Driving through the rolling hills of western Illinois and its tidy farms. All white farms are a thing here:

Summer’s deep greens are giving way to fall’s browns and golds as the vast fields of corn and soybeans ripen. My campground at Johnson-Sauk Trail State Recreational Area is city park-like, with oaks and maples for shade. It is within an easy walk to both Johnson Lake and an unusual round barn. Unfortunately, I’ve missed the weekend when you can tour the barn.

Once I set up, I could not help but notice the camper across from me—except for being a different shape (bread loaf instead of teardrop), every external detail was identical to my T@b. The owners said it had been made by the Dutchmen Company (the company that nüCamp split off from) and that it was called a T@Da! Dutchmen doesn’t make them any more, but you can find used ones for sale. Looking online, I discovered that the interior was also identical to my camper—same cabinetry, same wood trim, sink, range, and bathroom. The same, but bigger! I may have found my next camper!

I was under strict orders from my friends to take it easy after my medical ordeal, but as I settled in to relax with some stitching, I discovered that I didn’t have what I needed to start a new cross-stitch project. When you have a cross-stitch emergency, you have to deal with that right away, so off to Kewanee, IL I went. By great luck, there was a quilt shop in Kewanee that had one piece of Aida cloth, even though they don’t normally carry that (of course, I had to browse the quilt shop offerings, too.)

Then I discovered the beautiful painted murals that were all over downtown Kewanee, depicting historic businesses and organizations. Dunno who did these, but they were GOOD!

When Russ arrived, we decided to eat out, and we went to Cerno’s Bar and Grill in Kewanee, where we discovered an historic bar and fixtures that dated to the late 1800s. The 50-foot bar had been imported from Belgium for the Pabst Blue Ribbon Company, and the lamps, pressed tin ceiling, and stained glass details were original. You’ll be happy to know that the food was as good as the decor, and we left stuffed to the gills.

One last note of interest. These are Hedge Balls:

Also called Horse Apples or Osage Oranges, they grow from Texas north at least as far as Illinois. They range from baseball size to grapefruit size, and are hard, knobbly, and sticky. Locals claim that they repel bugs, and they put them in their basements to keep out cockroaches and crickets. I asked one person what kind of tree they grow on and he answered, somewhat unhelpfully, ”Hedge trees.” I’ve been told they were imported from England, as the wood is extremely hard and does not rot quickly, making them good material for fencing.

A little background: The first time I encountered Hedge Balls, they were in a basket in the middle of the produce section of a grocery in (I forget: Montana or North Dakota). I’d never heard of them. The gentlemen near me didn’t know what they were, and the basket only said Hedge Balls, with a price. It took me quite awhile to find someone working in the store who knew what they were. I’m so glad I didn’t buy one to see how it tasted, because they are toxic! I did suggest that the fresh fruit aisle was perhaps not the appropriate location to display them in.

Before we left, we had to see Dyersville’s claim to fame: the farm where they filmed Field of Dreams. The movie site has been preserved, and you can visit it for free. There are (paid) tours of the farmhouse, and a gift shop. We wandered the baseball field and met this elderly gentleman, appropriately dressed in a Chicago White Sox uniform, who was cheerfully posing for photographs.

There were signs warning people not to go too far into the cornfield (“People have gotten lost!” they proclaimed), but otherwise, you were free to wander the grounds, sit in the bleachers, run the bases, or pitch a ball across home plate. Russ had never seen the movie; I was trying to convey the gist of it when a woman stopped and, overhearing us, said ”But it’s about the power of following your dreams.” I couldn’t have said it better.

A small, tidy park under some of the most beautiful, umbrella-like maples I’ve ever seen.

Russ showed up right after I did, and I decided, as a treat, to take him out to a local brewery in an old shirtwaist factory, called the Textile Brewery. It had great beer, amazing local hard ciders, and the biggest damn soft pretzels I’ve ever seen! We stayed and teamed up with two women at a neighboring table for Trivia Night and had a wonderful time.

The next morning, Russ wanted to do some work on his bike, so I drove to a nearby town to check out a thrift shop that had been recommended to me by our friends of the previous night. Inside, I found a number of goodies, and spent a happy hour or so just noodling around. As I stepped outside with my treasures, I thought I’d send a picture of the store to my friend Suzi, who loves to thrift shop/tag sale/flea market with me.

I turned around to take a picture of the store, and was startled by the sign. The name of the store had no meaning to me. I checked my Apple Maps destinations list—i couldn’t find the name of the store there, even though I’d just used Apple Maps to get there. Confused, I got into the car and started to drive back to our campsite. That’s when I realized I couldn’t remember the name of our campground. And again, when I looked at my Apple Map history, I couldn’t find the name of the campground there. I finally called Russ, told him what was happening, got the name of the campground from him, plugged that into Apple Maps, and was able to drive back to the campground. On the way, I recognized windmills I’d passed on my way before, but I could not remember how old I was, even though I knew my birthdate. I could not recall the name of the town we were near. I could not remember the name of the restaurant we’d eaten at the night before. I was terrified.

Back at camp, I told Russ I needed to go to a hospital to be checked out. He drove into town and I was seen immediately at the small hospital there. They did a CT scan, which showed nothing. The doctor believed I was most likely suffering from something called Transient Global Amnesia, which looks like a stroke, with memory loss, but has no lasting effects and is not likely to recur. The fact that I had no physical symptoms of a stroke—numbness, tingling, or weakness—pointed to TGA, but they could not be sure without an MRI and further monitoring.

I elected to go to the University of Iowa hospital, an hour and a half away, where they had a full neurological team. Poor Russ, who never drives a car anymore, had to drive me into the city. I was admitted immediately (they had been informed I was coming), but it was an all night ordeal to get the MRI and EEG, and, more importantly, to get them interpreted. Meanwhile, we had brought the dogs with us, because we didn’t know when we would be back, and people kept calling security to tell them the dogs were ’abandoned,’ even though we were checking on them regularly. Russ did his best to get some sleep on a two-person settee in the waiting room, while I dozed fitfully in the exam room. It was midnight until a doctor allowed me to have food and water. We had just bought food in the all-night cafeteria when my phone rang: the MRI was ready: could I come right down? It was another half an hour until I actually got my food and drink.

It was 10 am the next morning before I met with the neurological team and the diagnosis of Transient Global Anemia was confirmed. Finally, I could continue our trip knowing that I was not in danger of having another stroke (my father had a series of TIA’s—small strokes—before he died, and I was worried about that family history). Russ was completely brain dead from the night before, so I drove the hour and a half back to the campground, where I promptly went to sleep and slept through most of the day.

The next day, I drove to Johnson-Sauk Trail State Recreational Area, just north of Kewanee, IL, to wait for Russ, who would catch up to me in another two days.

Another campground, another state! This one is on the Mississippi River, which we’ve been skirting for a while. The riverside towns are just charming—lots of turn-of-the-century architecture, and very neatly tended. Stillwater, in Minnesota, had oodles of shops, cafes and restaurants, and even a couple of paddle wheelers! The European history of this area goes back to early French trappers and explorers in the late 17th century, and lots of towns with names like Trempealeau and St. Croix attest to that French heritage. 

The Great River State Trail cuts right through Perrot State Park, and it lies adjacent to the Trempealeau Wildlife Preserve. I give kudos to Minnesota and Wisconsin for having really great state parks. The campsites are well spaced out and private, and the bathrooms are the best I’ve seen! Plus, the staff are always so friendly and helpful (maybe it’s a midwest thing?). Lots of hiking trails add to the fun. 

It was really too bad that, the day I got to Perrot, I finally had to deal with a bad tooth that’s been bothering me for a while. I’d tried to ignore it, hoping I could get back home before seeing a dentist, but the tooth wasn’t having it. Pain drove me to contact a local dental chain, and they took me the very next day (Friday), examined me, and pulled the offending tooth all in one visit. It did rather hamper my enjoyment of the park, though, so I ended up taking an extra two nights, letting Russ go ahead of me by two days.

The next day after the extraction, the boys and I set out along the River View Trail, with its great views of the Mississippi and abutting wetlands. The Mississippi is by no means a tidy river—it spills and sloshes out all along its banks, with streams, rivers, wetlands, ponds and sloughs everywhere. This all makes for incredible waterfowl habitat, so I took my binoculars everywhere. Unfortunately, I was too busy looking to remember to record what I was seeing. After following the mostly flat river trail for a couple of miles, I decided to head back by climbing over Brady’s Bluff (because OF COURSE), at 520 feet the highest point around.  Spectacular views of the Mississippi and the vertical sandstone cliffs along its banks. Not to mention the amazing mile or so of hand-placed stone steps and wooden staircases up the steep western side of the bluff. You’ll just have to take my word for it. Sorry. Set my recently-abused mouth throbbing, but worth it.  

Early the next morning (Sunday), we went to the Trempealelau Wildlife Prserve, and drove the car-accessible viewing loop. The weather was, unfortunately, cool and grey, under heavy clouds, but at the visitors center there was a viewing platform where I saw thousands of white pelicans flying slowly by in long skeins, low above the water, and lots of wood ducks, which seem to be everywhere around here. So pretty! I’ve shifted to a new campsite for the extra nights, and I’m right next to a small pond where I can sit and watch the black ducks and wood ducks dabble about. I even saw two more sandhill cranes very near the road.  

We are moving in and out of states much faster now, now that we’ve left the giant western states (I’m looking at you, Montana), so my next stop will be in Iowa for three days, then on to Illinois. 

It’s funny how the landscape can change suddenly from one state to another.  All across North Dakota, you are clearly in the prairie, but almost as soon as you hit Minnesota, BAM! You’re in thick deciduous woodlands. 

It’s not ALL woodlands, of course—driving through central Minnesota toward Wild River State Park, on the St. Croix River, I passed through dairy farms that, except for the huge, marshmallow-shaped hay bales (none of those wimpy little rectangles for western ranchers) and the occasional sightings of sandhill cranes, could almost have been in the Lebanon Valley of Pennsylvania where I grew up.

Also, the spring and summer flowers have now transitioned to the asters, goldenrod, thistles, and coneflowers of fall. Through the dry plains of Montana and North Dakota, there weren’t many flowers, but now they are back in profusion along the roadsides. 

It was raining and late in the afternoon when I got to Wild River State Park, so it wasn’t until the next day that I got to explore. The dogs and I set out on the Walter Mondale River Trail (when was the last time you heard THAT name?), and that’s when I discovered that Minnesota is LOADED with mushrooms! I spied two good-sized clusters of Bear’s Head mushrooms (much like Lion’s Mane, which I mistook them for—thanks, Sandy, for correcting me). Those I took back to camp, and made a delicious lunch with toasted English muffins on the side. (Bear’s Head have a sweet, nutty taste, almost like cashews.) They have chicken of the woods here, too, although the only ones I’ve found so far were already harvested. 

They also have lots of delicate maidenhair ferns. 

The sun peeked out just as we got to the river, and the birds appeared for a bit—lots of goldfinches feeding on thistles and sunflowers, and one lone Myrtle warbler darting about in the canopy. Interestingly, the bugs don’t seem nearly as bad as at the last campsite. Maybe the rain has dampened their enthusiasm for my blood!

With the sun came two very tame deer who are regulars at the campground. Everyone calls them Bambi and Baby Buck (he barely has four points). Even Moe barking at them doesn’t faze them. They can usually be seen at breakfast and dinner time, wandering through the campsites. 

Russ appeared on day three and then spent a day tuning up his bike, on a thoughtfully provided bike stand and maintenance station, complete with tools. That day, I had to move to a different site (not far away). The evenings are becoming cooler, so we foraged for firewood and had a nice little campfire that night.

Then Russ was off again, and the boys and I hit the trails for our last day.

Don’t you love a walk in the green woods?

The longest trails run alongside the river, though it can be hard to see through the trees.  Lots of geese are coming and going along the river. 

Back at camp, I met some neighbors and their dogs—Doug and his adorable black and white cocker spaniel named Milo, and Rick, with an English Setter named Darcy! (“MR. Darcy,” Rick said—“My wife is a librarian.”) I told him to tell his wife she was awesome. 

Tomorrow is another new state—Wisconsin!

On my way to my next campground, I nearly had a catastrophe. I have a bad habit of taking pictures out the car windows as I drive: this time, a sudden gust of wind tore the phone out of my hand and sent it tumbling to the road. To make matters worse, there was a car on the side of the road just turning around. I pulled the car and camper over as fast as I could and sprinted back down the road, yelling “Don’t run over my phone!”. Goodness knows what the occupants of that car thought as they saw a wild-eyed woman racing after them, but they left in a hurry. Miraculously, I found my phone undamaged except for a scuffed case. 

I arrived at Lake Carlos State Park in Minnesota without further incident. Shaded, secluded, my site has electricity but no water, but water taps are nearby. The route that Apple Maps sent me on was lovely; quiet roads with wide shoulders through the Minnesota farming/lake country. I forwarded it to Russ as an alternate. He should catch up with me tomorrow.

Restless dogs woke me at dawn the next morning. Once I’d let them out and fed them, I was awake enough to check out some of the trails and do some birding. Of course, I forgot my phone, so I can only write of the beauty of a blood-orange red sun rising above a misty slough. We wandered down to the big lake, curved up around Hidden Lake (damn right it’s hidden—I couldn’t even see the lake over the cattails), and then headed back along the Maple-Basswood trail. Just as the sun made it over the trees, I came to an open area alive with birds busily feeding. More familiar birds greet me now—black-capped chickadees, hairy woodpeckers, a red-breasted nuthatch, clusters of cedar waxwings. Then—ooh! A black and white warbler! A catbird burst out of a hedge covered with rose hips. Empid flycatchers (Least? Willow? Alder? God only knows). A yellow warbler, so bright against the green of summer, now nearly camouflaged against yellow aspen leaves. I stood, binoculars to my eyes, while Scooby furiously tried to pull me back to camp. I haven’t been this excited since I saw nighthawks in Jordan, MT. On the trail, one more sighting—a female wood duck on a little pond. Back at camp, the boys drank their water bowl dry, and I finally had my breakfast. 

After breakfast, I got another birding surprise, when an ovenbird strolled through the campsite. Normally, these ground-feeding warblers are hard to spot (but not to hear) as they are shy and well-camouflaged in the leaf litter. This one was calmly walking not 12 feet from me, which gave me a good look at his bold dark brown and white streaked breast and rufous crown, bordered in dark brown stripes. 

I stayed behind in Bismarck after Russ left, to pick up a shipment of bike tires at a local bike shop. Even though I’d booked an extra day at Fort Abraham Lincoln, I decided to leave a day early, hoping that would help me find an open spot at one of the campgrounds near Kathryn, North Dakota—three days ride from Bismarck for Russ. I was worried about getting a space for the Labor Day weekend.

I wasn’t at my best the day I left—Scooby kept me up all night before, with diarrhea and vomiting. Then, about 8:30, he woke me again, this time because he was having a seizure. (Not really a seizure, although it looks like one, as he flops about, unable to get his balance. They call it Old Dog Vestibular Syndrome, and it’s actually more like a violent attack of vertigo.) There was nothing I could do but hold him until it passed.

So it was 10:30 before I even got breakfast, and plans to take a nice shower got cancelled. I got on the road, picked up Russ’s tires and headed out. At a gas stop, I grabbed two bottles of Dr. Pepper, in case I encountered Russ on the road, and got a BLT for me.

If North Dakota is part of “the great sea of grass,” then I was sailing on a calm day. The North Dakota hills roll along in long, low waves. Russ described it as “riding forever toward the horizon.” The monotony was significantly lifted by the sudden appearance of lots of ponds covered with waterfowl. Most didn’t have any pullover areas, but one that I managed to stop at had Coots (hundreds of Coots!), Ruddy Ducks, Black Ducks and Mallards, Gannets, and even a Northern Shoveler or two. Not sure where all this water came from. (Later, I found out this is the “Prairie Potholes” region, where low-lying areas collect rainwater and snowmelt into thousands of small ponds.)

Just outside of Gackle (duck hunting Mecca of North America) I met Russ, and pulled over to hand him a cold Dr. Pepper, which he was thrilled to get. I can imagine it was a welcome sight, as he’d been riding all day in the ‘90s and full sun. After making sure he had enough water, I left him to finish the ride into Gackle, where he had a Warm Showers host waiting. 

I was late getting to Clausen Springs Recreational Area, and couldn’t find a camp host or information area, so I spent some time fruitlessly searching for an open campsite until I found an amiable couple who helped to point me in the right direction. They even headed out on their ATV to help me scope out sites. The only places with electric hookup we could find were pretty squished, not to mention in full sun. I settled instead for a large, private, grassy campsite, fully shaded, above the lake. 

My campsite is huge!

I actually double-checked to make sure I hadn’t taken a group site by mistake. The only drawback is the oak trees and the acorns—you take cover when a breeze comes through. Most of the campsites are well spread out (with the exception of the electric hookup sites) and shaded, there is a small, pretty lake, with a two-mile hiking trail around it, and there are delicious wild plums!

As in New England, the nights here are getting cooler, even though the days can still be in the 80s or above. Most mornings find us in our sweatshirts.

Saturday, September 3 was my birthday, and Russ spared no expense in taking me to the finest eatery around. 

As always, town residents were interested in hearing about our trip, and we learned the area’s history.

I finally figured out how to work the water stanchions here (after three days) and refilled my water jugs, and Russ got one day of total relaxation before heading out again on Monday. I have one more day of North Dakota before heading to Minnesota and Lake Carlos.

Just outside of Bismarck, North Dakota, lies the reconstructed Fort Abraham Lincoln cavalry post, now a really nice state park. Lying at the confluence of the Heart and Missouri Rivers, the park has lots to see and do—a lovely riverside view, miles of hiking trails around the 1873 cavalry post and the 1872 infantry post, and a reconstructed Mandan Indian village.

The infantry post was created to protect surveyors and later workers from Indian attacks during construction of the Union Pacific Railroad. Unfortunately, infantry were of little use against the mounted and well-armed native tribes. So a cavalry post was quickly added downhill from the infantry post, and both posts operated together during the 1870s and 1880s. They were abandoned early in the 1890s, after the railroad was completed and the danger of native uprisings had been eliminated (generally, by eliminating the natives).

Fort Abraham Lincoln is best known as the post from which George Armstrong Custer led his 7th Cavalry to the ill-fated Battle of Little Big Horn. Today, a few of the buildings (barracks, stables, grainary, and Custer’s home) have been rebuilt as they would have appeared in 1875, when Custer was base commander. You can visit the buildings, and take a guided tour of Custer’s home. The tour guide kept mentioning all the materials that were ‘repurposed’ from the buildings after the Army abandoned the post. According to the guides, a number of older homes in Bismarck and nearby Mandan were built with materials from the barracks and officers’ homes. (They are still looking for the custom-built bannister that Custer had installed so that he could slide down the bannister and out the front door of his house, but no one has fessed up.)

Equally interesting was the reconstructed Mandan village. The Mandan culture wasn’t one I was familiar with—they were very successful river bottom farmers, and lived in large villages of well insulated, earth covered mound structures. They raised the ‘Three Sisters’ crops of corn, beans, and squash, and traded excess crops within a wide network of other tribes. They also hunted buffalo and other game. Unfortunately, their story is a common one among native tribes—first decimated by smallpox in the 1790s, they were nearly exterminated when the paddle wheel riverboats came up the Missouri, bringing Norway rats. The rats, who could burrow deeply into the soil as the local mice did not, destroyed their underground caches of food. Many starved to death. Finally, of course, they were driven from the river bottomlands into reservations on the dry prairies, where they could not farm as they had.

Russ caught up to me after I’d been there a couple of days, so I saw some of the sights before he came, but I saved the best for last, and we spent a hot but very interesting day touring the forts, climbing up the restored blockhouse fortifications at the infantry post, visiting Custer’s home and the park museum in the CCC-built visitors center, and strolling the Mandan village. They even have very good coffee and a nice bookshop in the old commissary building.

All in all, a highly recommended visit!

Just outside of Glendive, on the eastern edge of Montana, lies Makoshika State Park, and i am here to tell you, if nothing else, this was the most spectacular view from a campsite of the whole trip!

But there was a LOT else to Makoshika—amazing badlands formations and an awesome trail network. Before I decided on the picture I did, I nearly bought anither watercolor by Deb Schmit of Makoshika, and I was determined to see what she saw. Words can not do this place justice, so I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

Russ and I took two short hikes, one to see the natural bridge, and then Moe and I headed out on a longer trail that snaked through the heart of the park back to our campsite, while Russ took the car and Scooby back. We both nearly died in the heat, and Russ had to come pick me up in the car only half a mile from camp because I could no longer walk, but it was TOTALLY WORTH IT.

Russ found the RV park I was camped in about 4 pm. He’d originally estimated arriving at 1 or 2, but as clouds rolled overhead and the wind picked up, he had to revise that optimistic estimate. He showered and stowed his bike, then we headed out to one of the two bar/restaurants in town for dinner.

The next day, I took him out to Hell Creek, so that he could see the fantastic rock formations. He was suitably impressed, and probably took much better pictures than I did (they really have improved the iPhone cameras since my iPhone 6). Check his blog.

We took our time going out and back, partly because i had to keep stopping to allow for pictures, and partly because Russ complained that the washboard road was ”rattling his brain.” It was nearly one o’clock by the time we got back to town, so I suggested checking out the little dinosaur museum in town. (“Every little town in Montana has a dinosaur museum,” the ranger at Hell Creek told me.)

What we didn’t know was that we would be greeted by, and given a tour by, the woman who found the first nearly complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton—Kathy Wankel. “Let me show you the T. rex I found,” she said, and led us to a display replica of the scapula, arm, and digits of a T. rex—the bones she and her husband Tom unearthed just outside of Jordan in 1988. Her discovery led to the excavation of an 85% complete skeleton, the Wankel T. rex, currently on loan to the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.

There were lots of other bones, fossil imprints, and models of dinosaur skeletons—including a life-size Triceratops—but it also housed a museum of the history of Garfield County, Montana, with a replica schoolroom, collections of World War I and II memorabilia, local ranch brand designs (Tom Wankel told us that Montana is the only state that still uses branding to mark herds), and vignettes of everyday life in the early 1900s, all carefully labeled with ”donated by . …” They even had the original two-cell jailhouse and a collection of early farm implements, including a ”sod-buster” plow. Russ and Tom had fun swapping farm stories inspired by some of the items Russ spotted.

But a storm was brewing, and as thunder rumbled across the sky, we took our leave and headed back to cover Russ’s bike and close up the camper before the rain.