David's space

Tranquil Timbers Camping Retreat, Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin June 21, 2006

This morning of the longest day of the year broke with a scattering and spattering of rain. I let the dogs out and quietly began catching up this journal. I get so far behind so quickly. At 10:30 Dave called. The boat is ready.

After getting lost on the island and nearly missing the ferry we made the approach and took our place in a long line of cars heading back to the mainland. For some reason the ferry guys seem to like us. Jason and Brian, both of whom we met yesterday, stopped by repeatedly to chat. Then it seemed to become a point of honor to get yet one more vehicle on the already-crowded boat – and that vehicle, just to make it interesting – should be a Winnebago. We had to back around, line up, and reverse our way, with three men giving directions, onto the boat. There were only fractions of inches to spare on all quarters. They’d turned the right side mirror in so I was backing blind. Then when they got us in there, with the bicycle touching the car behind, and other drivers fuming at us because they’d had to move their vehicles to accommodate us, the boat was so full that the gate on the bow would not close all the way for hitting our bumper.

We made the 45 minute trip back to Gills Rock roaring across the placid waters at speeds up to 10 mph in good form.

Back at Baileys Harbor we reconnected with The Sahootchielina . Dave assures me that he got a good patch and seems proud of his work. He charged $^154.90.

We drove the remaining miles back to Sturgeon Bay, only to get caught on the draw bridge where the old bridge guard was retiring and they were training his replacement. The new guy, evidently, didn’t fully understand all the intricacies because, while we and a whole bunch of other people waited, the bridge went up and down, up and down, with lights flashing and bells sounding.

Jon Buss called to check in. He was surprised that we are in Wisconsin - had thought we’d be home by now. And he was interested to know I’d busted up my boat again and had gotten it fixed. He and Connie leave Friday for Mark Twain country in Missouri to do some sailing of their own. It was nice of him to call.

We are at the Tranquil Timbers Camping Retreat, a Good Sam club, very nice, with full amenities. After dropping off the boat we sent into town for groceries, supper in the RV (chicken, cole slaw, potato salad, bread and milk), and doing the laundry ($9.50). Then back for Mexican Train (which I won by three points). It’s late now (11:45) and time to kick out the lights and go to bed.

It was hard to get up this morning. I was so very tired last night and slept so hard, but it was still difficult to get moving. Meg says the same, though she got up and took the dogs out. Finally I got it in gear and we drove back to Potawatomi State Park in Sturgeon Bay. Following is from the Captain’s Log:

June 22, 2006

Return to Sturgeon Bay: Meg and I paid the $10.00 park usage fee and drove back the narrow road to the broad parking lots and lovely docks and beautiful bay for a second attempt. The setup went well. But the boat was taking water through the scupper. So we pulled it partly back up on the shore where I sprayed mast lubricant on it, cleaned it out, and tightened it with pliers. I think the boat is leaking a little but the scupper is okay.

While Meg was returning with cameras to record the moment when dogs and I would sail away in glory I looked up to see her returning all right – with the same park ranger who’d reprimanded us two nights earlier for letting the dogs run through the parking lot at 10:30 p.m. He’d caught her again - Hootch off leash. They exchanged words. Then he gave me the lecture (Sadie was, by this time, in the boat with me and technically not on state property). But then neither Sadie nor Hootch elected to ride in the boat since I insisted that they stay in the cockpit. That was for the best.

The whole bay is shallow. I had the dagger board either full or half up the whole time and it wasn’t particularly enjoyable. I went out on a port tack across the bay for a mile but the water never got deep. I saw the channel markers off on the right but there were enough big boats there that I was intimidated and decided to just pack it up and return. The winds were fine out in the channel, but in getting back into the bay I had to mark a narrow course in the wind shadow of a peninsula at the edge of the bay. All the while the dagger board was down only a few inches because I was afraid of hitting a rock. The boat behaved badly with a sluggish tiller and a tendency to drift to leeward. I was to windward of the island close to the dock, then the wind shifted, coming in fits and starts, weakly, right across the docks. I couldn’t figure out how to make my approach. An old man stood on the dock taking pictures, which I hated because I know I was doing sloppy sailing. At the last I thought I was going to sail right into the dock so I leaped overboard (the captain who goes down before his ship) to prevent any damage to the boat. I grabbed for a line, and, as it would be, I grabbed the main sheet. I was not about to let the boat sail off without me but now it was sailing close to the wind and taking a mind of its own. I hadn’t anticipated that. It healed over, hull toward me, with its little dagger board sticking out about six inches. I thought it was going to go down, and maybe it would have had the boom not been squarely over the dagger board trunk. Then the wind quit again and I towed The Sahootchielina to the dock and secured her. I know there is a better way. I do not know what it is.

I was in the water an hour and sailed 1.93 miles. I believe I need to take sailing lessons, I’m just not getting it.

We cooked up some bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches for lunch. I took a shower. Then we left the park and went to Sturgeon Bay. Meg shopped the stores and I went to the Door County Nautical History Museum, which was fascinating. There is a history from sails to steel, of the boats built here in Sturgeon Bay across the years, beginning with a dugout canoe and going up through the schooners and freighters and boats built for use in WW II. There is also a collection of lighthouses, models of vessels of all types, and a wheelhouse of a tug as well as a 40' submarine periscope. There were only five guests inside. I was most fascinated by an old salt who worked 35 years in the ship construction business, who showed me, in detail, how they built the massive ribs that connected keel to gunnel with the many layers of laminate and skegs and glue holding all together. It is truly art.

During our ride from Washington Island to the mainland I wondered about the channel, knowing that narrow places separating large bodies of water from each other and from the land can be treacherous. The ferry, however, paid no attention and made the crossing without a whimper. In the museum my suspicions were confirmed. I read that the passage is known for sudden strong winds from the Great Lakes. Stories abound about Native American war parties being drowned there. It was known as the Door of Death or, in French, Port des Morts, or, today, Death’s Door. Hundreds of sailing vessels floundered there. In the fall 1872 alone ten large ships were stranded in or damaged in the Door. I wonder if the county takes its name from this place.

We both napped a bit and Meg drove down through Oshkosh. I brought us the rest of the way to this KOA campground at Wisconsin Dells. We ate BLT’s in a wayside - pretty much finishing off our food supply. The campground is supposed to have cable (it get’s three stations, one of which is Fox), and free WIFI - which requires a password which was not given to us. So it’s a beautiful, but expensive proposition. Time for bed now. CNN is talking about a terrorist threat to the Sears Tower and arrests in Florida.

A beautiful day. I walked dogs early through the lovely KOA and spent the morning listening to Dr. Neruda’s Cure for Evil by Rafael Yglesias, got the code for the WIFI and instructions about how to use the cable, and caught up on my extensive e-mail correspondence while Meg slept. By 11:00 we needed to be gone so I grabbed a quick shower and set off. The most shocking news is that my childhood friend has ALS. I just hate that!!!

It was only a 35 mile trip to De Forest and the KOA here where we are now. I checked us in and had us set up and the dogs walked before Meg awoke. We whiled away the afternoon talking about us, what we need and want – very good. Then fed and walked dogs and set off for Bill and Kris’. On the way we bought groceries at Pick and Save here in De Forest and Meg mailed a birthday card to Sheri Khan. We were half an hour late to Pyle-Reed’s. But it was a grand visit, out in the back yard, catching up on events and stories. Bill and I will sail tomorrow. Now it’s midnight and Meg is abed already and I’m about to follow.

We awoke slowly. Meg was feeling lethargic and just couldn’t bestir herself so she slept in. I read and relaxed, contentedly at the KOA. At 11:30 I biked over to Subway for lunch, meeting at the restaurant a bicyclist who’d graduated from Iowa State, training for RAGBRAI, who’d had a flat. He inquired about where a bicycle store might be in De Forest but was told there was none. I told him I had a tube he could have, so he followed me to the Minnie Winnie and I gave him a tube and loaned him the pump. He fixed his tire and was grateful. Meg and I, however, needed to eat and get unhooked to meet the 12:00 eviction time. We missed it by about twenty minutes but nobody said anything.

We drove over to Bill and Kris’ only to find a bad weather forecast on the National Weather Service website: a huge storm front heading straight for Sun Prairie, Madison at 20-30 mph with possible hail and locally severe rains. Nobody wanted to chance that. Instead Bill, Kris, Meg and I took a driving tour of Madison, saw Stan and Gary, walked down to Lake Menendota and admired the sumptuous houses along its shores and toured the state capitol.

It threatened rain. No rain came. We returned to their home and enjoyed a feast of pork chops, steaks, baked potatoes, and salad that Kris prepared.

Then, after supper Bill checked the weather and it seemed okay. The only problem was - no wind. We hooked The Sahootchielina to his Toyota and drove down anyway. We paddled out almost half a mile past the point that we hoped was creating a wind shadow and, sure enough, there was a breeze. Not a great one, but a steady one coming from the east. We took a port tack and sailed at up to 5.4 mph, admiring the view of downtown Madison, the mansions beside the lake, a colorful sailboat running a spinnaker and another running wing and wing in the distance. Bill took the tiller and fell in love with sailing. We sailed 5.4 miles in an hour and 48 minutes, racing the encroaching darkness and having to paddle in the last half mile in the bay. But we made it. A great sail, enjoyed by all. What fun!

Meg and Kris were entertaining themselves sitting around a fire on the patio and visiting when we got back. We ate more snacks and at 11:00 p.m. set off for home. The odometer said 75,524.1. It began raining. I drove through the Madison interchanges but was so tired. Meg took over and I slept peacefully through the night as she rumbled through the darkness. At 5:00 a.m. she pulled into the abandoned campsite at Boondocks, Iowa where we both have slept. She intends to spend the day sleeping while I catch up on writing and relaxing. Now, at 11:00 a.m. it is cold and raining. Very nice. We’ll go home in the late afternoon believing we’ve had a great vacation with enough challenge to make it interesting, enough relaxation to make it restful, enough conversation to make it deepening, enough friendship to make it fun and enough natural beauty to make it inspiring.

We lingered over a traditional Iowa supper at Boondocks, emptied the tanks at the I-35 rest area and got home about 10:00 p.m., glad to be here but wishing to just get back in the Winnie Minnie and taking off all over again.

Top O the Morn Campground, Iron River, Wisconsin Saturday, June 17, 2006

Meg and I got up at 8:00 and walked dogs through the shopping center parking lots. We bought groceries and decided to check out the various camps we’d either read about in the Trailer Life directory or heard about from various local people. After last night’s fiasco with St. Louis County Road 101 I was less eager to go venturing off into the countryside.

We tried for the Sherwood Forest Campground in Gilbert again, hoping to stay beside Lake Ore-Be-Gon with the idea of possible sailing in that huge iron pit which was converted into a recreation in 1981. The woman at the campground desk, Sherri, told me they had a space, lot #8 available. So I put it on the credit card. When we drove there we saw that it was occupied. I brought it up with Sherri, who checked her schedule and said they had a 1:00 p.m. checkout. So Meg and I decided to drive down to the lake and dry camp a lunch. We fired the generator and cooked a nice bacon and eggs with toast lunch, in the rain, where we watched the lake, watched the dogs rolling and exploring the wet prairie, and enjoyed the time. Meg took a nap. At 1:45 I drove up to claim the spot. The people were still there. I talked it over with the woman at the campground desk. She called her husband. He came, half an hour later, and discovered that they really did have the spot. We were, once again, out of luck.

So we left Minnesota - and I was glad of it - for Wisconsin. We cruised through Duluth and crossed over into Superior, WI, and started looking for campsites. I found one not in the directory or in the GPS but which looked good, a private campground called Top of the Morn. It has a little lake, heavy trees, and a fern forest of dense growth of birch, oak, and pine. Of course, there is also the omnipresent rain. We walked the dogs through trees of the camp and onto the lanes beyond. Mosquitoes are here. Television, however, is not.

I could sail on the lovely lake but there is a $5.00 docking fee so I think I’ll pass this time. Besides, there’s almost no wind.

It’s still raining slightly. We’ve enjoyed a relaxed morning together and set out for the next series of adventures. The Winnebago’s odometer reads 74657.6. That’s 920.3 miles of driving since Ames. I biked a delightful 20 miles through the forest, into Iron River, and out east on the state highway for several miles before turning onto Long Lake Road in the Chequamegon Nicolet National Forest for a two and a half mile jaunt down past lily-choked lakes and even denser forest undergrowth. It was that rare ride that felt like I was going downhill both going and coming.

Karen called this morning to wish me a happy Father’s Day and that was good. She and James are at Paula and Clayton’s for Father’s Day. Paula gave a statement in church about how thrilled she was to be getting a new granddaughter by marriage and how happy she is for James and Karen. I found that touching.

I set up the hammock and Meg set up her Colorado Rocking Chair (which we had to repair using available parts from the tool kit).

Justin called to give his Father’s Day wishes and we talked over an hour. He wanted to know what I remember about teaching him how to swim. Susanna and he have been in the pool and the light has come on for her that, in all that big water, there really is a bottom. It’s fun. It’s also delightful to talked across the generations about parenting and the preciousness of being in one another’s lives.

In the evening I called Dad and we talked. Then I talked with Mom a long time. She is angry at him for leaving her alone and going to church this morning. It’s been ugly there. We got through that and her spirits improved a bit. Nathan tried to call but I was on the phone. When I returned the call I got his answering machine. It’s been a great Father’s Day, with enjoying the time with Meg and the day altogether and the remembrances of family.

The drive here was uneventful but lovely. I’m liking this. This Indian Shores place is huge and has everything: a Woodall’s RV supply store, a lodge, bar, pool, hiking trails, miniature golf course, permanent residents, a lake, and deep forest environment. The spots, however, are small. There are no large A-Class behemoths here! The woman at the registration desk is new. She directed us to a site so steep I was unwilling to try to accommodate our RV to it. We drove the long path back to the office where I found a man who knew more about the place, who gave us a better site. We’re within an easy walk to the lodge, which we did for supper (a nice meal of fried chicken out on the deck overlooking the lovely Lake Tomahawk) and the lake itself. We had to leave The Sahootchielina in a boat trailer parking field. The path down to the dock is so narrow and steep I didn’t been competent to launch the boat. There is a service, however, set up to do just that – for $20.00! I’d passed on sailing when the fee was $5.00 but now I find I’m willing, and Meg is encouraging, to pay the fee to sail this lake.

So I did. For two hours. What follows is my account from the boat’s log:

Lake Tomahawk, Indian Point Campground, Woodruff, Wisconsin. What a ride! I woke up at 6:00 with Sadie nuzzling on me but it was way too early to sail. The guy with the tractor at this campground doesn’t put boats in until 8:00. So I slept, arising at 7:30. Meg got up to do the dogs and I carried the sail bag, life jacket, and gear down to The Sahootchielina which had been waiting all night in the boat trailer parking lot across from our campsite #13. I joined the mast and bent on the sail before the guy arrived. He slipped the boat into the shallow lake, I stepped the mast, and was off. A strong wind came straight out of the south, causing white caps, more violent out in the middle of the lake. At first I thought I’d avoid that weather but couldn’t. So I beat on a starboard tack across the lake, 2.5 miles from the dock according to the GPS, before coming about. At the end of the lake, however, the undependable wind became shifty, variable, puffy. A squall blew over and threatened to capsize me. I saw little sailboats, some of them cute, in the tiny bays and harbors, although none were on the waters with me. Heavy clouds looked threatening to me. I determined I’d head for home, hugging the shore line to avoid the worst of it, then the wind would die. Then the sun would come out and I’d venture forth thinking I could do the whole lake. Then the winds puffed up again and the rains came pelting down. I gave it up and made a perfect approach to the dock and tied off. I had to pay the tractor guy $20 for launch but there just isn’t enough room here to get the (not so) Minnie Winnie down there.

The little round rubber roller that cushions the keel from the jars of the road has split and half of it is missing. I called Egon for advice and he said I could make a cushion out of a towel. So I did. I had to rig a boat-hoisting device using the painter tied up high in a tree for leverage. I cranked the boat back off the roller with the yellow tow line - wrapped around a tree and accomplished the repair feeling proud of myself for ingenuity. A great sail.

We packed up and headed off. I hadn’t gotten five miles down the road before I remembered I’d left the lock I’d been using to secure The Sahootchielina on the ground by where the trailer had been left. There was no place to turn around. We let it go. At least I’d been on the water and endured the elements.

When we left this morning the odometer said 74790.5. When we bought gas we calculated a 10 mpg average, which is a record for the Minnie Winnie. We’ve been getting 7.8 and 8.4 respectively. I credit the tail winds we’ve enjoyed the whole trip.

We drove across Wisconsin, with me being more impressed with the appearance of the state and condition of the roads than I’d remembered from previous visits. It compares, in my opinion, favorably to Minnesota. Meg, the intrepid navigator, has located a beautiful state park where there is room for us out on the peninsula that juts up from Green Bay on the northeast side of the state, out into Lake Michigan. Almost. There is a space but it’s been a challenge getting the not-so-minnie Minnie Winnie into. There is no hope of keeping the boat nearby so we drove the couple of miles down a narrow trees-scrapping-the-sides-of-the-RV road to the boat dock which empties out onto Sturgeon Bay, which feeds into Green Bay, which empties out into Lake Michigan.

We liked Sturgeon Bay. The Museum of Nautical History is here and I want to see it. There is a massive draw bridge which spans the channel that separates the upper peninsula with the lower. We ate a delightful supper of Chicken Teriyaki without the chicken for Meg and a Cajun jambalaya for me at Appleby’s. From our table we overlooked the harbor where docked are everything from day sailors to trawlers to freighters. I’m really liking this.

Just seconds before it closed at 10:00 p.m. I was able to buy a lock to replace the one left back at Lake Tomahawk and we drove back to the state park, back down the narrow road to the parking area, where I locked up the boat. We got repri-manded by a Ranger for letting the dogs run free a bit, a violation of Wisconsin law. By now it’s very late and we’re trashed.

Upon leaving the odometer read 75,021.2. That’s 36 hours, 14 minutes moving time (which includes time on the bike and in the boat).

Well, it’s middle of the vacation blues day. Just as the vacation started with troubles stacked up on top of each other like pancakes on a plate this day is the same, and just as sticky. The beginning was innocent. I walked the dogs down the Hemlock Path while Meg put on make-up and made ready to greet the day. Then we drove to the boat. Meg helped me join the mast and bend on the sail. The day was perfect. Together we launched the boat beside a beautiful dock out into the sparking waters of Sturgeon Bay. I could see other sailboats off in the distance gliding elegantly across the waters. There was a 10 mph breeze. There is an island a quarter mile distant beckoning sailors to visit. Meg released the mooring line, the wind caught the sail, Sadie bleated pitifully at being left behind, and I leaped out into the water. What a feeling! It’s like when a plane achieves liftoff after a long taxi down the runway. It’s like when everything is working in perfect harmony on the bicycle: winds, breath, gearing, terrain.

Meg was walking up the ramp with the dogs when it happened. I was coiling in the painter which trailed along behind the boat when I hit the rock. Water immediately began filling the cockpit. I yelled for Meg and leaped out of the boat to drag it to shore before it filled completely. She went to get the RV and, while trying to back the trailer, jack-knifed it. I saw it up on one wheel, pressed against the Minnie Winnie’s bumper, twisted. There was a moment, a singular moment, when the Tempter said, "Just leave them both, boat and trailer, right here. You’l never get them back to Iowa." Meg parked and started walking toward me. I fretted about the boat sinking and thought we needed decisive action. Meg and I unhooked the trailer and I bashed it half a dozen times against a light pole in an attempt to straighten the frame. I think I did a pretty good job of it too. We set the trailer at the ramp, hooked on the RV, backed into the water, and loaded the water-laden boat, with the essence of lake streaming out from the scupper and the hole in the hull in equal portions.

Meg started walking the dogs up the narrow two-mile road back toward the camp-sites. I was left to pull the mast, flake the sail, release the sheet, stow the gear, tighten the pads on the trailer which must have come loose on the trip, and secure the wounded boat before catching up to her. She’d gone 1.1 mile in that time, feeling terrible about the damage.

We drove out of Potawatomi Park in silence and continued up the peninsula with Meg in despair and wanting to just pack it in and go home and me thinking that would be a defeat. We’ve had breakdown and trouble along the way here - between mechanical failure and weather, full campsites and dead-end roads. We’ve come through intact. It would be a shame to quit now.

I’d come almost to the point of giving it up myself - saying to God, "If you think we should continue show me to a place where the boat can be fixed." Nothing appeared. So it was okay to turn around and head for the central part of the state and then on homeward. But by the time we got to historic Baileys Harbor we’d each had time to assess the situation and talk about it. We decided to continue. We fixed BLT’S parked on the street near the harbor and I went over to the Visitors’ Center to inquire about boat repair places. The woman inside told me about Harbor Marine, half a mile up the street, and about a man named Dave Prust at Dave’s Auto Body four or five miles out of town. I thought the marine place would be best. Then I went across the street to a marine supply store to ask the same question and got the same answer, with a strong recommendation to go see Dave.

The woman at Harbor Marine said she has a ‘67 Corvette which she will not let anyone besides him touch. So we went to see Dave. I liked him immediately. He promised to get right on the boat and we left it. We drove up to the ferry run by islanders ($100.00!) and crossed over onto Washington Island after a 45 minute, 5.1 nautical mile (6 statue miles) trip. Hootch was, like the shepherds abiding in the fields by night, sore afraid.

The island is lovely and we found the prettiest campsite of the whole trip at Washington Island Camping Retreat. We are off in the woods, secluded. The dogs can run free in the trees. Neighbors a quarter mile down the lane, from Kansas City, are here for three weeks, learning the business, so the owners can take a break. The visitors are staying in a mid-50's Airstream mobile home - very quaint.

Washington Island has a hundred miles of paved road and is home to the smallest school in the state of Wisconsin, with a population of 99 students. Last year seven students were graduated. French explorer, Jean Nicolet came here in 1635. The first church was built in 1865. By 1870 a Danish man persuaded four bachelors from Iceland to come, forming the second oldest Icelandic settlement in the New World. Others from Norway, Sweden and Denmark soon joined them.

It’s a night for Mexican Train, which Meg has won, again, this time 98 to 224! What a woman! It’s chilly enough that we both put on long pants and I wore a sweat shirt. Yea!

Camp Faribo, Faribault, Minnesota Thursday, June 15, 2006

It was raining when we awoke. It rained through most of the night. Sadie kept me up from 4:00 a.m. until sometime before dawn. Meg walked the dogs in the rain. I decided it was too wet to enjoy a bike ride. On her return we ate a huge trad-itional breakfast in preparation for the Minnie Winnie’s big day back at Lichtsinn’s. The appointment was at 10:00. The rain continued to fall. We drove through a couple of little parks looking for an adequate shelter to use for home during the day but found nothing better than the small shelter close to where we’ve been camping. So I left Meg sitting in her collapsible rocking chair accompanied with In Cold Blood, her Sudoku book, and the dogs in the shelter while I got the RV to the shop in time. I biked back in the rain, (riding a total of 14.4 miles during the day) but on the way stopped at a couple of barber shops, getting a haircut appointment for 11:20 uptown. It was a good cut. The barber, Tom, and I got along fine. At 2:00 I biked up (and I do mean "up" it is up a serious hill and then up some more on a series of little hills) to Subway where I packed in sandwiches for Meg, Sadie, Hootch and me and chips for the adults. We drank the diet Pepsi’s stored in the little cooler I had bought for use on The Sahootchielina and engaged the Mexican Train competition. At 3:30 I resisted a series of urges to call Lichtsinn’s to ask about the RV or to get up and ride up there. But I’d already ridden up there to inquire once and I’d been past the place on other ride- abouts so decided not to be a pest. At 5:30 I walked into the service department to talk with Tim Olsen about it and he confessed that it was ready, had been ready since 3:30 but he’d lost my phone number. He’d tried to call us at home and got the answering machine. Un-convincing! My cell phone number was on the tag that held the keys. My card was on the floor of the RV. The number was written on the work order. I am not impressed.

But I drove back to the park, picked up the patient Meg and restless dogs and we drove back to Faribault, Minnesota. What a vacation. The better part of a week has past and we are finally returned to day one.

We found a Good Sam campground, Camp Faribo, not far from town. It’s crowded, old, and uninteresting. But the managers are nice and there are full hookups and there is enough privacy for our needs where we are parked. The man is helpful and pointed me to a nearby lake while his wife kept trying to give me directions to her uncle’s home on a river.

For a late supper I made pancakes and bacon which tasted pretty good while Meg tended to dogs.

I woke up early and walked dogs. It’s a day for sailing!

Here is my entry from the Captain’s Log:

Cannon Lake, Faribault, MN

An almost perfect sail! The dogs and I awoke early this morning and gazed out on a warmish, breezy, gray day. We had volumes of rain last night so everything is wet. We drove about three miles, turning left (south) out of Camp Faribo, then right at the first major inter-section, then right again onto Mortesen Road a short distance which took us to Shager Park. The centerpiece of the park is Cannon Lake, a body of water some four miles long and two and a half miles wide. Dogs and I put in at a convenient dock, the only voyagers on the water at 7:30 a.m., leaving the slumbering Meg in the Minnie Winnie. A 12-15 mph breeze blew steadily from the south. We tacked on a port broad reach (using the GPS for measurements) ¾ mile in a southwesterly direction then on a close haul beat to the south past some inhabited coves with beautiful houses before tacking to starboard some 1.5 miles from the dock. Out in the middle of the lake the winds were steady and strong – so strong that I dared not pull in the sheet too tightly with the dogs aboard, fearing that if we capsized I’d be hard pressed to manage the boat, the dogs and myself. Finally we ran at some 7.5 mph (I forgot to set the GPS to knots) back to the dock where we took out.

My approach was terrible. I wanted to be on the leeward side of the southernmost of two docks but miscalculated my speed. Because it was shallow I hauled in the daggerboard early, not wanting to run aground, especially with the repairs that Jon Buss had just made the Saturday before. But hauling in the board also meant that I gave way before the wind, slipping to leeward, which put me in danger of striking the northerly dock. Finally I released the sheet, jammed the tiller extension against my knee and the edge of the cockpit, and paddled to the dock. Hootch, in the malay, slipped overboard and had to swim to shore. I have had my first sail outside of Iowa. Hurray. I am looking forward to more.

The patch that Jon did has held beautifully. The only water we took was from wet dogs entering the boat and that which came over the deck.

We left about 10:30 and drove up to Bloomington to see the Ikea store which is on Meg’s list of vacation things to do. It’s very hot. The freeways are very crowded. The city is very hectic. It is very different from what we’ve been used to. On the way up the left tail light fell off the trailer and dangled behind on its partial tether made of wires. The ground wire was broken. The red plastic lens is broken. One of the bolts holding the tag on is missing. One of the bolts holding the light assembly together is missing. I only discovered all this as we circled about looking for a place to park to enter the store. While Meg waited inside the RV with the generator running the air conditioner I patched the light together cobbling from available parts. I was rather proud of the ingenuity.

The store was better than I thought it would be, but, I think, a bit of a disappoint-ment for Meg. I liked the way the Scandinavians have used every available bit of space and the creative designs. I took much longer getting through the store than she did, she, worrying more about the comfort level of the dogs than I. We bought a fold-up laundry basket for the Minnie Winnie and a pillow for the sofa and a drawer organizer that I liked a lot. The dogs were fine when we got back.

I walked over to Sears in the Mall of America (in the 93º heat) to get bolts for a trailer light repair. In all that huge store they hardly had any bolts at all and no washers! Oh Sears, what has happened to you?

When I returned the generator quit powering the air conditioner. It would run but it wouldn’t power anything. We drove up the interstate through the heat, making our way to Virginia, Minnesota by 6:00 p.m. The first thing was to feed and walk the dogs. The second thing was to eat at Grandma’s, a place we’d enjoyed years ago when in Virginia for worship at the Plymouth Brethren Chapel, for supper. During the meal I read the Grandma’s paper, a copy of which was placed on each of tables. This is the weekend of a major marathon which draws runners from all over the world, sponsored by the Grandma’s chain. But Meg sees me as rude and slighting of her. I have apologized. We drove over to Story Book Lodge and were met by a most unhelpful, unfriendly man who gave us almost no information and absolutely no encouragement. We did walk the grounds and Meg was saddened to see the deteriorating condition of the old cabins. It didn’t seem the same. I had to unhitch boat to turn around to get out of there – since we had bad information from the man who greeted us at the entrance and believed there was no way to loop in and out of there. We tried to get a spot at stay at Gilbert, but there was nothing. We tried to get to Hibbing where there is supposed to be a campsite but could not find the town. I followed the GPS and we were so close, on St. Louis County 101, out in the middle of the boonies, in the woods, on a narrow, little, shoulder-less road abruptly came to a dead end. Again, I had to unhook The Sahootchielina and jockey the huge machine into a reversal of direction which it was reluctant to do. We drove back to Virginia and are, in the rain, camping in the parking lot of Village Inn

Meg and I have waited for this moment for a long time. It’s 3:00 p.m. on a cool day, low 70’s I think, and we’re off on our two weeks of adventure, getting to see who we are together now that she is retired, wandering without much agenda about Minnesota and Wisconsin, ending with a visit with Bill and Kris in Madison, and returning home the evening of a Sunday two Sundays removed from today. Our spirits are high. The odometer says 73737.3. The new bicycle hitch is installed and the bike mounted on it for the very first time. The Sahootchielina is obediently in tow behind the Minnie Winnie. The long-awaited vacation has begun!

Church was fine, although sparsely attended. Afterwards we ate the Sunday brunch buffet at The Basil, returning to make final preparations for departure. It was the first hint of troubles which mark the beginning of vacation. First, the boat trailer’s safety chains, with the elongated new hitch, wouldn’t fit so I had to take them off and remount them. Second, I noticed that the left rear blinker doesn’t work. The bulb is fine. The problem is bothersome. I decided to leave anyway and we’d get it checked at some point along the way. Third, I noticed puddles of water on the ground on both the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the RV up front near the Ford part of the vehicle. As I traced the line of water to discover its origin I found that the drain plug on the hot water heater has started leaking. That’s going to cause trouble. Nothing to be done about it now. What a way to start a vacation!

But start we did. Immediately Meg crawled into the bed and went to sleep. I listened to Villages by John Updike all the way to Fairbault, MN where I pulled over at an abandoned shopping center to feed the dogs, get directions to the RV park and stretch legs. It was then that the hot water plug gave way totally - spewing water ten feet off to the side of the Minnie Winnie and causing the pump to run continuously.

Meg suggested heading back to Forest City, Iowa to be waiting at Lichtsinn’s when the service department opens in the morning. It was a good suggestion. We ate bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches for supper. We stored up water in pans and buckets for personal use since we won’t be having the use of the water pump. We turned around and retraced the seventy or so miles back, arriving at the little park next to the river about 10:00 p.m. ($16.00). It was a great cool, refreshing night. I got up at 4:00 a.m. to light the furnace.

We were at Lichtsinn’s by 7:20 a.m. waiting. Then we waited and waited and waited. We walked back to the park, about a mile south of Lichtsinn’s, and waited there. Right in front of our eyes Sadie bit through her purple TCU leash and ruined it. Meg is finishing her plowing through of Salmon Rushdee’s tedious Satanic Verses. As the heat was becoming oppressive we walked back and waited in Lichtsinn’s small service department waiting room. It was hot outside. It was hot inside. Hootch is stinking like crazy and both dogs shed their winter coats on the dealer’s floor. Meg and I walked to the retro-stylish A & W three blocks up the street for lunch ($13.42). The dogs waited in the RV because the repair guys were off to lunch. We retrieved the animals. Meg and I engaged a serious contest of Trivial Pursuit, which she won handily, in the cramped waiting room. The technicians worked through the afternoon. Vicki called needing my Call articles - which didn’t make it through the e-mail attachment so I asked her to go get them off my computer at home. She did. It worked.

At 4:30 we went back to the A & W for ice cream and playing Mexican Train until 5:30. I went first back to Lichtsinn’s only to learn that the Minnie Winnie is still unrepaired. The first available appointment for further work on the recalcitrant left rear blinker is 10:00 on Thursday morning. I claimed the time. The boat waited all day in the little park in Forest City without disturbance by anyone, for which I am grateful. After hooking on we put $116.00 in gasoline in the cavernous tank and plotted where to go – Ames, Faribault, some other location?

Now we are at Pilot Knob State Park ($13.00). We stocked up on groceries at Bill’s Foods ($37.08) in Forest City and drove the few miles out. I did some fine bicycling (only eleven miles up and down the hills and through the trees – to the second highest point in Iowa 1430') around the park looking for a dock on the lake but there isn’t one. So there will be no sailing here.

We ate BLT’s for supper and finished up the hotly contested Mexican Train game and watched some TV. Great enjoyment of each other all day so it’s a good vacation, even if not the one we had planned. Now, at 11:30 p.m. it’s 64º. The future is open. Who knows what we’ll do or where?

As we started the odometer read 73,998.6. The fantastic weather high temperature was 83º. The perfect day low was 65º. Starting at 10:00 am, I rode 18.92 miles, starting from our campsite over all the paved roads at Pilot Knob and then, on the trail, in to Forest City, to the end of the trail at the far end of the campsite where we stayed before. That trail ends out by the Winnebago factory, on the far side of a major golf course.

Meg is enjoying the literature of reading In Cold Blood by Truman Capote but aghast all over again at that story of horror. We’ve enjoyed each other. This vacation is turning out not to be the trip we had planned, but good nevertheless.

I’ve been listening to Villages by John Updike, a story about the life of Owen Makenzie from his boyhood to his old age, especially about his rise in the infancy of the computer world and his life through the 60's and all the women in his life. Interesting and well-written. I, however, do not see anything in Owen’s life to admire.

Meg and I have been prowling grocery stores looking for edible, convenient, healthy food - with an emphasis on convenient. Today was frozen dinner day. I had some broccoli, mushroom and cheese deep dish things and Meg settled for a couple of tuna casseroles. For supper, however, we returned to one of our old standbys: the famous bacon-lettuce-and-tomato sandwiches, along sides of cole slaw for her and split pea salad (again, from the ready-made section at the grocery store) for me. Afterwards we tossed the little ice cream ball back and forth for twenty minutes, attempting to freeze the concoction Meg prepared inside, watching it, more or less, be transformed to ice cream. It was good. It was also a good deal of effort. Of course, the ice we bought turned out to be block ice and us with no ice pick. The old Swiss army knife has a little punch but it tends to fold up on one while one stabs ice.

It was hot today. I was wanting to sail. We drove down to Clear Lake only to discover there is no public ramp on that whole lake. We found, finally, a state park on the lake, anticipating services. Nothing. Then we drove back north, past our Pilot Knob home to the Rice Lake area. Again, no public dock to be found. Then I saw another lake, name unknown, but one which looked inviting. No dock there either. It made for lots of driving, some of it on dirt roads, before we gave up and returned "home." We spent the evening walking around the little Pilot Knob lakes through the woods along the trails with the dogs. It’s a good vacation. We’re good together. I’m grateful.

It rained a lot last night. Sadie needed comforting and planted herself on my body on the bed, panting and pawing, quaking and shaking. The thunder rolled and lightening flashed and the rains made such lovely patterings on the roof. I rather enjoyed the storm’s sounds and smells. Meg slept through it. Sadie hated it. Hootch seemed unconcerned.

I left at 8:00 on the bike, riding 20.96 miles covering the entirety of the trail system from the campsite, through the park, over the hills and dales, and up to Highway 9 to Forest City, through town, past the park, out past Winnebago, to its terminus. While I was enjoying the bicycle Meg walked Hootch and Sadie from the campsite to the observation tower at the second highest point in Iowa. It’s still rainy today with intermittent sprinkling punctuated with shafts of bright sun. by afternoon it was raining seriously again. She napped. I messed with the computer and did some reading.

At 2:45 we pulled out and went back to Forest City. It was domestic day: for the doing of laundry and the purchasing of groceries. While clothes dried we ate frozen dinners in the Minnie Winnie and continued the series of Mexican Train games. After the town chores were completed we returned to our customary site, #21 in the Forest City park and walked the whole path to the Winnebago camp ground with dogs. Hootch attacked a bunny and broke its back. I had to get 2 X 4's from the RV and put the poor thing out of its misery. Then both dogs got into the river, Bear Creek I think it is, and got muddy. Hootch refused to stay with us and came running up, late and breathless, after we had returned to the motor home. Dessert was strawberry shortcake on which we feasted while we clipped articles from the RV magazines and filed them in the expanding travel files for use when we travel through those widely-flung places sometime in the future. Sleep will be a welcomed next activity. This is fine.