I love small town museums. Most owe their continued existence to a core group of believers who donate unimagined amounts of time to the lofty goal of preserving the town’s history for future generations, even as those generations are indifferent to that very history. In spite of their best efforts, the museum is usually a jumbled mess, leaving me feeling like I walked through someone’s attic. Occasionally, I find a really good museum in one of these out of the way places. On very, very rare days, I actually find two. Friday was one of those very, very rare days.
Museum of River History
The Museum of River History in Lansing, Iowa excels mostly because it has a focus and sticks to it. If you want to learn about the livelihoods of people who lived in the Upper Mississippi River Valley, this museum will take you there. Heck, they even have a collection of old outboard motors. How often do you see that? It is a shame that the museum is not easier to tour. I stopped here last month during their (limited) posted hours, but they were not open. This time I called a couple of days in advance and made arrangements to tour the museum.
Down the River Road about 30 miles is the McGregor Historical Museum. I like this museum because they chose to tell their overall story by focusing on a few smaller ones, stories about people who lived in the area and made an impact. One of the people highlighted is Andrew Clemens, a 19th century artist who created stunning images in glass bottles with nothing but the sand he collected from the base of a local bluff. You have to see it to believe it. Like the Lansing museum, opening hours vary unpredictably. I made two previous attempts to visit, and it was closed both times, partly because the museum was flooded after a freak July storm drenched the area with nearly nine inches of rain. Now cleaned up, the museum was still closed when I stopped here on Friday. No fear. I walked down the Visitors’ Center and arranged for a volunteer to open the museum in an hour.
I went back to McGregor on Saturday evening to dine at the Twisted Chicken, a restaurant that would be exceptional in any location. I started with a spinach salad; a generous portion of the healthy leaves came accented with orange slices and pieces of walnut and topped with a sesame-orange dressing, totally absent of the corrupting influence of iceberg lettuce. Yum. The entrée was even better – duck breast cooked to perfection, moist on the inside and with crunchy skin, seasoned with an orange-chipotle sauce and served with a side of flavorful rice pilaf. This was a special meal. (Note: The Twisted Chicken is now closed. Bummer.)
View from Pike’s Peak State Park
So what could I possibly do to follow that? How about a hamburger for dessert? Not just any hamburger, mind you, but one from Pete’s Hamburger Stand in Prairie du Chien. Honestly, I was not the least bit hungry. So, why on earth would I eat a hamburger after a memorable gourmet meal and when I have absolutely no appetite? Research, of course. Earlier in the day I passed Pete’s trailer/diner in downtown Prairie du Chien, and it was surrounded by people. Crowds of people around a food stand get my attention. When I returned to PdC around 9pm on Saturday evening, Pete’s did not have a line at all, so I stopped to investigate. They specialize in grilled hamburgers, nothing more. Sure, you can get one topped with fried onions and compliment it with a bag of chips, but you won’t get a hot dog or iceberg lettuce here. In fact, you won’t get anything besides the burger and a bun. How was it, you ask? Damn good, even after duck breast with orange-chipotle sauce. The things I do in the name of research.
Solo Travel Update: As part of my on-going quest for the odd (or at least unique) attraction, I decided to take a short side trip from the Great River Road to check out a boat-based cave tour at Spook Cave. Sounds promising, right? How often have I had the chance to float through a cave? Frankly, I can’t think of a single one. Forty-five minutes after paying my $8.50, we finally shoved off. I was the only passenger. My guide was a high school boy from the area who was nearing the end of his own summer tour at the cave. Once I am settled in the middle of the john boat, he fired up the electric engine and his rote narration. In spite of my best efforts to redirect him off-script, he had a hard time adjusting his spiel to fit his audience, a middle-aged (but young looking) solo male traveler. “You will notice the steel handles on the side wall of the cave. Those are not there to help me but to help you. If you fall in the water, swim to the side of the cave and grab the handle to pull yourself out. Just watch out for the crocodiles.” Later, he told me the story of Joe, the cave maintenance man who disappeared under mysterious circumstances. His voice softened as he described the search for ole Joe, then, in plain sight, my guide slamed the side of the boat with his hand – THUMP- to make a dramatic point about Joe gettin’ ate by crocodiles. I saw the whole thing coming and didn’t even flinch. Thankfully, the story seemed to startle my guide back to reality, and the script got tossed into the water with the crocs. For the rest of the tour, he turned his attention to locating bats and away from telling me stories about crocodiles and long lost employees. As for the cave, it is but a few hundred thousand years old, a mere pup in cave years, and is unremarkable. I guess that’s why they needed to manufacture drama, since the cave isn’t much of a spectacle in its own right.
Bad Decision of the Day: Bug Spray – actually, not using enough of the stuff. Before I hiked around Effigy Mounds National Monument, I sprayed myself with bug repellant very lightly. After all, I had a seven hour drive ahead of me and didn’t want my car to smell like Off for the entire drive. Big mistake. Every time I stopped to take a picture or ten I was brutally attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. Predictably, they managed to find the two areas of my body that I didn’t bother to spray – my head and hands. Their harassment was so intense that I eventually gave up picture taking altogether. Let that be a lesson to you kids out there – treat the bug spray with indifference and the mosquitoes won’t be indifferent to you.
© Dean Klinkenberg, 2007
