Eagle River, WI

So the moment you've all been waiting for (or not =p), the Eagle River report!

We met at the hockey club at 1800 hours in Fredonia, NY and loaded up the WarWagon. The WarWagon is a 1981 Dodge Globemaster RV, a single carb, 440ci powered behemoth that the Sheriff pulled out of a field were it sat for a decade before he bought it for $100. This thing is the hero of all our trips, a true character if there ever was one. A little ShadeTree mechanic work on it has it seating 12 comfortably, with space for 6 to sleep (as long as you don't mind lieing close to a man, which, since we've been showering together for more than a decade, we don't lol). It has 5 flatscreen TVs providing viewing for all no matter where you sit, SatNav, and the Sheriff rigged the cooling system to pipe hot coolant into an old iron radiator placed in the back for front-to-back heating. It also has a stand-up bar complete with every tool needed to keep a dozen men soused for days at a time, and enough storage to tote 12 men's hockey gear anywhere in the continent. Laugh if you must; the WarWagon is the bomb.



Before we even left town, Der Kraza, our mayhem coordinator, had the Voodoo's flowing. Voodoo is the sponsored drink and official fuel of the WarWagon, equal parts vodka and Mountain Dew's Amped energy drink (it picks you up while it knocks you down!) By the PA border, which was only 45 minutes away, we were already buzzing pretty good. Upon crossing the border, Herr Krauza proclaimes that crossing the border requires dipping into the moonshine he had squirreled away for the trip. Cor blimey! Held in a mason jar, this jar contained one whole sliced apple, a few pinches of pumpkin extract, one cinnamon stick, filled with shine, and left to sit for weeks. My god, what a drink! It was like apple pie mixed with rocket fuel, and we finished the whole damn thing before leaving PA. For those who know how long it takes to cross PA via the I-90, needless to say, it was a shit show =D And of course, "Welcome to Ohio" brought the 2nd bottle of shine, pineapple this time. God save us all...

Ohio was a blur, and Michigan brought the third bottle of shine (pear), and, what the hell, some whiskey soaked cherries as well. Before we knew it, we were in Detroit and picked up the Fed, completing our 11 man entourage. Herr Krauza, batshit crazy as he is, had decided earlier that a strip club in Detroit after picking up the Fed would be our first party stop. Several of us objected, not wanting to live it up in the murder capital of the US. I spoke to EvenBob, who agreed we were stupid and suggested Ann Arbor, a mellow college town just 30 minutes west. We made it to Romulus, MI, some dumpy suburb just outside of the airport. To be honest, even after the SatNav bugged out and sent us through Inkster, Lincoln Park, across 7 Mile and 8 Mile roads, if not for the street signs, I couldn't really tell it apart from Buffalo.

After the club, I passed out until I was shaken awake crossing the Mackinaw bridge. Mackinaw rises 551' over where Lake Huron and Lake Michigan converge, and it was a sight. Looking out of the window was like looking upon an alien planet, just a vast expanse of frozen, wind blasted ice, shattered and piled this way and that. The temp in the WarWagon dropped probably 20 degrees as the winds buffeted us, swaying the massive beast all over the lanes. After 9 hours of boozing and 3 hours sleep, it was one of the more interesting ways I've been woken up. After crossing we stopped for breakfast, leaving our mark on the people of the Upper Penninsula (or "da U.P., eh" as locals call it) and, since you can't drink all day unless you start in the morning, we all cracked a beer.



Several blurry hours later, we made it deep into Wisconsin to a bar we always stop at called the Whitetail Inn. It was here I noticed a curious thing - I'd hardly seen another car or truck on the road. Even here at the bar, a grand total of 3 cars stopped the entire time we were there. In that same amount of time, I seen at least 50 snowmobiles. It seemed that's the only way anyone got around here in the desolate north. Other than the two cars of the Whitetail's bartenders, this was their parking lot, with more behind me



Upon arriving in Eagle River, we unpacked and the Fed immediately fired up the grill. He brought 20lbs of elk back straps and we gorged ourselves to the max; backstrap steaks, medallions wrapped in bacon, baked potatoes, mixed veg, and Fireball whiskey to wash it all down. After such a splurge, we did a rare thing; we went to bed ;)

We woke at 7a to a beautiful sunny day with a temp of 3*F. Steam rose from the lake ice, a light frozen fog hung in the air. Arrival to the tourney caused my mouth to fall and eyes to open wide; everywhere you looked were guys ponding it up. Rink after rink after rink, guys from all over the US competing in the sport I love. As a guy who's only ever skated on cultured ice, it was a whole new world. No boards, no glass, no bench, no Zamboni, no 45*F arena, cracks in the ice, this was some hardcore stuff. The ice was rough this year; the same warm front that hit me a few weeks earlier hit here, complete with rain. It caused a layer of water between layers of ice, which mucked everything up as it froze. Many of the rinks were cracked, and a lot of the walkways had water squeezing up onto them. One guy even fell through, sinking to his waist in 32*F water.



Everywhere you went, you skated to. To the rinks, to the changing tents, into the changing tents, to concessions to buy a shirt or a drink, to the first aid tent, to check out your friend's game - you just skated everywhere. It was wild. The VFD puts the whole thing on, and the VFD runs it all. They tend the rinks, they tend the pucks, they ref the games; for hours on end, they sit out in the cold and have a blast of a time, a real warm environment to be in. Families pack the ends watching brothers/sisters/husbands/wives take part. Yes, several teams were women in their 40s and 50s. Baby strollers don't exist there, toddlers are toted around in toboggans and sleds, wrapped up in croched blankets. The team names are loaded with double entendre - Mooseknuckles, Frozen Clams (girls team), Old Puck'ers, and a hundred more I can't remember. Some girl's team was named Ms. Conduct after the 10 minute penalty in hockey, with jerseys that featured a WWII era "fancy girl" and hockey socks designed to look like fishnet stockings. A men's team sported skirts and wigs. One team's captain was the "King", and was dragged to the rink by his "Jesters" on a toboggan on which was a throne made of broken hockey sticks. And my favorite, the Proper Gents, whose entire uniform resembled a tuxedo.



The hockey was strange. Of all the times I've touched the puck in my 14 year career, probably 65% of those possessions end with me dumping it off the glass or boards. There were none here. Many of our guys are in the habit of charging the boards and, if they can't stop, simply hitting them and bouncing off. There's nothing to bounce off here, but that habit is hard to break. A great many knees and ankles nearly got buckled as we just couldn't shake that habit, as demonstrated by Herr Krauza



After all my fear of dying from exposure, the only difference in gear I went with was that I ditched my chest and elbow pads, instead wearing a thermal shirt, hoodie, and balaclava. After just the warmup skate, I peeled the balaclava off and just had it covering my neck. After the 30 minute game and skate to the tents, I couldn't take the heat, stripped to bare skin, and stood outside in the 3*F air. Steam rolled off my body for the entire 10 minutes I stayed out there, and it was completely refreshing. I hate the cold, but the temps we had that week were completely tolerable. After the steam quit, I put on my sweaty undershirt and went back outside, letting my body heat and cold air take the moisture out of it. Once dry, I redressed and spent the next 2 hours outside bathed in warm, dry body heat. The guys who called me crazy were cold after 20 minutes, chosing instead to stay dressed in their sweaty gear.



By 10a we were on our way to getting torqued up again, and by the time we got home after our 2p game, we were there. It was time to go out and party, at which time, sure as night doth follow day, Herr Krauza stated that he was driving. There are only two rules of the WarWagon, one of which is Krauza never drives. But, for some unknown reason (probably the whiskey), the Fed got on the Sheriffs ass, saying it was about time and we needed to give him a chance. 15 minutes later, the WarWagon was backed up and facing up the driveway, we all piled in, and the Mayhem Coordinator took the wheel. We paced it out - he made it 63 feet.



After we peeled the WarWagon off the tree, did what we could to patch the 2 foot hole in it, and secured the window that got dislodged, the night kind of went downhill. Guilt and anger swapped back and forth several times that night, some words were had, and one guy just walked off into the sunset, not being found until we tried to get home and realized he trashed the place and baricaded himself in. Somewhere along the way, though, we rallied around the spirit of Man Trips, and made a good night of it all. Probably too good, as by the time I finally got all of us out of the bars and into our beds, it was pushing 4a with a gametime of 7:30a.

7:30a came quick, and it was obvious the night before still lingered. Hockey stopped and "hack"ey began, with the only goal to burn off the frustrations and finish the trip strong. Herr Krauza demonstrated his two handed overhand smash throughout the game.



Exhausted, on a 3 day drunk, sad about the WarWagon, we made it to the local Men's League game, and that's where the day turned around. This was a full check travel league the guys up here play, and it was a different world all over again. The arena is hand made out of 2"x 8"s and plywood, the bleachers, some 10 rows high, also made of 2"x 8"s. The concession stand just a shed inside the foyer, and the beer flowed cheap. No less than 5 times I must've uttered "you'd get arrested in NY for that!" Guys walking outside with a pitcher in each hand, drinking out in the parking lot, guys using the emergency exits to go outside and smoke, people bringing in their own hard liquor to drink in the stands. Come the end of the game, some guy approached the County Sheriffs who were posted at rink entrance. He was double fisting pitchers and looked as if he was trying to get on the ice. I watched, waiting for a confrontation, only to see the Sheriff smile and open the door for him. I couldn't belive it. Not ten minutes later the rink was full of a hundred or more people wrestling, foot racing, fake fighting, handing off pitchers to some players that returned who went about sliding around the ice while trying to chug a pitcher... I couldn't believe it. You can't even spit on the ice in NY, here, gallons of beer spilled this way and that as hundreds of pairs of shoes tracked all manner of stuff all over. Liability? I don't think that's word up here. More than one person left bleeding and possibly broken, and everyone loved it.





One of the guys that rolled with us I've known since college, and he created "The Mullet Cup", which has gained epic status during this tournament. At the end of it all at the big party, he dons a full tuxedo and white cotton gloves, escorts it inside in it's own locking case, and everyone rallies around it. Every year it gets its picture taken with nearly everyone in the town, it gets lost, it gets stolen, it gets damaged, it gets paraded about the town, and a plaque placed on it a la the Stanley Cup, complete with teams, names, and offenders. The madness that surrounds it is quite a site.



As it was the last day, we decided to head in and spend it with each other instead of navigating the madness downtown. After all that transpired with the possible death of the WarWagon, we needed a little bonding. What better way to do it that with a Beer Relay Championship?



Beer Relay is a 6 on 6 competition. The leadoff drinker stands on the far end of the table at the single cup. Upon the start, you have to bounce a ping pong ball into said cup. Once you do that, you hop over to the three cups set in a line. You chug a cup, set it on the edge of the table, and try to flip it so it lands upside down. Continue 3x's until all three cups are upended. After that, you run back to the top of the table and throw it the length, trying to sink the ball in one of the cups set in a triangle at the far side of the table. As this is going on, a member of your team is reseting and refilling the three flipped cups. Once you sink one of the cups in the triangle, you run to it, chug it, and flip that one. Land that one upside down, and the second member of your team begins the process all over again. Continue until the 6th man of your team completes it all and flips the last cup - do it first and your team wins =D We played WarWagons vs Mooseknuckles (WarWagons won), Old WarWagons vs Young WarWagons (Old guys won), then we did Youngbloods vs Old Timers (Youngbloods stomped them out). Irate that the young guys dared defeat the wiley verterans, Der Krauza challenged the now hammered and showboating youngsters to a 6 on 1 competition, Youngbloods vs Krauza. He annihilated them, finishing the game after only 2 of them completed the task. It was the perfect end that brought everyone back together, and we spent the rest of the night reminiscing of the trip and trips years gone by, gorging ourselves on homemade wings and chili, and taking comfort that although many there were over 50 years old, men could still go out and be men, with men, and just be as stupid as you wanted.



And really, isn't that what this is all about? Hockey is a wonderful sport; as far as sport and competition goes, it is my ultimate. But it's the Brotherhood - Krauza and Pah-look, Vanzey and Rozey, Chief, Block and Byouler, Matty and Tuck, Youngblood, Dad, The Hammer, and Filthy McNasty, it's these guys I call Brother that take it to the next level. For a couple days every year, we are rockstars, even if only in our own minds. The memories made are priceless, and we all know our days are numbered. Every moment precious, every outing could be our last...so go hard, young buck, leave it all on the ice. Always give your all, and you can never fail. As we always say, "It's The Beaver Way".

Thanks go out to the Mooseknuckles, WarWagon Young, WarWagon Old, The WarWagon itself, and, of course, The Fredonia Beaver Club.

Awesome post!

Quote: Face

Before we even left town, Der Kraza, our mayhem coordinator, had the Voodoo's flowing...By the PA border, which was only 45 minutes away, we were already buzzing pretty good. Upon crossing the border, Herr Krauza proclaimes that crossing the border requires dipping into the moonshine... and we finished the whole damn thing before leaving PA...God save us all...

The whole post was awesome, but this paragraph made my head spin. You had HOW much to drink before you got to OH?? Sweet Jesus! :-)

What flavor of Amp do you use in the Voodoos? Are there Voodoo flavor varietals?

Quote: TheCesspit

Awesome post!

Thanks, TheCesspit! Glad you enjoyed it. This was just an overview, if you can believe it. I left out Smuggler's Den, the strip club, Krauza's attempt to tackle the driver resulting in head wounds, the 5 stitches taking a puck to the face...

Quote: rdw4potus

The whole post was awesome, but this paragraph made my head spin. You had HOW much to drink before you got to OH?? Sweet Jesus! :-)

What flavor of Amp do you use in the Voodoos? Are there Voodoo flavor varietals?

Before OH wasn't too bad. Remember there's 10 guys (maybe 9.1 guys considering one's driving), so between us all we had a hockey bottle of Voodoo (maybe 12-16oz of vodka), 1 or 2 shots of Jaeger, a few beers, and, since the apples/stick took up some area, maybe 1-1.5 pints of actual apple flavored rocket fuel. That's like 2 vodka shots each, a beer each, 1-2 shots of jaeger each, and 2 or more shots of shine each (some, like this guy, was on the "more" side. That stuff was awesome!) All in what, an hour? It was shortly after entering OH that things got reeeeeally fuzzy ;)

I told you, man....GALLONS =D

Is it any wonder that it was the Placid trip, also in the WarWagon with this same group, almost exactly a year ago to the day, that my 5+ years of sobreity (sobriety by choice, not by necessity) came to an end? =)

We just use Original Amp, so I guess it tastes kind of like green Mt Dew. There are many flavors if you so choose, but green is just what we've always had. And I'm not kidding about the "Official Fuel of" either, that stuff is never not within arms reach during all waking hours. It's in the WarWagon, it's at our games. When we play, it's on our bench, deviously hid amongst the water bottles. If you forget your own water and dare say you're thirsty, that's the bottle that gets thrown to you. Krauza even has a holster for it, and wore it every moment he was awake, including during the games. If you look at the pic of him buckling, you'll see a strap hanging out the front of his jersey. That was the strap to the holster lol. Filthy McNasty also wore a bandolier that held 6 or 8 cans of beer XD

Not one person threw up, and there was barely a peep of a hangover. Besides being professional drinkers, the Fed is a true gourmet. Every morning was a mad breakfast of eggs containing cheese and chopped elk, toast, corned beef hash, hash browns, and litres of juices and coffees. Lunch was Philly cheese steak made with fine sliced elk meat, fried mushrooms and onions, and local homemade breads. Dinner was pounds of hot and spicy chili, oven roasted wings, some straight up illegal and radioactive horseradish, and ibuprofen (lots of ibuprofen!) Take meals like that, add a 2 hour nap to bring your sleep total from 3 hours to 5, and you have the recipe to drink from 7a to 4a lol. Your Mileage May Vary! XD

Amazing trip report, Face.

Quote: Face

...a real warm environment to be in.

I chuckled at this :).

The whole scene and experience sounds very similar to Ultimate, my adult recreational sport of choice. Mostly the constant drinking and partying, even while on the field/ice, but also the camaraderie :). Although I play co-ed now (men's Ultimate is mostly for the elite/young); having the ladies around always adds to the fun. Your initial reaction is probably "frisbee? Isn't that for hippies and girly men?" Which compared to the physical punishment you take on the ice, is probably true. But it's fun for us :).

The WarWagon sounds AWESOME. I wish I had the mechanical ability to harness such an old piece of camping equipment and get it up to that capability! The tournaments we go to are mostly within a 2-5 hour radius, so we just load up everyone's individual cars, but I know some teams get RVs. Something to think about for me, looking to the future.

I've played several variants of the Beer Relay. The ultimate drinking game, really...beer pong, flip cup, "quarters," all the important skills you learn in college.

Four words, Hi, Lar, E, Ous. Worth the wait, and unusually satisfying. You have a gift for the keyboard Face, and I enjoy your posts.

One of my favorite things in the photos are the War Wagon Retro Graphic Jerseys. What's the story there?

Quote: AcesAndEights

Amazing trip report, Face.

I chuckled at this :).

Thanks! I didn't mean to make a pun, really, everyone was ultra cool up there (there goes another pun =p) Maybe I'm too conditioned to the People's Republic, but it was very friendly and laid back, so many people volunteered their time for free, everyone was in good spirits and welcoming, it was just amazing.

I know Ultimate. Never had a chance to play it, but only because my summertime activities don't really allow the commitment. You won't catch flak from me, all competitive sports are awesome.

The WarWagon really takes it to the next level. It's one thing to show up and play together, but spending 16-34hrs round trip, drinking massive amounts of alcohol, watching Goon, Youngblood, Miracle, SlapShot, and having to intertwine our eating and sleeping schedules, it's a whole new level of sharing. It really adds to the cohesion of us as a group, and therefore, as a team. When I went through my divorce, all my friends of course wished me well. But it was only these guys who threw open their homes and made the time and room for me. It's a great thing to have these kind of people in your life.

Quote: Ayecarumba

Four words, Hi, Lar, E, Ous. Worth the wait, and unusually satisfying. You have a gift for the keyboard Face, and I enjoy your posts.

One of my favorite things in the photos are the War Wagon Retro Graphic Jerseys. What's the story there?

Thank you so much Aye. Glad you enjoyed the story, it's why I post =)

As I said, the WarWagon isn't just a vehicle. It's a character, a key player in our forays into madness. We have fun in local tournaments where we all arrive seperately, but for the travel tourneys, it's almost like Clark Kent's phonebooth. When we emerge from the WarWagon, we are different people. There's just a whole new tone to everything, it's hard to really explain it with words.

If I were to try, I think that in the local games, you play as a team. You kind of fall into "team mode" and gravitate towards those you're attached to. For me, as a first line defensive defensemen, I gravitate to the goalie and my defensive partner especially, and if there's a small, fancy, or rookie forward, to them as well, since I back them up and make sure no one messes with them. The other defensemen, the veteran forwards, the second liners, there's not the same level of attachment there, because I'm not "working with them", if that makes sense. But on the WarWagon, it's almost like another game where everyone has to work together. We have a bartender that has to keep everyone soused. He needs the barback to pass up the liquor from storage. They both need the garbageman to keep the area clear. The DJ needs to keep the music/movies going. The driver needs to be taken care of for everything. The navigator needs to direct him. The fuel man needs his money and his calculator (gas gauge is broke, we have to "math it out" lol) And everyone needs to take turns with comfort and pull their weight with fueling. Pit stops are an explosion as the fuel man hits the pumps, the navigator goes to prepay, one guy's on snacks, another on food, another on local treats (spicy smoked trout this time, bless the ice fisherman of the north), another on drinks, another on mixers, another on engine fluids and belts, another on tires, another on lights and windows, all while alternating stops to the bathroom so that no one's standing around doing nothing and wasting time. Everyone needs to swap positions, alternating comfy seats with navigating with driving with sleeping, and in the years we've been doing it, there's not been one peep of complaint let alone an arguement. A dozen dudes hammered to hell for hours on end, and it's laughs and smiles day after day after day. So by the time it's actually game time, you're not just attached to your linemate, you're very much bonded to every single member of the team, as you've already been taking care of each other and relying on each other for everything for 18 straight hours. You're not a team for 90 minutes, you're a team for every minute of 5-6 straight days, and I thank my lucky stars I found myself in the position to share this Brotherhood with these people. Not everyone gets to experience such a thing, and even those of us that do know that our days are numbered. Even though "Doc" played to the ripe old age of 68, that's a pipe dream for most. At 52, Krauza's not long for the sport. Hell, at 32, I'm falling apart, and at 23 concussions, I shouldn't even be playing now. But I've found a jewel in this maze of life, and I just can't get myself to give it up.

So with saying all of the above, what better icon to represent us as a team than the WarWagon? =D

Like if Jimmy Johnson's NASCAR pit crew and the Charlestown Chiefs had a baby...

What's the estimate on repairing the damage from the WW's run-in with the tree?

Quote: Ayecarumba

Like if Jimmy Johnson's NASCAR pit crew and the Charlestown Chiefs had a baby...

What's the estimate on repairing the damage from the WW's run-in with the tree?

Ha! I suppose we are =)

The cost of repairs comes down to how far we want to take it. Really, the entire shell is little more than plywood and tin. We could redo the entire sleeper cab with ~4 sheets of plywood, a 2"x 4" x 10', and a few square feet of tin for a cost of a few hundred dollars.

Being country folk, we can work wonders with bondo. The Sheriff is a gearhead and resto guy; he alone could probably make a whole new WarWagon using a few buckets of the stuff. With a stick of 2"x 4" and something to brace off of, it could be fixed with a can for $13.95.



Although at the time he was so distraught that he was talking about pulling the motor and scrapping the thing, he has since, of course, completely changed his tone and is looking towards the future. You ever see those decals that you stick on a window, that has like half a puck sticking out with the decal being cracked glass so it looks like a puck has smashed and stuck in the glass? I just saw him yesterday and he's talking about doing something similar, only on a much bigger scale, to make it look like a giant puck has impaled the WarWagon. The best thing is, he's just the type of guy to do something like that =) Anyway you slice it, the WarWagon will roll again!

And this just in - The WarWagon was covered by NHL.com! Obviously and unfortunately, some of the best jerseys did not make it as they are humorously offensive, but several were covered. Take a peek as some of the more tame offerings.

Quote: Face

Although at the time he was so distraught that he was talking about pulling the motor and scrapping the thing, he has since, of course, completely changed his tone and is looking towards the future. You ever see those decals that you stick on a window, that has like half a puck sticking out with the decal being cracked glass so it looks like a puck has smashed and stuck in the glass? I just saw him yesterday and he's talking about doing something similar, only on a much bigger scale, to make it look like a giant puck has impaled the WarWagon. The best thing is, he's just the type of guy to do something like that =) Anyway you slice it, the WarWagon will roll again!

And this just in - The WarWagon was covered by NHL.com! Obviously and unfortunately, some of the best jerseys did not make it as they are humorously offensive, but several were covered. Take a peek as some of the more tame offerings.

Like this?

I am looking forward to it.