Chapter 8 Over hill and dale with no room at the inn.

Despite Iowa's reputation for being flat, it is not in this part. Once again I am climbing hills all day only to descend and climb again.  This day is also miserably hot and muggy.  At one point Murphy and I come across a cool looking stream, we are desparate so we both disappear into the underbrush to take a swim in a little pool that revives us temporarily.  The route finally climbs and stays up on top and we traverse some impressively gorgeous topography with panoramas of verdant rolling countryside dotted with picturesque farms.  It seems like we keep climbing and climbing to the point that we have to be on the highest point in the county. Sure enough, we reach a place called Balltown which advertises the best view in Iowa.  It is not far from the mark. My goal is to reach Dubuque that evening with the lure of full services, cell phone signals, laundromats and a City campground along the river.  I am treating myself to a shower this night instead of sticking to the bedding like the last two nights.
We make it to Dubuque, but the campground is barricaded off with a big closed sign. It is a victim of high water.  That night I talk up a fellow patron at the Wendy's (hoping he has a yard). He is 72 and a retired John Deere machinist. I learned about his divorces. I heard about his son who died 15 years after being paralyzed in a car rollover. He lives alone and collects stuff at auctions and flea markets.  With no wife to act as a governor I imagine his house would be pretty interesting.   He have a nice conversation but it turns out he lives on top of the hill I just came down. Murphy and I end up alone in an abandoned building near the riverfront that night with no shower. Murphy does not complain.

Climbing yet another hill