The word for today: COMMONPLACE. Today was beautiful, relaxing, and practically boring. Maybe this is more like I expected the days would be, though I hoped for more exciting days to come. This would likely be my last night alone since I shortened my length from LeClare and put in more miles than planned each day. So maybe a day of relaxation on the water was in order.

But first… a few people asked me about that metal clang in my dream the other night. On a table next to the bed was a small rectangular metal plate. I’m not sure if it had an intended function; maybe it was meant for guests to put their keys, wallet or phone? Or maybe it was there in case guests needed to regurgitate 4 small cheese curds in the middle of the night? Or maybe it was just decorative, or was some significant family heirloom. I imagine it could have been used to carry a deceased gerbil to its final rest under the oak tree in back yard. I would ask Mudd the origin of the plate if I wanted to learn how many squirrels were killed by the dogs of the uncle who used to work at the plant that made the decorative paint used for the brown pine cones on the plate.

Imagine whiny Jim Gaffigan voice, “Geez, he’s been awfully hard on that Mudd guy already. He’s not even an official side dish yet and he’s already getting a lot of schtick!”

Back to today’s journey… At the onset of the day, things were again calm on the water. Though the night before there was some strange aquatic activity: 4 or 5 times there was a synchronous splash of 50-100 fish in front of the island. It was as if one fish gave a signal and they all surfaced and breached the surface in unison. Maybe this was Asian carp? I couldn’t determine what precipitated this behavior, and it came and went too quickly to capture on the phone. But it was quite sensational and unique to me. This morning the only movements on the water’s surface were from the wake of my boat and a few drowning moths.

Shortly after getting underway a fisherman started his engine and came to me from the other side of the channel. He just wanted to know if I was doing all right and whether I needed anything. One of these times I would like to need something; I know these river guys would love to help me onward.

Shortly afterwards as I came into Quincy and passed under the Hwy 24 bridge, a truck driver with Hegleman lines gave me a wave and a honk. I had a sense that everyone was on my side today, the whole world was collectively wishing me well, and I felt extra motivation and purpose. At lock & dam #21 I ran into my first congestion with barge traffic; I had to wait an hour for the Bernard G to pass pushing 15 loaded grain barges. Going through, as usual, the lock operators were interested to hear about my journey.

As I was waiting in the lock chamber a woman called down from above, “Have you seen my ship?” “Which one?” I asked. “The LSR 325 from Evansville.” It turns out she was part of the crew giving tours of the Navy ship and she was traveling with a friend by car to its next port. I told her I hadn’t seen it since Dubuque; she said it was in the next lock upstream and headed this way. There was some mention about protection me while I traveled downstream, or is it the other way around? I think the folks on the destroyer are glad to have Leechman’s protection. After all, there have been no Catwoman capers in Cassville, no Mr. Freeze felonies in Ferryville, no Two-face terrorism in Trempeleau, no Green Goblin gone awry in Guttenberg – Leechman’s wake is free of supervillains so I’m sure the LSR 325 feels safe following me along. Jim Gaffigan whiny voice, “Wait a minute, did he just combine Marvel and DC supervillains? Real superheroes can’t do that! This guys a complete fake.”

After Quincy, thing were pretty quiet and warm. There really wasn’t much around and I saw no people, at least not humans. I did come across a couple of giant male and female structure people who held up some electrical transmission lines for me. The guys dressed in drab gray seemed to hold their lines up with their ear lobes, their hands, and some pointed wide belts around their waists. The females held theirs with their ear lobes, hands, and other points of their own, sittin’ way up high. I imagined what would happen if they decided to drop the lines as I passed; I suppose every fish within 100’ miles would come floating to the surface but I would be insulated from the electrical charge by my plastic craft! I would rather not paddle through a lake of dead fish, so I thanked the structures aloud as I passed below.

As I approached Whitney Island, I decided I’d traveled enough for the day; any further and I would start approaching closely to Hannibal. So I pulled in and was glad to have some quiet time on the uninhabited island for the afternoon. I did see a solitary river otter swimming nearby, but otherwise there was not much happening. I sat on a log and started to blog (there’s a Dr. Seuss line in there somewhere… this one likes to blog; he blogs on a log with his hog in the fog…) 30 minutes after I set up camp, the LSR 325 passed by. I was hoping for a little honk and a wave, but they didn’t acknowledge me – some thanks for all I’ve done for them.

A quiet close to the day, and somewhat unfortunately this will be my last planned solo stealth camp. No neighbors offering beers (or explosives), just me and the sounds of nature around me. Seems appropriate for my musical offering tonight to be this Dire Straits classic: Single Handed Sailor