I got out of bed, anyway. And we were eating breakfast at a Perkins down the road by 8:!5.
We swung by the spa to pick up Ruby, then headed back up to Necedah to collect the trailer. We headed west from Necedah on Hwy 21, and got back on the Interstate near Tomah. About 45 minutes later, I wondered why we hadn’t hit the 90/94 split yet. A quick check of the map revealed that we had overshot the split while on Hwy 21, and had been driving on I-94 on a direct path to St. Paul for the better part of an hour. On any other trip, this is usually what we’d do. But today, we wanted the south fork; we needed to be on I-90, which leads to South Dakota. So, we got off 94 and wound our way south on tiny two-lane highways for an hour and a half, until we hit I-90 near LaCrosse. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a huge problem, except for the fact that my dad had graciously driven about 100 miles down from Shoreview to Stewartville, about a mile off of I-90, to take Ruby from us. The plan was to meet there around noon. We rolled in around 1:30. The poor guy sat around in an air-conditioned Quik Trip waiting for us to show. Sorry, Dad. Thanks for your patience.
So, with Ruby taken care of, we continued on toward South Dakota. At a gas station about 10 miles from the border, we stopped to get gas, replenish ice and organize the car, which gets trashed pretty quickly, with granola bar wrappers and coloring pages of Yoda and Barbie littering the floor. I picked up a few frozen lemonades for the kids, and we continued on our way. Of course, five miles down the freeway, two of the three children decided they didn’t like their treats. Anticipating this, I had stashed a plastic bag in my purse for the purpose of disposing of unwanted slushies. But Keith feared that the whole thing would become a leaky, drippy mess. His solution was to dump the liquid out of the driver’s-side window. Fine, whatever.
A few more miles down the road, we heard an unsettling rattling coming from the back of the van. I turned around to investigate. I never did figure out what caused the rattle. Instead, my attention was turned to the front of the Teardrop -- which was clearly covered in sticky lemonade. Not sure what that’s going to do to the finish.
Never fear, though! We waited to eat dinner until we got to De Smet, around 8:30. It’s too hot and too late to cook at the campsite, so we went to the Oxbow Diner, the only restaurant in town (besides the DQ) -- a place so classy that is actually has a self-serve car wash attached to the building. So, full bellies. And no more frozen lemonade.
(We never did figure out where that rattle was coming from. We tried duct-taping loose parts on the hitch, but the noise hasn’t gone away. So, if the trailer spontaneously pulls away from the van at some point on this trip, you’ll know why.)
As we ate at the Oxbow, I spent time gazing longingly at the motels across the street, and Keith actually went over to see about vacancies. We have reservations to camp at the Ingalls Homestead tonight, in a covered wagon! But the thought of camping out in this oppressive heat was almost too much to bear. We decided to try camping, but if it was really too hot to sleep, Plan B would include a stay at the Cottage Inn Motel on Hwy 14.
We pulled up to the campsite as the sun was setting and a stiff breeze was picking up, and we knew right away that we would stay. The campground is perched on a little rise where we can look out over the vast and stunningly gorgeous prairie. We are the only ones around. The wagon is fun and different, and sleeps five. The wind cools us off (I almost need a sweater) and keeps the bugs away. The crickets are buzzing in the tall grass. The stars go on forever. And, as I write, a breathtakingly blood-red gibbous moon is rising.
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