(ch. 6)Again: Iowa

The Mississippi River bridge at Lansing is the gateway to the state. It is one of my favorite bridges on the river. It's a study in minimal efficiency. At first sight it's hard to imagine that this bridge can hold up even it's own weight yet alone the traffic it carries. We were in Lansing on the morning of July 3rd. Some mean looking thunderstorms were threatening and so we headed for town and shelter. Isaac tended to consider stops in the local towns a waste of time -- he was driving hard to make it back to St. Louis. I was always thankful for weather excuses that forced us to delay as I really enjoy visiting these river towns. We began the day with one of my favorite activities: a good breakfast. Then we walked through the town dodging the rain and browsing the various shops. Lansing is in the heart of the UMRWFR and it's a fishing hot spot along the river. You know you're in serious fishing country when there are live bait vending machines out on the street.

The stretch of the Mississippi between the Iowa State line and the Quad Cities on the west and Genoa in south eastern Wisconsin through north eastern Illinois (Moline) on the east is the most visually dramatic section of the river valley. High blufs on both sides frame the valley. Hundreds of islands break up the river's course and nestled in the mouths of the coulees that border the river are small towns like Bellvue Iowa that seem impervious to the march of time. I love visiting these little towns -- our next stop was Cassville Wisconsin and then on to Praire du Chien where we made friends with Tom Nelson who graciously allowed us to leave the canoe on his property. Tom is a retired high school teacher who runs a small concession stand and boat rental business on the river in Praire du Chien. He was particularly hospitable and, as a representative of his community, he made us feel very welcome.

We had two more state lines to cross and the next one was just a couple days away. On July 6th we left the canoe at the marina in Dubuque and spent the night in town. On the morning of July 7th we said goodbye to Wisconsin and crossed the Illinois State line at East Dubuque. In the Dubuque marina as we waited for a taxi I had an interesting encounter. An older gentleman came up to us and asked if we were the two fellows in the canoe. I said yes and he then expressed concern for our safety saying that he hoped his wake hadn't caused us any trouble when he had passed us earlier. He described his boat to me and I remembered our earlier meeting. I thanked him then and assured him that his boat hadn't troubled us in the least. He owned a huge cruiser -- twice the size of the average boat on the river -- and he had passed us back in the dam pool about two hours earlier. I remembered him well because he had slowed his boat to a no wake speed well in advance of passing us. Most of the cruiser pilots wouldn't slow for us at all. The few that did, throttled back too late to do us any good. They would drop to a no wake speed when they were directly opposite us and we'd still get clobbered by their trailing wake. This gentleman understood how his boat behaved and how to control it. There are always exceptions to the rule and, despite the fact that he owned a very big pig boat, this fellow was a courteous and knowledgeable pilot.

We were making good time, averaging 25 miles a day. As we left Savannah Illinois we broke the 300 mile barrier. It was time to plan how we would tackle the Quad Cities. Like the Twin Cities they were a potential threat. We could either plan to get past them in one day or be sure to find a safe place to spend the night. We chose plan B and selected a marina on the east bank above the lock. The marina was actually on the southern end of Campbell's Island. The marina owner allowed us to leave the canoe in an empty slip and wouldn't take any payment. He said, "canoes stay free." That night we stayed at a motel in Moline. We had been on the river for more than a month now. Most of that time was spent in Minnesota, so when I saw the young lady behind the counter at the motel smile and ask us how we were doing I nearly jumped over the counter and hugged her. I think she was the first African American we had met since the trip began. Her smile made me feel a whole lot closer to home. Apart from an outpost in the Twin Cities which we had skirted past, the African American population in the average Minnesota river town is less than half a percent. I work in a city college in St. Louis that is very multiethnic. My students and colleagues represent many different cultures and all human races. It's funny how you don't realize you've been missing something until you find it again.

We were lucky in the morning to have a tail wind and so Isaac raised our sail as we approached Rock Island and lock 15. We were able to sail right up to the lock's outer wall which pleased us no end. However, as we paddled the last few dozen yards into the lock, the lockmaster came out and hailed us. He wanted to know if we were alright. I shouted back that we were fine and asked him why he was concerned. He told us that he had been getting phone calls from people that were telling him a canoe was going over the dam and they better get out there and save them. It seems our sail must have been misinterpreted as a distress signal. Later on this would happen again. Note to self: next time get a different colored bedsheet.

As we moved through the bottom half of Iowa we encountered a new problem: heat. It was the second week of July and things were really heating up. By the time we reached Burlington the daily heat index was breaking 100 degrees F. The nights were still cool enough to sleep in comfort and as long as we got a good night's sleep we could handle the heat the next day, but that was about to change. We reached Fort Madison on the weekend -- July 15th. One more hard day of paddling and we would reach the Missouri State line. But there is no real river between Fort Madison and lock 19 at Keokuk. It's all just one giant dam pool. There is little to no current and the next day was Sunday -- pig boat day. They love dam pools. The weather forecast was just hotter and hotter and so we decided that we couldn't handle it. We spent the day in town ducking out of the heat from one shop to the next until about an hour before sunset. We decided to cross the dam pool at night. Without the sun beating down on us we were in good spirits as we left space dock (Captain Kirk's marina). It was a relief to paddle the canoe without sweat pouring down your face. Before we reached the bend in the pool at Nauvoo we got grounded on a giant sandbar. We had to get out of the canoe and walk it off the bar in the dark -- that was fun. Finally as we neared Keokuk I was just too exhausted to go on. We stopped at a small collection of what appeared to be summer homes and tied to a dock. I got a few hours sleep on the dock and Isaac snoozed in the canoe. At dawn we paddled through the lock and past the mouth of the Des Moines River. We were in Missouri, our home stompin' grounds. It sure felt good to cross that border, but we hadn't really figured out what to do next. We were exhausted. We couldn't go on and the day was already heating up. Soon it would be near 100 degrees again. We paddled down to the public boat ramp at Warsaw Illinois and pulled the canoe out. There was a shelter there with picnic tables in the shade. We both stretched out on the picnic tables and slept. When we couldn't take the heat any longer we hiked into town and wasted the day sitting in the local bars watching the biker wannabes come through for a beer and a dose of NASCAR on the TV.