So it seems that in
order to get the OK for this trip, Pete sold it as a “business trip” which is
why we now find ourselves in Iowa City with Peter hard at work and me with time
on my hands.
At this point our
differing approaches to travel planning become very obvious. Pete is very organized, he has extensively studied
our journey and meticulously planned each day down to the quarter hour,
including a 3 minute allocation every two hours to stop and water a road-side
plant and a 20 mile allowance each day to re-route when we realize we’ve been
reading the map outside down.
My approach, on the
other hand, is best described (in words I don’t mind my children reading) as “casual”. Up to today I had done almost no preparation
and so I rose in the morning checked that the weather was clearing and
announced that I would drive 80 miles to the north and spend the day hiking at
Backbone State Park. Feeling suitably impressed at making such a monumental
decision, I was quickly deflated when Pete replied, “Sounds great, Nigel, and
what about tomorrow?”
When I arrived at
the state park (essentially a tract of native bush) I ran into a park ranger
who I approached for advice. She was
quite lovely and amiable, as Americans invariably are, but struck me as a
trifle unsuitable for the position.
Firstly she was heavily made-up. When I think of park rangers I imagine that they like to blend into their surroundings so they can creep up on unsuspecting naturalists and other wildlife, but she had so much make-up I could only assume she was hoping to snare the affections of Ronald McDonald.
Firstly she was heavily made-up. When I think of park rangers I imagine that they like to blend into their surroundings so they can creep up on unsuspecting naturalists and other wildlife, but she had so much make-up I could only assume she was hoping to snare the affections of Ronald McDonald.
Secondly she seemed
to be quite incapable of comprehending that I would want to walk for more than
an hour. After much insistence that I planned
to hike the whole day, she finally threw her hands up in the air saying, “You
young people are so full of energy!”. I should
mention that she did not appear to be more than a decade my senior, though to
be honest under that mask she might be 120 for all I could tell.
So she finally mapped out a series of trails that she estimated would take six hours. Actually it clocked in at 2 ¾ hours but to be fair to the helpful ranger I would imagine it would take much longer if you had to pause at every second tree to reapply your lipstick and pluck extraneous eyebrows.
So she finally mapped out a series of trails that she estimated would take six hours. Actually it clocked in at 2 ¾ hours but to be fair to the helpful ranger I would imagine it would take much longer if you had to pause at every second tree to reapply your lipstick and pluck extraneous eyebrows.
In the end I walked
all of Backbone’s trails (one of them twice) to get a good five hours of exercise. Backbone is a gorgeous state park that
surrounds an oddly shaped lake. The
trails take you around the lake and also over a rocky outcrop that hugs the
western end. Being Iowa there is little
gain in elevation so the hiking is pretty easy.
When I left the
hotel this morning Peter had made two requests:
1. Have Fun!
Check! I had a ball!
2. Take lots of photos for the blog
Hmmm, about that...
In my defence (and I am wagging my fingers at you weather
boys for this) it was quite overcast which does not make for particularly
stimulating photographs.
Also, I have a small flaw (my only one, I suspect, but Jenny
can clarify that) that may have played a small part; It seems that when I am walking
I enter a kind of ethereal metaphysical state, that is frequently mistaken for
daydreaming. It would appear that in
this enlightened state I can be somewhat oblivious to my surroundings. This was brought home to me twice today.
Firstly, when I blundered upon a family of deer who were as
shocked to see my standing in one of their freshly laid poop mounds as I was. Alas as I went for my camera, they high-tailed
it into the bushes, so you’ll have to take my word for it.
Secondly, as I approached a rocky outcrop in a fashion my
parents would describe as gay abandon (it seems nowadays we can only use that
phrase when referencing Ricky Martin’s ex-girlfriend) it suddenly occurred to
me that it fell away a hundred feet into the trees below and I had to stop
short to save myself.
So all in all a great days hiking with little to show for it.
For the most part I had the park completely to myself until I
stumbled upon a kind old couple who were picking a particularly mutant kind of fungi
that I suspect only ET would find appetising.
However given my wife’s predilection for mushrooms I felt duty bound to
ask them pointed questions about it and nod solemnly as they replied. The mushroom
is called Morel and is apparently quite a local delicacy with a subtle woody flavour.
Normally they sell what they don’t eat for around US$100/kg, though due to the recent
bout of strange weather they are presently getting nearly US$150/kg for it.
At five I headed north to a small town called Strawberry
Point, with such a name I was hoping it would have a handsome main street with
a welcoming café, but secretly I suspected I was in for the same kind of con
that allowed Erik the Red to name an almost inhabitable slab of ice, Greenland.
I was hoping to get a coffee. I’ve developed an almost sadistic pleasure in drinking coffee in the US; it’s like playing Russian roulette with a glock. You either get a brew so insipid that it is indistinguishable from my mother’s tea, or – in the fancier places – a mug of something that an Italian might sneeze up.
I was hoping to get a coffee. I’ve developed an almost sadistic pleasure in drinking coffee in the US; it’s like playing Russian roulette with a glock. You either get a brew so insipid that it is indistinguishable from my mother’s tea, or – in the fancier places – a mug of something that an Italian might sneeze up.
So when I rolled into Strawberry Point I was quite
pleasantly surprised. It had pretty
wooded streets and an attractive shopping strip with a small inviting coffee shop. Of course the coffee tasted like tea, but it
only cost $1.38 and was served to me by a polite and amiable young girl who
liked my accent, which I suppose is all you can ask for.
I then took the 90 minute drive back to the hotel, only to
find Pete glaring at me. Apparently his
work shoes had been in the back of the car and on his first day of the
conference he sported sneakers.
Finally, here's a picture for Aliya and DJ...
