The word for today is: MAGNANIMOUS. From the time we awoke in the screen porch of the restaurant to the return to our tents in Dubuque, we were recipients of generosity and selflessness.

I woke up and put the coffee on around 5:30. Then I grabbed our lunch from the fridge and put it with our gear. It was odd having free reign of the restaurant. I thought about making some toast, but instead thought I would use the time before Mark awoke to blog (did I mention I’ve gotten behind due to all this darned kindness from strangers?) 10 minutes later Mike walked in, said “I see your still wearing that stupid orange shirt… want a donut?” I think one of my affinities with Mike is that we don’t take ourselves too seriously, and we’re comfortable with who we are; when you find others like that you know you can dish it out early and often. I could not refuse a donut and a second cup of coffee. Mike and I chatted for a bit then he went into the kitchen.

Mark got up around 6 and went to the kitchen for coffee. Once there, Mike asked him “Can I make you guys some chicken eggs?” Mark accepted the offer, glad it was not a second attempt to feed us loose meat. (Note: I think I forgot to mention yesterday – after a few Hamms last night I confessed to Mike that he scared us away with his ridiculous offer of ‘loose meat’; it sounded like he just found some meat laying around and could probably make it look like a sandwich. When Mike explained, it turns out he was offering what most of us call Sloppy Joes. I’m still glad we got the burger next door, and I like Hamms but prefer High Life, and it all worked out in the end as it should’ve.)

Mike served us eggs that was a sort of skillet mix: probably 3-4 eggs each mixed with green peppers, tomatoes, mushrooms and pasta noodles, served with two fried corn tortillas each. I can’t remember better eggs. It was far too much food but Mike knew we would need the fuel; we didn’t leave anything on our plates.

Mike was right about needing the fuel; we had 34 miles to make it to Dubuque. The wind was again favorable and skies mostly cloudy. On a full stomach and with our personal snack situation sorted out from Mark’s trip to Festival in LaCrosse, 34 miles was easily in our reach – these are the days of workhorse Lecy that I expected, and with music and the occasional Cubs game to listen to, 34 miles is nothing. We said our goodbye to Mike, I promised to return someday for a charcuterie board, and I rang the 1930’s vintage cash register to signal our departure.

At some point in the morning, I saw a new Bald Eagle scene. As I mentioned before, I’ve seen eagles doing just about everything; I’ve seen 10 or more eagles every day; and I’m no longer really interested in them, but this morning… There were a pair of adult eagles on the beach about 50’ apart. One was standing on top of what looked to be a very large dead catfish. A juvenile eagle approached him (you can tell the youngsters as they don’t yet have white heads and tails and seem to hang around the parents). He hopped on the sand toward the eagle on the catfish perch who suddenly regurgitated a large white stream of liquid onto the sand. The youngster moved in and started lapping this up.

This reminded me of a time in college when my friend Pete Dull organized a contest to see who could drink a gallon of milk in an hour. About 10 or so of us each put in $5 to buy the milk, with the spare dollars offered as prize money to the first to finish. There were really only two rules: 1) You had to finish the gallon in less than 60 minutes. 2) If you threw up, you were disqualified unless you did like that young eagle and re-consumed your regurgitate. Some contestants dropped out in the first 30 minutes, recognizing that this task was beyond their reach. Others forged ahead until large white geysers exploded from their intake ports. Around the 40 minute mark I positioned myself over the kitchen sink, expecting a geyser of my own. A moment later, I regurgitated what looked like 4 small cottage cheese curds. I washed them down the sink and found some space to finish the gallon and keep it down in 49 minutes. But alas, those 4 curds cost me the victory, which instead went to Todd Lighty around the 54 minute mark. The morale of this story? None. But that vomiting eagle triggered a funny memory.

One of Mark’s staple snacks now is Gardetto’s snack mix. I must admit the savory crunch of this stuff is quite nice during lunch or a break. Mark offered me some and I put my hand in the bag, cradled some of the mix, and made a fist to extract it. Unfortunately, my handful was now so large that I couldn’t quite get my hand out of the bag, and I was perplexed for a few moments. I remember seeing a program once where they put a piece of fruit in a plastic jar and offered it to some monkeys. The smart monkeys dump the jar upside down and walk away with fruit. The dumb monkeys walk around with a plastic jar on their hand all day. I was momentarily in the dumb monkey club.

As the day wore on, I complained to Mark about getting a chill when we stop for breaks. I think my disappearing body fat has left me a little more vulnerable to the elements. Mark then asked if I was turning into Mister Rogers and I needed to put on my cardigan; he may have asked if I thought it was a beautiful day in the Mississippi neighborhood. And, he offered to bring me back a Snuggli when he returns for the final Memphis to Bourbon Street leg. Maybe he’s still plotting to kill me after the mean things I said about him in my Lake Pepin blogs? He’s being pretty hard on me today about my newfound frailty.

Lunch today was held on shore, and the PBJ never came out of the bag, thanks to the smoked fish and crackers. Mark didn’t care for the Koolicks, but I couldn’t get enough of them – yay, more for me! We couldn’t even eat half of what we had, so we sealed everything back up for tomorrow.

We arrived at Dubuque around 4:30pm. Bill Rohde showed up shortly afterwards and we hugged and made evening plans. I did not see a large suitcase in Bill’s car, and the plans we made seemed to indicate we would be in popular public places, so maybe I’m safe!

Besides, Bill is probably the furthest from being a killer of most anyone I know. He’s a lover, not a fighter. And despite his above average size, I find it hard to believe anyone would be intimidated by him; he’s not quite big, cuddly teddy bear, but he’s disarming and jovial, and generally fun to be around. He’s a great conversationalist: by that I mean he always seems to have a lot to say about most any subject, and oftentimes he sounds intelligent and you don’t mind listening to him. There really aren’t any uncomfortable silences with Bill, because he will quickly spout out some words to fill them. (How’s that Bill?)

Note: Bill has been a lover of the blogs and sends me some encouraging and helpful thoughts. However, he was fearful of showing up as he wasn’t sure how I would lambaste him in today’s post. As my family and others know, those I love the most are often those that get the most 💩. This however does backfire at times.

As we were showering and making camp, Bill went to town to bring back a six pack of Easy Eddy – an ale from Big Grove brewery in Iowa City that I know pretty well. After we finished that, Bill took us into town. Dubuque has done a great job refurbishing some old buildings to create a nice area for bars and restaurants. I could see myself spending a few days in this river town. We had a beer at Gary Dolphin’s Iron Bar; Gary was a long time announcer of Iowa Hawkeye sports, so the bar had a lot of Hawkeye memorabilia and a good vibe. We then went to Back Pocket brewery, which was next door, but somehow we walked 3 blocks to get there. Bill, the conscientious designated driver, showed restraint, but Mark and I were in celebration mode: big day on the water, only a few days remaining together, our good friend Bill makes a cameo, our cheeks are very dry… we ended up being slightly over-served. We were wise enough to leave the brewery before things got too out of hand, or was it the strong essence of deuce from the Back Pocket restroom that drove us away? We watched the end of the Chiefs-Lions game on a large outdoor screen next door, then we went back to camp. Mark tried to do a little work; I went straight to bed (what’s another day behind on blogs at this point?)

Mark, I’m sorry Bill didn’t come through in your plan to do away with me. But thanks to Sue Fink, I realized that those paddle reflectors make for good mirrors as well, so I would always see you coming. And, you should’ve known that Bill is too much of a Sally to go in for something like that. In honor of Bill letting you down: Good Help (Is So Hard to Find) by Death Cab for Cutie