Donuts, Norwegians, and Mosquitoes

Day 4: Lincoln Nebraska to Rice Lake, Minnesota

Ms. Hutchison had mentioned that the donuts origins were in the south, so I asked my Southern friend Allen if he had heard tell of such a donut. He had trouble even answering me because his mouth began watering so at the memory of these things...

So, I searched the internet to find the whole scoop on Krispy Kreme donuts, and to find out where I could get one.

The answer, it turns out, was Omaha,^* and so began our next adventure.

We got up WAY early in Lincoln, and hit the road immediately. Using the trusty Yahoo door-to-door directions, we had very little trouble finding our way to Krispy Kreme in Omaha, about an hour later. The hot light was on! We raced inside to get a look at the donut machine, churning out piping donuts and sending them under a waterfall of gooey glaze. Breakfast, needless to say, was pretty darn good.

Now, Nina would join us for the second half of the trip, but those travels would not bring us anywhere near a Krispy Kreme shop. It seemed wrong that she would be the only family member unacqauinted with the unique taste of a Krispy Kreme. So we had agreed that I would attempt to get some reasonably fresh donuts back to California, for her to share with her coworkers at British Car Magazine.

After we had breakfast, I bought a box of a dozen hot-off-the-machine glazed donuts, and began the quest to mail them. Across the street there was a pod mall, and in the parking lot there was a phone booth, with a phone book. We headed there and looked up Mail Boxes Etc. I found one that was on the same street I was already on, and began to look around for address numbers so I could orient myself and figure out how far away the MBE was. I turned around and there was Mail Boxes Etc. staring me right in the face! Fate was on our side.

So the next day, the folks at British Car Magazine enjoyed what were probably the world's most expensive 1 day old donuts, when you count shipping costs.They all agreed it was worth it!

And on to Iowa...

Soon we neared the southern boundary of Minnesota. We stopped at the last rest stop in Iowa and noted a sign telling of a Norwegian Immigrants monument, 9 miles to the west. Well, we had some time to spare, and being descended ourselves from Norwegian immigrants, we decided to check it out.

Like everything else in Iowa, this monument was in the middle of nowhere, and surrounded by corn fields. It consists of flags, a very nice statue representing an immigrant family, and a plaque with the names of many Iowans of Norwegain descent. In the photo, you can see Caleb & Glenn becoming a part of that immigrant family.

And Further On to Minnesota...

We drove on to Rice Lake State Park, between Owatonna & Rochester in southern Minnesota, near the Laura Ingalls Wilder memorial highway. We were set for our first camping experience of the trip. We arrived in mid-afternoon. My folks had gotten their motor home problems dealt with, and they'd be arriving before dark. Minnesota, as it turns out is an oasis in the digital cellphone desert of the midwest. My phone worked well everywhere in the state except way up north past Duluth.

Many knowlegable midwesterners had told us that the mosquitoes would be pretty much gone by August, and we shouldn't expect much trouble. Apparently, wherever the mosquitoes were supposed to go, they missed their flight or something. We got out of the car to an immediate, vicious, and unrelenting mosquito attack. We ran to the ranger station at the entrance to the park, where they sold a couple of herbal mosquito repellants. Hoping for some expert advice, I asked the ranger what she used to keep the bugs away. "Oh, I just stay indoors," was her answer. This was not a good sign.

So the folks arrived and we had a good time setting up the motor home and getting it all levelled. We attempted to take a walk to the Lake, but the mosquitoes chased us away from the shore. We went back and hid in the motor home and Mom made us a wonderful motorhome-cooked meal!

It was at this time that the smallest member of our crew, Mousey the stuffed toy, apparently decided to go off exploring on his own. Sometime after dark, Caleb noticed he was missing. We searched in vain that evening with flashlights. It was a somewhat disheartened bunch that finally fell asleep that night -- Caleb & Dad in the tent, Jacob in the motorhome with the grandparents, and Mousey, somewhere outside in the tall grass.

We searched the camp far and wide the next morning. We asked the camp host, we asked the other campers, we asked the rangers. No one had seen Mousey. Mousey had been a gift to Caleb from a favorite teacher, and had been in the family for years. This was a very tough blow.

So, mosquito-bitten and Mousey-less our heroes had to move on to the next stop in our adventure.

NEXT EXIT: The Shores of Gitche Gumee