Well, my lovelies, that was an interesting drive. Phew.
Wisconsin exit drive
A brief observation: the county roads in Wisconsin are labelled by letters, not numbers, and they seem to restart the alphabet every time you enter a new county. It would have been helpful to know that before I saw the third County Road D and thought I was driving in circles through Dairyland.
Also, it seemed like everyone in Wisconsin was trying to crash into each other while I was out on the road, with many of them succeeding. Saw a gigantic 8 or 10 car pileup (excuse me for losing count, I was trying to not up the number) on I-94. Very sobering reminder of how fast a beautiful automobile can turn into a pile of scrap.
Madison, or an alien foothold situation?!
In fact, there were so many wrecks on the roads that my GPS dutifully took me off the highway (Rtes. 12 & 18, I believe) outside Madison. What followed was a bewildering tour of Madison’s ‘burbs, and I have questions.
Weird developments appear to be springing up like daisies everywhere- weird in that they all look oddly the same, apartments and houses alike, as if one lazy architect did a half-ass job designing them all… as if someone showed an alien what human housing looks like (one bad example thereof), and they didn’t want to tip off the locals by introducing anything alien in the design, so they just built all their housing by following the example very carefully.
The other thing that struck me as off about Madison’s suburbs was the INSANE number of bicyclers on the roads. There were lone wolfs. There were packs. They looked aggressive and hungry. I rolled up my windows and didn’t stop for gas.
Come to think of it, I didn’t see a whole lot of gas stations there, anyways. Just a lot of bike lanes.
If I am wrong and the suburbs of Madison are, in fact, populated by actual humans, then how does this work? Do all bike riders tell each other to move to Madison, and they are busily forming a little enclave? Or is it more sinister: you move to Madison, and next thing you know, someone is handing you a bike, and then poof you’re wearing brightly colored spandex and those funny bike riding shirts? I enjoy riding my bike as much as the next inhabitant of planet Earth, I trust, but I don’t take it- well, seriously. Madison takes it seriously. More seriously than NYC.
I’d really rather think that aliens are in fact silently living among us in Madison. They don’t quite have building design figured out yet. They somehow identified bicycles as the preferred method of human transportation (not unlike how an alien thought Ford Prefect was a common human name in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) and are busily becoming excellent bikers while their scientists figure out the best way of attaching a laser cannon to the handlebars.
Actually, I think I have the beginnings of a good screenplay, here. Stay tuned.
Across the Mississippi
RIght, so I finally found my way back onto a highway without being abducted by aliens on bicycles. Southwest Wisconsin is really beautiful- all rolling hills and farms, and rolling hills and farms, and rolling hills an…… You get the idea. Beautiful but homogenous.
Every few miles, you drive through a hill, because the grade would’ve been too steep if they built the road over the hill, so they blasted through it. It’s quite enchanting. Suddenly, you have two rock faces looming up on either side of you; then, you’re back out in the open.
Honestly, southwest Wisconsin spoiled northeast Iowa for me. I was driving along, nearing the border, expecting Iowa to be more of the same pretty rolling hills. I was thinking, yes, if Dar Williams wrote that haunting song about the hills of Iowa, then surely these Wisconsin hills are leading to even more picturesque hills in Iowa; else, she’d’ve written a song about the hills of Wisconsin.
*sigh* Nope.
Before I get to Iowa, though, I want to mention my excitement about discovering the Great River Road is in Wisconsin! It only makes sense, I suppose, the Great River Road being this scenic road that goes up and down the Mississippi; I am familiar with it from driving about Louisiana. There it was, in Wisconsin!
All at once, you go over a bridge spanning the Mississippi (Hello there, river! Long time no see! You’re much clearer up north!), and, if you take the route I took, you’re in Dubuque, Iowa.
Uh, hello there, Midwest
You know, I’ve seen Wisconsin grouped in with the Midwest, but I think that’s a bit like saying Louisiana is part of the South, or Connecticut is a part of New England. Yes… but no.
When I went across that bridge into Iowa, I felt like I was in the Midwest. If you’ve ever been there, you know what I mean.
I am coming to you live from a Walmartians parking lot, because I have a cell signal here, and apparently all of backwater Iowa (what isn’t already closed down due to the plague) shuts down on Sundays… except for Walmart, praise be. I need hot dogs. And shorts.
Don’t ask.
What is Iowa like, you ask? I will leave the complete answer until my next post, the Iowa Edition of the Great Trek of 2020 blog…. Suffice it to say that this truck just parked in front of me, and I don’t remember the last time I drove on so many dirt roads.
Can you read that? “DJ – Minister – Videographer.” Bloody hell! I suppose I should applaud this gentleman’s entrepreneurial spirit; I’m certainly giving him free advertising. I think the choice of a white pickup truck is a nice touch.
I suppose I shouldn’t blame Iowa. It can’t help being- well, Iowa.
On the other hand, if I wasn’t due in South Dakota at the end of the week, I’d head back to Wisconsin.
-DLR