South Dakota and Minnesota

The road leading away from the Wyoming national parks was steep, climbing twice to over 9500 feet of elevation.  There were long stretches where the Wilsons were moving uphill at a maximum of 40 miles per hour, to the delight of lines of drivers behind us.  And there was a tremendous amount of road construction work.  There were many miles in the mountains of unpaved roads that looked like new highway being laid.  In fact, we saw a surprising number of road crews all along our route.  Makes one wonder if this is part of putting America back to work.

But at least the scenery was spectacular.  Once we came down out of the hills and started across South Dakota, it wasn't.  Mile after mile of flat corn fields and pastures.  Very few trees.  I don't like to insult my South Dakota and Minnesota brothers and sisters, but it was a boring landscape.  The one exception was Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  We saw George, Tom, Teddy, and Abraham as sculpted by Gutzon Borglum.  Quite wonderful.  Then we drove about ten miles away to see the mountainside carving of Crazy Horse.  The whole area was beautiful, with more forests over a wide area than I ever expected to see in the middle of the country.  Otherwise, there wasn't much to see in those two great states.

But as we crossed the mighty Mississippi River into Wisconsin, the scenery changed dramatically.  All around us were rolling farm fields of contrasting green and gold, with lovely barns and silos.  Suddenly the road was lined with trees, and there were even splashes of red, orange, and yellow.

There was an information center just past the border.  Nancy went in to get some information and came out shaking her head.  "That's a really nasty guy behind the counter," she said.  "I asked a couple of questions and he was incredibly rude."

"I'll go have a look at that jackass," I said.  I went inside and asked him if he had any information on campgrounds.  He handed me a pamphlet about Wisconsin state parks and apologized that he didn't have anything more comprehensive.

After we left the center and were walking back to the motorhome, he came hustling after us.  "Were you interested in campgrounds locally?" he asked. 

"No," I said.  "Campgrounds around Madison." 

"Sorry," he said.  "I don't have anything more."  And he went back into the building.

"That was weird," said Nancy.

"Obviously," I said, "he was jilted by a bubbly woman when he was younger."

"No way," she said.  "He must have heard me complaining."