States: 38 Days: 220 Miles: 32,081
Wisconsin was one of the states for which I had very little planned. Either I was getting tired in the research stages, or I simply didn’t think I wanted to drive quite as far as the Wisconsin sights would necessitate. However, looking at the paltry number of things on the list, I decided to take a second look and be a little more adventurous. In addition to the geeky trip to the 45/90 geographical marker (Google it – it’s so geeky), I added a trip to Washington Island and the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore to fill out my Wisconsin Itinerary. The Apostle Islands lakeshore turned out to be very similar to Pictured Rocks, only worse weather, smaller, and less spectacular. Washington Island, however, has been a highlight of the trip so far, as I found that in addition to the Viking churches, beautiful beaches, and stunning sunset harbours, there are also some great people.
I have found that if I sit in a restaurant having a leisurely dinner whilst typing this blog on my laptop, I tend to get pretty good service. I guess they think I’m some kind of food writer or travel blogger (which I suppose I technically am), but I seem to get treated better when I have my laptop with me. So, I found a bar overlooking the lake and diligently sat there to write my blog and, in the process, got chatting to the lady behind the bar. After a few Old Fashioneds – she convinced me that I had to try the Wisconsin version as well as the classic and who was I to argue – we got chatting about my travels and the blog and writing in general.
After a lovely evening of chatting to Alex (for that was her name), she found out that it was my last night on the island and that I had not yet been inducted into the Nelsen’s Hall Bitters Club. I had seen the pub in question on TripAdvisor but didn’t realise that it was in fact a bar that served shots of bitters. Turns out that as bitters were originally marketed as a “stomach tonic for medicinal purposes”, the selling and consumption of bitters was legal during prohibition, as long as you had a pharmaceutical licence. As bitters are 90% proof (who knew!?), they could legally sell them as shots during prohibition. So, I diligently followed Alex and a few others to Nelsen’s Hall, who stayed open late just for me to be inducted to the Bitters Club. If not for the honour of becoming a “True Islander”, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone, as a whole shot of bitters is not particularly pleasant, but it was a great fun experience – slamming the shot with five others, everyone then dipping their thumb in the dregs and stamping their thumb-print on my new “Bitter’s Club Certificate”. On my way out of the pub, Alex ran to my car and dumped two large, heavy books on my passenger seat – her dad’s novels. Turns out that he is a writer too and has self-published his own novels about his experiences during the war. I haven’t read them yet, but they will serve as yet another reminder of the amazing experiences and amazing people I have met on my travels.
On my way through to Ely, Minnesota (yes, another Ely – turns out most of my favourite things are called El(e)y), I stopped off to experience the beautiful Tettegouche State Park, where I continued my string of camping, as the weather was perfect for it. All the camping was rewarding and relaxing up until I found a beetle in the antihelix of my ear and spent the next week convinced that there was something living inside my ear canal. I’m still not convinced there’s not a family of weevils in there, but a $208 medical bill is about as much as I am willing to spend on finding out.
In Ely, I planned to visit the Boundary Waters, which is on my list of 100 places. However, I grew more and more concerned about my physical ability to canoe in the wilderness for hours and hours every day, with portaging in between. I don’t exercise a huge amount and didn’t think that my hiking experience would help, as a decidedly different set of muscles would be involved. I needn’t have worried, however, as even if I didn’t have the natural stamina for it, I most definitely had the right spirit for canoeing in the wilderness. Namely a “you got yourself into this mess, now you can deal with the consequences” spirit. I’m so glad I did, as the Boundary Waters are stunningly beautiful and completely serene. There’s nothing quite like being completely alone (in your canoe of two) on a glass-like lake, being in-tune with your canoe-buddy, paddling in the silence with the sound of the canoe paddles pulling in the water, with the drip-drip-drip of the pull back and the splash of the paddles hitting the water in unison. The rhythm was hypnotic and very meditative, and I found it surprising how quickly the hours slipped by.
I managed OK with the exercise and the wilderness, all the way up until one particularly soggy day where, after a day of paddling, I hibernated in my clean, dry tent and was completely ready to stay there all night until there were shouts of dinner and campfire from my guide, Jess. Jess is my new personal hero, by the way – not only did this wonderful woman guide me through the wilderness, not let me die, and cook all the meals, she is also a great human being and so much fun to be around.
I genuinely hope I can come back to see her again and perhaps go back out into the wilderness (once the nightmares of mosquitos subside). I have two main memories of Jess – the first is her fire-making ability. On one particularly sodden day where we had both slipped on rocks in the lake and soaked ourselves up to the waist; and then it had started raining, she managed to start a fire in the evening (in the rain). We began a futile game of drying one half of our garments by literally dangling them in the fire and smoke, whilst the rain soaked the other half. We then turned the garments upside down and played the game in reverse. We did not win the game. The next night, when it had been raining for almost two days solid (but we were blessed with a clear evening) Jess, my absolute hero, managed to start a fire with sodden moss, sodden bark, wet twigs, and marinated logs. She was incredible.
My other key memory of her somewhat undercuts the hero status to which I have elevated her and still makes me genuinely laugh even now, writing this weeks after the event. Due to the proliferation of mosquitos, we had a mosquito-net tarp, which blissfully not only provided rain cover but had mosquito-net sides to provide a sanctuary in all eventualities. One that we were very grateful for on two of the rainy, mosquito-ridden evenings that we spent in the BW. On the penultimate day, we ate lunch under the rain/mosquito tarp before heading out to explore the surrounds of our new camp for the afternoon. I went to go prepare myself for the rain-soaking I was about to receive and a few minutes later heard, from off to the right, a screech of “What are you doing in here!!?? Get out!!”. I assumed that as the shout was coming from the tarp-area, that Jess had gone into the tarp and found a proliferation of mosquitos, which she was duly clapping and shouting to rid the tent of. I ran up to try to assist her in the mosquito-genocide, only to find her holding up two sides of the netting, exposing the bare ground underneath, whilst a petrified chipmunk was hurling itself at the only corner of the net that was still secured to the ground. Frustrated at the efforts she was making to create escape-routes for the chipmunk and its inability to see the freedom laid out before it, like a bumble-bee that blatantly refuses to escape through the wide-open window whilst continually butting its head against the window frame, Jess screamed at the chipmunk “Use your brain!!”. Fully poised to assist with the chipmunk-escape-plan, but at a loss as to how to help, that line defeated me and left me folded in half with laughter. Ever since, at the thought of that scene and those words, I still quite literally laugh out loud.
After I survived the Boundary Waters. I travelled up to Lake Itasca, to the beginnings of the Mississippi River. Mostly so that I could step into the water of the ‘Mighty Mississippi’, and add to my list of travel extremes that I have travelled from the beginning to the mouth of the Mississippi river (in addition to Mexico to Canada, and Atlantic to Pacific).
From there I continued across to Fargo, North Dakota, where I duly watched the film and realised that pretty much none of the film actually takes place in Fargo, However, I did manage to get my photo taken with the wood-chipper from the final scenes, so it was (almost) worth it. From Fargo, I travelled clear across the state to Medora, which was a beautiful and picturesque town in the Badlands of North Dakota, where in my infinite wisdom, I decided to carry on camping, without checking the weather first. Not only was it 28 degrees at night, there were thunderstorms-a-plenty, so I didn’t sleep a wink! Finally giving up, getting up, and getting going at 5am, I make my way south to Deadwood, stopping off at another geeky spot – the geographic centre of the 50 states, which did involve trespassing on private farm land and avoiding rattlesnakes, but I figured that since there was a flag and a plaque at the location, they were used to people making the pilgrimage.
One of my clearest memories of visiting my grandparents was watching old films with my brother. My grandparents had five VHS tapes of films recorded off the TV (remember when that was a thing?!). I can honestly not remember what four of those films were, but the one that I do remember was Calamity Jane (guess which one we always watched when we went to visit!). So I was so excited when I pulled into Deadwood, South Dakota. Unfortunately, Deadwood is not what I was imagining, but that didn’t stop me from singing “The Deadwood Stage” and “Black Hills of Dakota” throughout my whole visit (and ever since to be honest). I did go and see Calam’s grave (she is buried next to Wild Bill, which was her last request), which almost made the detour worth it.
The rest of South Dakota, however, was spectacular. Crazy Horse Memorial, Mount Rushmore, and the Badlands, where I took a million photos, only about seven of which were decent enough to keep. The Badlands are much like Death Valley – the spectacle must be seen to be believed, as no camera could ever capture the vast openness and space. Even then, being there seems unreal, like you are on a strange, far-away, planet. Like there shouldn’t be so much space in the world.
I headed back through Nebraska to see Carhenge (exactly what it sounds like), and to more wide-open spaces of chimney rock (also exactly what it sounds like) and Scotts Bluff. From there, I took a 1,200-mile round-trip detour back down to New Mexico. Which sounds bonkers and probably was to be honest, as it wasn’t fully worth the trip. However, El Rancho De Las Golondrinas was on my list of 100 places, and I would have been gutted to have left the States without hitting all my intended targets. The only problem was that in winter, when I was in New Mexico, the place was closed. The closest I was going to get to it in the summer was from Nebraska. Luckily for me, I stopped at a family friend’s house in Denver, which made at least half the trip worthwhile, if not the whole slog all the way down to the Ranch.
The one great thing about being back in Santa Fe, however, was being able to go back to my favourite restaurant (feels very odd to have a ‘favourite’ restaurant in Santa Fe, New Mexico, but I do!). It’s a great African restaurant called Jambo Café, which sold an amazing goat stew that took me right back to Uganda (although it had far more luxurious ingredients than the Ugandan version and there was significantly less swamp-fishing and water-gathering involved). The café also sold Tusker Lager, with which I have many great and fond memories. So in that way, it was worth the trip back to NM, although next time, it might actually be easier to just go back to Africa…