — in particular the guy in his twenties who looks like an actor on one of the CSI series.
But there is just as much substance as style, so again, check them both out.
And lastly, as nothing is more Wisconsin than Kwik Trip, they point out that the holidays here are all about beer, and scores of such specials abound all the way through the holiday, mostly on the good stuff. Where else could Miller and Coors share the same playing field?

A doublewide garage door needed some mid-day, mid-November dressing up for the holidays up-top, from one end to the other, as a North Hudson man went down to the last bulb in getting a string of lights up and now-fully in place, up and down the pipe of where the downspout dangled.
As he retired from his ladder, and down on the last step, he was asked if that final bulb — fulfilling most of the colors of the rainbow as a precursor to up and down Packer-Viking football in just days, with a win much more pressing for one team than the other — made all the difference in decorating, with it still a full 40 days before Christmas.
The response of this trendsetter and man for all seasons, one of the first to brave the new cold and get the holiday flare up there, was a combo of “yeah” and “ugh.”
So it goes, a mixture of emotions, in the early times of the season(s).
A few wooded lots down, an acquaintance of mine who was raking the various shades of oak leaves from the yard, reminded to do what’s most vital first. This is the time to fix that (Christmas?) mouse problem is before it starts – and that’s before the snow flies, and before you deck out your house and the halls for the holidays, as the vermin might try to show up for moral support if you do the typical Griswold holiday thing, and that finds you ending up Home Alone when they see you — that being the missus and the kids — and what are you going to do with that ladder in your hand? Because the rodents are collectively Modest Mouse and can be tamed with traps that are aside from fooling that turdy-point buck, like the Taming of a Shrew, so get it on right now as much as prematurely calling forward the holidays with erection of your silver bells.
Whew, only HudsonWiNightlife can throw that many cultural and musical musical references into two run-on sentences. But we hope the tip value in your memory remains, as we are heading into the typically most popular time for getting your roof and yard looking shipshape, (reference a couple of previous posts), as there can be a counter purpose to Black Friday (and Menards) since sales are up, but at the same time availability via the shipping lanes is down.
That latter point has Santa doing what all good world citizens do, and outscouring ways to do outsourcing of production and delivery, even if it is in violation of the labor agreement with the elves, see Randy Newman and his Short People song — but not the one with the better unionized reindeer as a special and vulnerable population, allowing Rudolph to take paternity leave and thus bolster the ranks of this endangered species. Having twins with Cupid?
So people are going above and beyond in some cases with decorating that didn’t wait unlike the middle of the extended Thanksgiving weekend, such as my neighbor actually getting out a cherry picker he rented (I assume). So take that, oh ye library that will not reopen from storm damage, mainly to the carpet, until 2022, and woe be to ye who before that want to read up on the storm of 2021. And up the block, there was an extended SUV with tailgate open that backed up through the front yard and the middle yard all the way to the back yard. Then out whipping back to the front and the driveway.
But of course there also is, simultaneously, The Biggest Bar Night Of The Known World And Limo Bus To The Outerlying Planets Pub Crawl. A precursor was the inch or two of snow for the first fall, and the visitor/partier who muddled through it, and we have it on good authority not from Minnesota or even Iowa. Why? Her words as she climbed the few steps into the Smilin’ Moose: “I’ve only see this much snow three times in my life.” We assume that’s once every seven years.
That’s about how often you see a verdict coming forward about a style of hockey glove. If its (colors) don’t fit, you must acquit. That was the national news made when Zach Parise sported the wrong but new colors when stickhandling, and doing it well, at a skate-around of the New York Islanders, virtually announcing his new team of choice with nary a press conference, and more colors in the form of a jersey displayed. (More down the — blue — line later about mansion listings for he and Ryan Suter).
On a much more serious note, the trial of the century, or such, in Kenosha, found the vigilante killer not guilty of all counts. All during final arguments, a man I know with Tourette Syndrome vocalizations kept uttering, with his echolalia, the semi-nonsense phrase, Rittenhouse mouse, in the house? Maybe to make up the difference in frequency of use, as spell check does not register that symptom-based term.
(And from a likeminded person, Happy Covid upcoming). Yes these could be found offensive, or is there some sage satire I’m missing? Anyway, my mom phoned her grandson and told him to get the heck out of Racine, even if one city over, as soon as his work shift was over.

They can now come to your door. So you, in turn, should go to theirs, through the beauty of “sign” language. And this is not just Door Dash. So this is how you can make the most of street detour experience.
Maybe it is time for a Big Ol’ Broadway Neon Sign, on how to make amends with the road through putting out a welcome mat that is knockdown, drag out — or wait that could be the detour itself — and make this travel one great big happy hour.
Let me explain: The latest sending-of-traffic-a-different direction, has it filtering right past Starr’s Bar in North Hudson, for them turning a bad thing into a good thing for customer access. But how to market it? Try a great big glowing sign that begets that of The Village Inn, which begets the latest such thing, that of Exit 1 Fireworks.
Area bartenders said the effect on their traffic has been shown in up and down streaks.
Over at the Mallalieu Inn, the other bar at the south end of North Hudson, where there are very slow times, it might be just the ticket to bring in an added customer base, making up in part for what was missed at the fall motorcycle rally. This shows promise for a different type of vehicle Knocking At Their Front Door, with those having twice as many wheels, generally, flooding past.
When cars began to also be directed back eastward, past the old Season’s Tavern, early in the week, it was just in time since two blocks to the north there were more than a dozen cars parked along the west side of Fourth Street North, en masse due to what seemed to be new blacktopping on the lots of adjacent apartments.
There were fewer of the “no parking temporarily” placards to be seen just a foot or two away from the curb, but the ones saying something like “drive like your kids and pets play here” (a composite) were still prevalent.
A new sign: The flashing this-is-your-mph display was about halfway between the two places you turn at 90 degrees, and at least one Minnesotan I saw pushed it to 34 mph. My walking was at one-quarter that speed, as eight is enough, and I was curious if it would read me if I paced by diagonally. No takers in orange bulbs.
Those in these and other colors were up and around and about, however, with a specialty being wrapped tree trunks.
One in the neighborhood, in the evening, was only there until just after dusk with its light. Across the street, all that could be seen in the eventual pitch blackness were the flashes of bulbs on strings as they swung to and fro, then up.
But the queen of orange, and I suppose king too, are pumpkins all around people’s doorsteps, with no holes for eyes and nostrils, as that was an earlier season. They could be part of a theme of — can’t say it as blackface — but rather the occasional orangeface of my favorite Tap bartender when she goes on a tanning roll, (or toll so to speak, but really no), to go with her ever changing hair. Great looks all, including Roxy.
On the flip side of the village proper with detour dealings, The Village Inn broke from form for them and took out a big ad flyer in one of the mailers you often see. However, the specials it hawked — showing a cartoon car that is bumped up to a construction-barrier-boarded-horse that is complete with the detour unusuality of erect stop signs and yes two bumped down cones — were not that special as far as value. Not quite the promised way to beat construction fatigue, although you still gotta love their pizza special, usually on Saturdays, of a large for the price of a small.
Across the street at Village Liquor, the sign that said customers could reach their place through the back alley now pitches of all things a bourbon raffle — now that’s got the good ‘ol lottery beat by a landslide.
And Exit 1 Fireworks had a small and low-height sign next to a similar one for BOH Electronics, both sitting at the corner of Fourth and Sommers and directing customers on how to negotiate the detour and get to their place. One could have its advantage by traveling east and the other south. And but wait, there is another sign, electronic and flashing of neon, that highlights North Hudson’s Original Fireworks Shop. It says their deals will blow your mind, highlighted by an odd but not quite crazy-looking man with wild hair, and has a Hiroshima-like cloud shooting upward as any good display of fireworks would. As in you would have to be Einstein the figure out the Wisconsin vs. Minnesota fireworks laws?
Up the block, a sign of the times asked that we “stop gerrymandering” — and these days more than ever you are likely to be familiar with the term — with the recommendations of a “Fairmaps” group. (Or is that facemask, but that now would be another mandate). And up the block again, there is a sign that asks to “end the mandate,” showing for emphasis an upside-down needle that actually looks like a beer bottle you might have finished off.

This agate-and-more store will keep you gaping, and not leave a gaping hole in your wallet.
The family owned and operated Reagan’s Rocks shop — dad and daughter — has many kinds of agates and quartz, minerals and gems — but doesn’t stop there, scouring the globe to give something a bit different to downtown Hudson’s east side of Second Street. There are dozens of other types of crystals and stones of all sizes on its rows of shelves, many with thorough written descriptions of their powers to heal, nurture and transform.
Some of the favorites are on a circular display in the middle of the store, and the omnipresent patriarch Curtis is always there to greet you on the far side, after patrons have roamed through the rest of the place. And they will buy many of your own agates, too.
Among the faves are black tourmaline, with dozens of them currently housed in a big, decorative backet and costing only $3 each, and Rainbow Iris agate from Indonesia, as Reagan’s goes worldwide.
They are open Wednesdays through Sundays.

This coulda been. Or maybe it was, as the season-long promising Brewers are from Milwaukee, just like — originally — the coming-on-late Braves that proved to be the actual World Series champions for the first time in decades, but now hailing from Atlanta.
This irony was not lost on a buddy of mine, a Braves fan himself but longtime Wisconsinite who screamed out the following: “You had a part in this.” He said this with just just two chops, or outs, left in that last decisive game, then added he went down “there” to Georgia (looking for a base to steal) just once for an Atlanta contest, decades ago, on a fan’s mission — only to have Hammerin’ Hank remain seated in the dugout the entire game, but at least he managed to get a visual, if not at home plate itself.
My luck, as luck often has it, was better. I only saw Aaron once, back at the old County Stadium and he hit a screaming homer to left that I swear never reached a height of much more than a basketball hoop, and here I go again with a Bucks reference.
But speaking of home runs, I was on hand late in summer for one of the most memorable you will ever find … sort of. And it came after a game so chock full of blunders and missteps and poorly played infield hits that people started leaving right after the Seventh Inning Stretch. They would likely be in the car for a walk off to top all walk offs. This resonates with my crew, as we held out until The Ninth, but then there was a fateful decision, and we are not talking merely a win-loss for the starting pitcher, as he was long gone from the game.
We also up and left. We didn’t want to see another outfielder trip and fall and hurt his knee while the play was being made 100 feet away and uncontested. Or let a dribbler from a bat that trickled down the third base line and was left to go foul but ended up out in left field for a double. Or a propensity to be high in the strike zone by multiple pitchers including our ace. The result was fittingly on the theme of Bobblehead Day featuring another star outfielder, by name of Braun, a scant Brewer lead going into the middle innings. There was not as foul ball all the way through the first two and the game was rolling right along. That was soon to change …
The pace slowed considerably and was chock full of 3-2 counts and fouls that were not fly balls with a chance of reaching the fence.The Brew Crew now trailled and after a couple more innings that were less then noteworthy, it was D-Day and two of the new Harvey’s Wallbangers were coming up in the eighth. The bases were full when Rowdy came a calling, a hitter made for situations like this. Alas, on slider low and inside, he fanned in front of the chagrined hometown fans. That left it up to the former MVP Christian Yelich — who is kinda and sorta known to my family and all will be revealed in a later post — and boy did he come through … Well sorta.
Batting lefthanded, he delivered a rocket that would have gone to the fence for a three RBI at-bat to send the game to extra-innings, but the Cardinal first baseman speared it while leaping toward the line and it snowconed for a third out. That was in the bottom of the eighth.
Should We Stay Or Should We Go? The dominant voice among mixed reviews was to head on out, as the game would take five hours upon conclusion and my nephew had to be somewhere. It would be fitting that out in the parking lot was seen, for the second time that day, an old body chalk line or two in the midst of the tailgating.
Talk was aplenty among us about things like the new presence of the term quality at-bat, determined in large part by the length you milk the count and partly responsible for longer games like this one. Being in Cheesehead country, you’d think it to be more than an eventual single.
But there were more than one of those, again filling the bases. We started second-guessing ourselves, crisscrossing closer to my parent’s house, where we were stopping before my brothers. As we were only blocks away, talk briefly turned to the cool new name for a tattoo shop and the best grub at a pub. Second-guessing took a third try. And my nephew was being implicated more and more as we drew closer.
At the short driveway, we hustled in and dad had the game on. He had not gone with us. People took turns quickly using the bathroom. I had noticed more of a hubbub as I exited, and was a first-down’s away from the television when indeed IT HAPPENED. My dad squirmed in his easy chair and the call was made by my brother, from right behind him, who could have been Bob Uecker himself: Game-Winning Home Run! And we could have been there. At least we saw it on TV, not having to settle for a car radio, like some others.
Mom made sure we were each supplied a brat or two, to grieve? Reminisce? Or simply process the events of the now-spent afternoon.
It least it wasn’t when Hank Aaron rode the bench.

As a theme this Halloween was house parties, it was something wicked this way comes up and down the detour, as if that was not scary enough.
People often chose to walk either from the downtown if starting early in costume, or from as far as North Hudson to get to the mongo bash on Second Street, nearer the main city then the village. It even attracted a moderate-length limo, whose driver waited curbside with baited breath while dropping off comely clients, and when asked if this was the big deal for the evening, smiled and nodded with chin slightly up.
The lady of the house of the evening, greeted guests in a gently filled doorway, and the fact that they were such — and I must say thirty-something and very classy — beautiful people showed this was the party in demand that night. One such good witch coming on down the way of the sidewalk –where there was little else — when asked if her destination was obvious, said this: “Take one guess.”
Back behind the limo driver, someone walking toward their sedan said that the minions, the full-size ones, were coming with him.
Just past midnight, most of the folk were strolling downtown to partake in other ghoulish goings-on, and was said to me, as I was heading northward, by a woman with a pair of flashlights on her chest, As She Lit Up A Candle And Showed Me The Way … “you’re going the wrong direction!”
Back at a backyard outing that had been going strong in North Hudson, there was not much Livin’ After Midnight.
But there definitely was at costume contests under Big City Lights.
The costumes that were naughty and bawdy and nice were way over the top, going to new lengths in creativity and out-there-ness. Enuf said about that, with this exception as a summary of what was the most prevalent, and not much seen in prior years: The (appearance of) multiply stitched together lips, especially in female (and she-male?) zombies.
Oh, three other notables: (1) A shark-head actually on the top of someone’s scalp, flared out almost a foot with big teeth front and back in true Jaws-like style, and something looking like either a great big tongue or caught fish about by the forehead. Ghastly! (2) An astronaut/alien, but no Ziggy Stardust, with a globe-head big enough to befit Neil Armstrong (sorry!) that was all allow with green color when flashing so you could see a skeletal face! (3) The proverbial and very prolifically prize-winning Eve/Irish hair/Lady Godiva (move over Lady Gaga), who I greeted with a “Same costume. Great look.” To my surprise came this adamant Addams response, “It is NOT the same costume!”
In North Hudson, trick-or-treating traffic was late and light, although those who did show were even more polite then ever, by all accounts. New this year were three things: A truck pulling a trailer-load of trick-or-treaters way in back, a just-in-time newer detour route over to the city itself that was if anything less bumpy, and a noticeable lighter police presence handing out there usual glow-sticks. Ugh, as that has always been popular. The last two might have something to do with each other.
Don’t know if there was any response to the inquiry to the online neighborhood, for a little help from friends in low places, to establish another pirate ship in the front yard (also don’t know if this is a copycat from the one on the Main Drag, Johnnie Depp). I do know there is/was a big display with a similar skull and crossbones theme over on Third Street.
Not long before seeing that, I saw a Still Runnin’ ad for the Addams Family2 movie, right after flipping through channels and briefly viewing the TV show itself, shortly after hearing the theme song on my way home.
And while there, back to trick-or-treating, here were what I consider the three top quips.
(1) A small child said about my (back to the story’s beginning) Something Wicked This Way Comes warble, “His voice sounds way too high and funny,” to which came the reply, “I only sound this way once year. Otherwise its very low (like Morticia).”
(2) “These are cool big candy bars.” Got them at Family Fresh. Blatant plug from a previous post. “My grandfather owned the Hershey’s Company. My great-great-great-great-great grandfather.” Now dead. Or undead?
(3) A third child couldn’t stop staring at the feet of my pirate — leaning against the wall and positioned at his head level. “He’s standing on his head just for you!”
But that’s it for now. Got to go eat my supper of Chicken Afraido and Muenster Cheese.

Well done, I am in more ways then one, since my blood sausage thusly, for dessert, is no longer medium-rare. So now looking ahead to a weekend of just music, without costume contests:
The band Distilled — do not be Disturbed — but hey, by any name they won’t diss their fans, as they come a distance to play the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt on Friday, Nov. 5.
This too is about a name. Drink 182 is all about the ’90s, which you don’t often see, and they show their grunge physically and musically at Ziggy’s on Saturday night.
Its all around the Upper-Midwest-named-band-acts, city and state, at the Treasure Island Event Center. If you missed Chicago the night before Halloween, you can still catch Kansas on Nov. 12. No word on “Iowa” and Slipknot, but we think it unlikely.
“The casinos don’t want you to see this,” says an online ad … but there are five slot machines allowed in every bar in St. Croix County.