The Mississippi River is just past La Crosse, so we cross it almost as soon as we set out this morning. We MUST stop at the Ol' Mississip' though! At an unassuming little dam and fishing beach, then, with turkey vultures circling overhead trying to look like eagles, we pull into an almost-empty parking lot and walk down to the shore. Cody wades right in, and the kids are quick to follow. It feels good, to start out this day at a major geographical/cultural feature of this great country. I don't need to wade in the river -- but I do need to touch it.

There is poop and skanky dead stuff in the reeds between beach and wood. Cody finds it and rolls in it ecstatically.

I put two vulture feathers in the roof-rack of the van - one of them will diasappear after two stops, another will stay with us almost to Yellowstone, even through a car wash. It helps me to spot the minivan among the multitudes of minivans in parking lots on several occasions.

The Plains here are different from those crossed by I-80 and I-70 -- at least as I remember from some 20 years ago. Many more rolling hills and clumps of trees -- not the 360-degree billiard tables of Iowa and Nebraska. Partly more interesting because I'm always looking for raptors. Somewhere in here I see Ferruginous hawks - rare but not unheard-of at the Golden Gate - the largest of the buteos (boo' tee ohs), and a truly magnificent bird with a clean white front and a melange of rusty reds (hence FERRuginous, like FERRous iron) and browns. On one occasion, I swear I see a "Ferrug" apparently chatting with a Red-tailed Hawk, sitting on a tree branch.

Minnesota passes pretty quickly. We're all settled in our seats and enjoying mostly-clear skies and the sense of freedom that comes from the first full-on travel day of a long trip.

Pam does a pretty good Fargo-accented "Minn a SO ta," and the kids are imitating it pretty well by the time we get to South duh KO ta (where, I suddenly realize, the town of "Fargo" actually is located). We pass exits for the original Little House on the Prairie, where Laura Ingalls Wilder, Michael Landon, and Melissa Gilbert actually lived. I never read these stories, but Mark read them to the kids, so they are very excited about this place -- I wish we could've stopped, but in all journeys you must pass up some of your expectations, and always always always leave something to come back to. So, someday, House on the Rock, House on the Prairie, Devil's Tower, and much more await us, together or apart.

The Corn Palace is another place I've heard of from friends. I just know it's something that might be worth a visit. I have a vague idea that it's made of corn. As it turns out, it's a giant building in Mitchell SD where the outside is a mosaic of different colored corns and corn-cobs, redesigned and recreated each year (since 1892!). It was originally made in order to put Mitchell on the map. As we find it in midday, it's a gigantic bird feeder with tourist stuff inside. Willie Nelson and Tom Jones will be appearing onstage there sometime soon--thankfully, on different days. There is a capacious stage and there is good theatre-style seating around 2/3 of the periphery. Right now, though, it's a tourist gift shop.

Peter wants weapons. It's understandable on this foray into unknown territory. I tell him many times that the bow and arrow, harmless as they may be, will not be available to him in the car on the road, but he MUST have it. And he has found toy handcuffs, akin to the very real-looking handcuffs we saw in a truckstop a ways back. It's funny how handcuff-like a child's mind can be as it ratchets down around an idea it likes and soon has it captive with no hope of escape...

I am a person who has always applied logic to things. The kids aren't always making sense to me, and that's mostly my fault. Many times in my own childhood, I would actually cry myself to sleep while brooding on the concept that I could not be a child forever. Other times, I would solemnly vow that I would never forget what it felt like to be this age.

Now I find myself reeacting like an adult to children who, at six, may well be doing the same brooding and solemnly-vowing.

We have AAA stuff: an Internet Triptick; Tour Guides with hotel, dining, and recreational info; state and regional maps. This stuff comes in handy every night and other times. It's very easy to see which if any motels will take pets, and which have swimming pools, and which have restaurants.

Looking ahead, I find a nice motel that takes dogs and has a heated indoor pool and restaurant, at Chamberlain SD - on the Missouri River. It's actually a resort, and for the price it's quite nice. I get my own room tonite, and it's next door to Pam and the kids - both of us with 2nd-floor decks with a view across the Missouri. This is our second big river: we are driving old freeways over older byways. The Mississipi was and always is a revelation, a connection, a homecoming. The Missouri is only slightly lesssignificant. The only other "big" river we'll cross on this trip is the Snake. Regardless of what else you may say, if you have any sense of history or depth or breadth, touching these waterways will always be one of the peak experiences of a trip like this. Answer me this: how many artistic and literary works refer to the Mississippi?

Having an evening to myself, I dine at the restaurant, where I overdo it on a variety of fluids, not least of which are milk and tequila, and move from the worst table in the house to the third-worst to escape an older couple, of which the woman has applied her fragrance with a crop-duster. I don't think they ever find out why I move (I certainly hope they don't!); they probably assume I am being nice by removing my equally- but more naturally-smelly presence downwind of them. The dinner is basically good; I am just too dehydrated.

Downwind myself (of three margaritas, steak and greasy taters, and a glass of milk), I tip well, go to my room, and fall asleep almost instantly.

Around 2am, rumblings under Pompei, 1906 San Francisco, and me make themselves felt. I cannot sleep and Alka-Seltzer doesn't help. Finally, I find myself speaking on the porcelain cellphone from the Buick.

After this brief but deep conversation with the plumbing, I sleep. Sunrise over the Missouri is beautiful a couple hours later.