We woke up to a weather report that featured yellow and red Doppler. There was a path through the middle, so we headed in that direction. Out the door and onto 74. Not as frantic a highway as most, I actually enjoyed inspecting the giant tractor trailers as we sped by, tiny in their shadows. Hauling goods from hogs to Hondas, their draft whipped us around and earned our respect.
Before Peoria, we hooked off onto 474 which took us off the beaten track and onto 116, a farmland panorama. The panorama also included moments of dark clouds, hanging out in the wings, threatening our beautiful day.
The magic of the Mississippi thrills me every time we cross. As route 34 took us over into Burlington, Iowa, to me, barges became river boats and flotsam and jetsam were river pirates' rafts. There is a mystery to this mighty waterway and literary history has proven that I am not alone in my awe.
Rising waters from incessant rains have caused the river to rise steadily. Flash flood warnings flared as we calmly ate our picnic on the banks of the Big Muddy, watching entire trees sail by. An hour later and we would have had very wet feet!
Iowa was a virgin to us, so we took her gently. The Heartland personified, we cruised through forest, hills and farmlands, the songs of a million cicadas following us along the road. Immaculate farms were framed by dirty skies, as weather roiled around us. Our second picnic by a silent lake in a Red Haw State Park capped the day.
Bedding in Osceola tonight! Trains streak by our window. The lifeblood of our nation flows on the rails and highways we have encountered today. To run along these paths is an honor.
The Big Muddy
H
Flood stage
A tree floats by our picnic!
A Mississippi tow boat
Iowa gave us this!
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