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Sometime this morning I dreamed that George W. Bush had been assassinated, that he was stealing all the glory from Kennedy, and that the country was being plunged into fascism in the ensuing chaos. It sucked. I woke up with the most intense neck cramp you can imagine. Time for some Tylenol.

Andrea probably cursed me while we were eating lunch in Mount Vernon. Jan, Amanda, and I were later than expected, so instead of eating at the Lincoln Cafe, we ate at the Big Creek Market. I was just finishing up a reasonable meal of spinach quiche and a garden salad when Andrea looked over and said, “Is that going to be enough? I mean, you can really put it away.” I don’t normally think of myself as a big eater, but I suddenly realized that, yes, I was still hungry.

It was probably just the ride taking effect. We were taking the slow way to Wisconsin for a motorcycle rally, and I had already been riding since 10 a.m. when we ate at 3. I met Jan at his place in the morning, and we went from there to Baxter to meet up with Amanda. I had my first-ever close call on a motorcycle as we were riding down Euclid. At the 6th Avenue intersection, a car coming from the opposite direction turned left in front of me without warning. As I locked up my brakes, they saw me, paused, and then kept right on going. Good call, car. I handled it pretty well except that I forgot to shift down while I was braking, so when I let the clutch out to go again, I stalled the bike and had to pull over. It was better than coffee for sure.

We met Amanda in Baxter at a place called Grandma’s “Hooter’s” Kitchen. We had some amazing rhubarb pie and rode into Newton to say hello to Amanda’s dad. She was borrowing his Harley for the ride up to the Hawk rally, which was nice of him, but left her wide open for some teasing. It was all in good fun, especially good and fun since it is so unusual to see only one Harley in a parking lot full of foreign bikes.

From Newton, we took Highway 6 to Highway 1 and rode into Mount Vernon. I had intended to take some back roads up to Lake McBride, but we ended up missing a turn and going all the way to Coralville. With fuel stops, map-stops, and cookie breaks, it took us about two and a half hours to get from Newton to Mount Vernon. On vacation, you can take twice as long. It’s okay.

After meeting Drea for lunch and coffee, we headed for Dubuque, stopped for a few minutes, and made it to the Don Q Inn in Dodgeville at about 7 in the evening. As soon as we saw the Don Q, we could tell it was going to be that kind of weekend. There is an old Boeing cargo plane parked by the road, and the inside of the hotel has a vague ranch theme held together by an assortment of random knick-knacks on the wall and vintage barber chairs arranged around a huge round fireplace. Toward the back, there was an indoor/outdoor pool with a little passageway where you could dive under and surface outside. Seriously kitsch and seriously awesome. The only problem was that Jan and Amanda both forgot to bring swimsuits, so we had to head out to Wal-Mart for a little shopping.

It was after 8 when we finally got around to eating supper, and this was where the fun began. There was a supper club across the street from the hotel called Thym’s, and everything was starting to look good. Jan and I got a beer called Spotted Cow from the local New Glarus brewery, and we tried to order fried cheese curds, but apparently the restaurant was all out. Instead, we ordered a plate of six potato skins loaded with cheese and bacon with a side of sour cream. I probably should have stopped there. Instead, I ordered the 18 ounce ribeye special with mushrooms on top and proceeded to demolish that slab of meat and gristle. Jan and Amanda gave me a weird look, and we went back to the hotel to finish the night off with some cans of Michelob Golden Light. I slept like a baby.

The next day, Jan got up first and ate the continental breakfast, but Amanda and I are real troopers and slept in until 11. We had missed breakfast at pretty much every place, so we headed into Dodgeville for lunch, where I got a hot roast beef sandwich. At this point, Jan and Amanda really started to look at me funny. We headed north to the House on the Rock and paid for the first two of three self-guided tours. Apparently, House on the Rock is just an acid trip full of music machines, Chinese sculpture, dollhouses, ship models, a five-story sculpture of a squid and whale locked in mortal combat, and a carousel that you can’t ride guarded by hundreds of the freakiest angels you have ever seen. We skipped out on the third tour.

The ride into Spring Green is gorgeous. Highway 23 passes right by Taliesin and some other Frank Lloyd Wright homes, so if we go back next year, I think that tour is on the list. We found a little beach on the river just beyond the visitor’s center and laid down for a 45-minute nap before heading into Spring Green. What did I do in Spring Green? I had another Spotted Cow and a half-pound hamburger, of course. That restaurant had our cheese curds, too, which was awesome. So I was totally full of fried cheeses and meats when we headed back to Dodgeville.

Amanda had to leave on Saturday, so Friday night was our only chance to really hang out at the rally. The Hawk-listers are awesome people. A couple of guys had gotten the Up Up and Away theme room for giggles (and believe me, we did giggle.) After they showed us their room, the hotel staff gave us a tour of some of the other rooms including the much-anticipated Swinger Suite. The bed is suspended from chains, and yes, there is a mirror above it.

The next morning, we checked out at 11 and rode to Dubuque for lunch. I got a walleye sandwich. I would be happy if I did not see another piece of beef for three weeks. Dubuquefest was in progress, so we walked around downtown for a little bit and relaxed in Washington Park. When we got back to Mount Vernon, I said goodbye to Jan and Amanda and drove to Palisades-Kepler State Park to meet Drea, Derek, Kari, Steph, Lindsey, and Elizabeth. We partied all afternoon and all night.

Drea and I ate a sweet, sweet brunch at the Lincoln Cafe the next day and I rode off at about 3. This time, I paid more attention to my route and figured out why I missed the turnoff on the ride up. For future reference, when you use Google Maps to plan a twisty route, you really need to zoom all the way in on intersections, or you might be looking for Cemetery Road when the intersection is actually Upper Old Highway 6. Those little country roads are pretty sweet, by the way. Once again, I took twice as long as I should have, but I found some serious curves to lean my motorcycle into.

So about 600 miles and 2 pounds of beef later, I’m back at work, which is kind of a bummer. I’m just trying to figure out when I can make my next weekend trip. Memorial Day is kind of booked up already, but as soon as I can, I would like to either head to Dubuque for the weekend or up to the Prairie du Chien area. There are some really cool places within easy driving distance, and I want to find them all.

Oops, I let my registration expire. There was a little trouble with Joker.com when I tried to renew my domain registration; apparently, they have started to secure some credit cards by requiring a faxed copy of the credit card. You don’t find this interesting fact out until it is apparently too late to cancel the order and switch cards. I had to wait four days for the order to naturally expire, after which I used a different card and got things right again. It’s all good for two more years. I expect to write about ten more posts in that time. Yee-haw.

Happy is England

Happy is England! I could be content
  To see no other verdure than its own;
  To feel no other breezes than are blown
Through its tall woods with high romances blent:
Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment
  For skies Italian, and an inward groan
  To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,
And half forget what world or worldling meant.
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;
  Enough their simple loveliness for me,
    Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:
  Yet do I often warmly burn to see
    Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing,
And float with them about the summer waters.

–John Keats

He might as well have written this about Iowa. I suppose most people start to feel this way about the place they grew up. I love it here. Sort of.

Ever wonder why I leave so many comments on your blog on a Monday morning? Wait, I guess that’s pretty self-explanatory. Carry on.

And thanks for blogging.