On Sunday we packed up camp early and set off south from Neys, through Thunder Bay, down to Duluth. This time we didn’t get searched at the border!
Border guard: “Why do you have an RV, sir?”
Me: “Because we’re on a road trip, camping in it”
“I don’t quite understand you, sir”
Turns out he misread my passport and thought I had an “R Visa” …
I declared the few vegetables we had, most of which we kept, but the tomatoes were a no-no. We pulled over and I dutifully took the two juicy fruit into the office and left them on the counter for the customs officer to put in the bin. Rules eh.
Driving through Grand Marais, we spotted a craft fair and heard music, so pulled over to see what was going on. We walked around the town for a bit, I had a dip in the cold lake to freshen up, we picked up a couple of “world famous fish burgers” and hit the road again. We spent the evening wandering around the Canal Park region of Duluth – by one of the entrances that ships use to get from Lake Superior into the gargantuan Duluth docks (great suggestion Gerry – we’d missed this one our way up). The whole town seemed to be out enjoying the warm evening sun, the bars and the waterfront. Coming into dock after a day on the lake was a Pearson 36-2 – same as our boat, Rafiki. Had a quick peek in the good nautical history museum before finding a quiet place by the side of the road to spend the night.
In the evening we’d spotted a likely looking café for breakfast, so we swung past on our way to spend the day in the library where we caught up on emails and used the internet. A few hours later we’d had our fill so headed across the water into Wisconsin, the town of Superior, and the road leading south – within minutes the town was behind us and we were back in the middle of nowhere. As the sun dropped behind the trees, we pulled into Lakeview campground, by Balsam Lake.
Up early the next morning with the sun, I spent some time on the campsite Wi-Fi catching up with buddies on Skype and getting a bit of work done as the day awoke around me. As I was tapping away on the laptop, a flock of red-headed cranes honked low overhead on their way to the lake. Magic.
Onwards to Stillwater, where we spent a couple of hours – Rose doing the laundry and me working on the van. Up in Thunder Bay, we’d left the fridge running for too long one evening, completely flattening the van battery. Seems we killed it, now it won’t hold charge properly. I bought a new battery and relegated the old one to be our domestic back-up battery. I discovered that the van already has a split-charge distribution unit under the hood from its “Department of Electricity and Communications” days, which made the process pretty straightforward. The fridge is now wired up to the second battery, which charges when the van runs and disconnects when we’re stopped. I’ve also installed one of the cabin fans we picked up in Duluth, as we’re heading back into the hot country.
From Stillwater we drove south past Minneapolis, into Iowa, and past Des Moines, dropping off the interstate onto a back road when we turned west, through miles and miles of corn fields, every stem exactly the same height as its neighbour. Healthy looking cobs sit half way up, harvest season must be soon. Grain silos stand proud on the horizon, big fat torpedoes ready to shoot off into space. Each silo has a barn nuzzling at their base, sometimes old, “rustic” timber barns falling apart at the seams, sometimes shiny and new painted in red and white. Always red and white. Maybe someone got a job lot price on red paint. Dead straight roads, every now and then a pair of 90 degree bends as the direct line is diverted by an unavoidable hurdle – usually not obvious – perhaps an obstinate landowner? Huge industrial grain elevators at each meeting of railway and town, where the local produce is loaded onto mile-long trains and carted away across America.
Humid air, hazy sky, a warm breeze. We pulled off the road for a few minutes to soak up the dusk sounds of Iowa. Corn rustling in the wind sounds like a stream, the background to a cacophony of chirping crickets. Fireflies sparkle by the roadside and way across the fields, a bit like phosphorescence on the sea.
In camp, at Prairie Rose State Park, the rain begins. We’d eaten at a small-town bar in Panoma, so we’d arrived late, and just went to bed. At midnight I was woken by a splitting crash just outside, and fat heavy raindrops on the van roof. Thunderstorm!
It’s now Thursday, we’ve just crossed the Missouri River, the border between Iowa and Nebraska – heading west. Agriculture is definitely numero uno round here. Towns are full of ag equipment dealers, selling all shapes and sizes of huge machinery. There’s a general store, a gas station, and some houses. We felt all eyes on us as we walked in the door of Corner Café in North Bend – “you’re not from round here” … the coffee was shocking so we’re now stopped in Grand Island, Nebraska, for a real one. Looks like we could be in Denver late tomorrow if we keep on truckin’.
Road and Ocean 