Eight states and counting. So why write about another desert adventure when there has been so much Americana sucked through our radiator fan the last 3500 miles? Why, you ask? I'll tell you why and you'll be the better for it. But let me digress a bit before I broach a subject that might seem a little, well, unsavory for typical table conversation. Kansas, Missouri, Iowa and Minnesota all greeted us with temperatures that made us want to crawl back to the cool comforts of home in Az., no kidding. As to the much vaunted fishing in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, well, let's just say that we learned once again why it's called
fishing, not
catching. The surface-friendly mid-westerners that keep the tobacco companies rolling and Wonder Bread cranking out truckloads of pasty white fluff greeted us with toothless grins and predictable questions about Arizona's immigration law (you people watch way too much television) and our dry heat, but they have endeared themselves to us with their quaint farm-country charm and Swedish accented linguistic oddities. For that and for some wonderful life-long friendships we give them a A+ ...After all, I was once a Viking myself
don'tcha know. My kids see the north as an exotic place of legends and mystery, much like we imagined the tropics or the desert to be when we were their age. And since I do hale from said
Land-O-Lakes my somewhat obtuse observations might ring a bit hollow I know. However, I need to show off the place of my most infamous exploits from time to time and the giant statues of Paul and Babe that greeted us as we rolled into Brainerd just helped solidify my place in Northern lore.(in the kids eyes) Suffice to say that we have had our fill of bratts, dill pickle flavored potato chips, high humidity and chlorophyll. It's time to head south via Montana. But before we do let me tell you about the giant toad that was fed the palo verde beetle pictured below...with a Black Cat firecraker taped to it.
It's not as bad you're thinking so read on. We did succeed in taping a firecracker to the back of the beetle and in getting the toad, the size of a softball, to gulp it down in typical fashion. (remember the video we made of the one that ate the tarantula?) The long green fuse hung out the corner of his mouth in perfect position. He even sat still (after the third match) long enough for Eddie to light it. The fuse sparkled and smoked as we sadistically giggled and chortled our diabolic approval. I'm actually glad to say the bomb was a dud, the toad belched smoke for a half a minute and proceed to eat more June bugs and shiny green beetles...none the worse for wear. Three days later I spied a black iridescent thumb-sized toad turd on the shop floor. We dissected it to find a wadded up piece of scotch tape and half the firecracker and a piece of fuse. The moral of the story?-You might have to dig into a toad turd to find what you're looking for.
