"Cheap Plastic Crap and Jail!"

That night, I saw two shooting stars before I turned in for bed. It was fabulous. The next morning I woke up in my tent in a puddle! It hadn’t rained, but the dew had soaked right through the fabric and was dripping everywhere, like a cave. "Dammit!" I thought. "Time to re-Scotch Guard."

That meant I had to go to - *shudder* - Wal-Mart. It was the only place nearby that I knew of that I could count on having it. First, I needed a sink and coffee, so I went back to The Falling Rock. Sandy was behind the bar. "Good morning!" she said, cheerily.
"Hey!" I said. I was disgusting in my dusty cargo shorts, grubby, once-was-white-but-now-is-beige wifebeater, and my baseball cap. She didn’t even seem to notice, bless her heart.
"How was it over there last night?"
"Oh, it was great, but your nephew Mike, he’s a trip!" I told her about his "offers" and she laughed.
"Yeah, I believe it," she said. "Are you having breakfast this morning?"
"Do you take plastic?" She said no, but explained why they did take checks.
"There’s a free system in Wisconsin for business owners where if you get a bad check, they won’t make you pay for it, and they’ll hunt the person down and prosecute. It doesn’t cost us anything, so it’s great! And it’s automatic, too. Like, say a good friend writes a bad check and they want to work it out personally, I can’t. At that point, it’s out of our hands. Still, it helps us be able to accept them!"

She cooked up my two eggs and dry toast while we talked about my trip. "I think what you’re doing is really neat," she said, "especially wanting to prove that we’re not all ignorant. Y’know, I used to manage a truck stop and I met some truckers that were the smartest, most educated people. They were just sick of the rat race, so now they drive their truck and travel around and have a good time!"
"I can believe that," I said. "I’ve met some wise truckers myself."

She told me, "I’ve done a lot. I was a hair-dresser, then managed the truck stop, then my husband and I bought this place because we wanted to be out in the country. It’s funny that we do so much for campers, because I hate camping. My idea of camping is a hotel with no room service. People ask me why, because this is such a big area for it. I tell them, ‘I grew up with no electricity and no running water and I hated it! Why would I want to do that for fun?’"

She told me about her 9-year-old twin granddaughters. Now, bear in mind, this woman is beautiful, she looks about 45, has great hair and a great smile. "How do you have 9-year-old granddaughters?" I asked her.
"Well, I’ll be 58 soon."
"Wow." God bless, I hope I look that good when I’m 58.
She smiled, saying, "And my husband just turned 40!"
"You go, girl."
She told me about Jez, about the age difference between she and her husband. "Yeah, I was in here last night, she was telling me about that. That’s awesome." I told her. "I like young guys myself sometimes. There’s something to be said for it. They’re so malleable." Cradle-robbers of the world, unite!

I said goodbye and headed for Schlock-Mart, telling her I’d probably be back again. Coming back to Scotch-Guard the tent, I was standing smack in the middle of a game of catch the boys next door were playing. "Don’t worry, sweetie, we won’t hit you!" Mike assured me. While I was tearing down, they all hopped in the bed of a truck to go hike the bluff across the street, the one that loomed over The Falling Rock. "It’s awesome!" Mike told me. "You get to the top and look down into the trees and you can see bald eagle nests!" They made it to the top right about the time I was pulling out. I could see them, tiny tan ants in tiny white wifebeaters standing in a clearing near the top of the bluff. They whistled to me and I waved.

In the meantime, I was stank nasty and wanted a shower SO BAD. I hadn’t showered since Sunday morning and here it was, Tuesday at noon and the thought made me want to cry. Mike had said something about going down to the river with a bar of soap and just making do. I figured I’d try it.

Okay, just a tip in case you ever find yourself sweaty and the only available bathing water is The Mighty Mississippi: Just go stinky. It’s better than dying in quicksand, which is what I almost did trying to find a place where I didn’t sink into the disgusting muck. It pulls you down, covers your feet, and makes a terrible sucking sound when you try to get away. I ended up dirtier than when I started. The thought of bathing in the Mississippi didn’t strike me as a great idea anyway, but I kind of just wanted to say I did it.

I had left my camera batteries charging at The Falling Rock, and when I went to get them I was excited to see Jezebel behind the bar! But I didn’t stop to talk, I just sped past and straight to the bathroom. I cleaned up as best I could; I’m developing a real science to shaving my armpits in public bathrooms. (Before you freak out, Jez, I used my own towel!) Makeup on, I got more coffee and sat across the bar from Sandy and a couple. "This is my brother and his wife," she said.

Baltimore came up in the conversation and Sandy’s brother told me, "Oh, yeah. I got stranded in Baltimore one time."
"Eh, it’s not such a bad town to get stranded in, I guess," I said.
"Well, actually, I was stranded in Jessup."
"EW! Oh, god, that sucks! I’m sorry." While everyone laughed I told them, "The only thing in that town is a prison and a Wal-Mart."
Jez spoke up. "Hey, you just summed up The American Way - cheap plastic crap and jail!"
At this point my stomach hurt from laughing. I really didn’t want to leave, but I had to.
Jez told me if I was ever in town again, I could stay with her. "I at least have a shower!" she said.
"Thank you."

I headed north, through Lynxville, passing through Ferryville, DeSoto (built on an Indian burial ground, you can imagine how haunted that place is!), Genoa (town motto: "Let’s Go Fishing!") and Stoddard. At LaCrosse, I drove over the Mississippi, which at that point is not Mighty at all but puny, and into Minnesota. The first sign in the state says, "Welcome To La Crescent! Apple Capital Of Minnesota!" See, how cute is that?

That’s the word I would use to sum up most of the parts of Minnesota that I saw: cute. There were cute little trees and cute little wildflowers and cute little corn fields and cute little towns. It reminded me of The Shire from "Lord of the Rings". I took Rt. 16 through Hardwood State Forest. There are tall bluffs, just like in western Wisconsin, and wouldn’t you know, when I stopped to take a picture of a funny sign, there was a bald eagle taking flight off of the edge of a bluff. I went, "OOOHHHHH!" and tried to get a picture, but it landed before I could focus. Still, it was breath-taking; my first eagle sighting that didn’t take place in a zoo.
Seeing the eagle really tuned me into the wildlife, even moreso than I’d already been. I kept waiting to see a mountain lion or a moose standing on the side of the road, waving to me. At one point, an animal crossed the road in front of me. I shouted out, to no one, "OH MY GOD IS THAT A LYNX? YES IT I— no, that’s a golden retriever. Dammit."

I stopped a few times to take pictures of the cute little creeks and valleys, cursing myself for not having a fishing pole. I’ve been dying to go fishing lately but I don’t have the equipment. Still, that’s probably for the best; I have a feeling if I had a pole and a few perma-worms I would never see much of the country. Instead, I jumped back on the interstate at Grand Meadow, stopping in Blue Earth to eat my stand-by PB&J and have my picture taken with the Jolly Green Giant. I mean, come on. Who could pass that up?

I hoped to reach Sioux Falls, South Dakota by nightfall and I did. I settled on Garretson for a place to stay and hopped on Rt. 11 North. Garretson is a tiny farm town just northeast of Sioux Falls. A huge grain elevator, the millionth one I’d seen, looms tall over the short buildings on the Main Street. I fell in love with it. My stink was reaching illegal levels as I stopped into the local bar, Big Ern’s Sports Cabin, for directions to the nearest campsite. I kept my arms crossed over my chest to hold the gross in, and hoped they wouldn’t take it as me being defensive. The adorable bartender, a tiny woman with glasses in a baseball cap, and two men seated at the bar, all started talking at once, directing me to two different parks. "Which one has showers?" I asked.
The tall, bearded mountain man spoke up. "Palisades. Just down the road, past the railroad tracks and make a right. You can’t miss it, dear. You can’t miss it."

Well, I missed it, not thinking that a state park would be down a dirt road that looked like someone’s driveway. But it was, and driving through, I picked the nicest site in the park. It was right by a creek, with the sounds of water babbling over rocks drowning out the cries of kids from the other sites. There were rock formations on either side, lots of species of butterflies flying around, and even a hawk’s nest built right next to the campsite! The hawk landed on a branch while I was scoping the place and scared me, it was pretty big. I hadn’t expected a rushing creek to be in the middle of these massive cornfields, but when you think about it, the water has to come from somewhere. I was too excited at the surrounding landscape to pitch my tent when I first arrived. I parked, marked my territory (no, not like that) and went for a walk.

The creek was wide and pretty but fairly murky, enough to remind me of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate River. The rocks were varying shades of pink, beige, and brown. They flanked the creekbed, standing like proud braves in the setting sunlight. It was so beautiful. Cattails blew side to side in the slight breeze, but for the most part it was very hot. Mosquitos crowded around me and the little jumper bugs made a ruckus as I moved around. "I’m not going to survive without bug spray," I thought.

I took a drive back into town for supplies, stopping at the Sports Cabin again, for a beer and to thank the bartender for the directions. Everyone called her Shirley. A nice man named Brock let me use his cell phone to call home. I ended up chatting with his parents and they surprised me. "We’ve been to Europe five times," they said. "And each time we go, when we come back we stop and say, ‘We really do live in the land of plenty.’ We really do. There’s no such thing as a free refill in Europe. And people don’t really have any land, it’s very crowded." They gave me tips on where to go, where not to go. "Avoid Sturgis if you hate long lines and bikers," they said.

Shirley asked me when I was leaving. "Oh, probably tomorrow morning," I said. "I want to make it to Montana fairly soon."
"That’s too bad," she said. "Well, have a safe trip and take good care of yourself. Good luck!" Everyone waved and smiled as I walked out the door, shouting their goodbyes. It made my heart smile.

I made my way back to camp. It was Top Ramen time. After eating my soup and beef jerky, I made a little campfire. A really crappy campfire. Okay, why is it that I love camping more than anything yet still cannot build a freakin’ campfire? I have no idea, but yeah, I totally suck at building fires. I’m the only person I know that can squirt lighter fluid on a fire and make it actually GO OUT. I’m not kidding. That happened about four times. Not once, not twice. FOUR times. I almost gave up, but I had nothing else to do except play my guitar and drink beer in the dark. I tried writing on my laptop, but the bugs fly on it - and me - too much to make it worth it.
At one point, when the fire had finally gotten going, I remembered I had a bag of marshmallows in the trunk. From when I was in Dunkirk. Two months ago. "Oh, marshmallows can’t go bad!" I thought, and I was right, but they can melt into one another and become One Ginormus Marshmallow! I swear, I opened the bag and there was this mutant marshmallow! "Fuck it, I’m gonna roast the whole damn thing," I said, to nobody. I peeled the bag from around this thing, and stuck it on the small end of one of my fire logs, giggling the whole time. I had marshmallow all over my fingers and to this day I still have congealed marshmallow on my camera from trying to take pictures, clogging the On/Off switch. It didn’t work; that stupid thing ended up falling in the fire, but it smelled really good at my campsite.