Seven years. Hard to believe that it has been nearly seven years since my time living in Australia, up to little or no good with my friend Ben Govett. Now he was here, in North America, about to drop in for a visit.
In an email exchange I asked if there was anything specifically that he wanted to do. Anything in particular that he considered a priority? In my head I anticipated a number of responses: Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, New Orleans, New York City. What would I insist upon seeing, if I were a tourist visiting America? Thus, it came as something as a shock when he matter-of-factly replied that he wished to visit several dairy farms in the Midwest.
Don't get me wrong - I clearly have no problem with dairy farming, as it is my chosen profession. But, as I emailed Ben, why not skip the cows and just have some fun? I mused, "If you're after a tax write-off I have plenty of cows; we'll spend five minutes checking out my herd and then cut loose."
Ben was adamant. He listed four farms he wanted to visit: one in southwest Wisconsin, two in eastern Iowa, and one near Madison. Platteville, Dyersville, Decorah, and Whitewater. To drive the distance, including stops, would realistically consume two days. Then again, who said anything about driving?
It was a glorious November morning. The sun had not yet risen, there was not a whisper of wind, and a light frost sparkled the pavement as I watched the runway sink away beneath the wheels of the Cessna. We took off from Monroe heading west, the shadow of the airplane, oblong and distorted, leading the way.
The flight from Monroe to Platteville took 30 minutes; half what driving would have required. I had pre-arranged at each airport to have a courtesy car. This is the beauty of private aviation; say you want to tour some dairy farms in the region. Even a small airplane will cut the commute in half. Don't consider yourself stuck at the destination airport; even small municipal airports typically have a courtesy car specifically for the use of transient pilots. All they ask is that you put a few bucks' worth of gas into the tank. General aviation is a beautiful thing; sadly, one of life's best kept secrets.
The Platteville Airport courtesy vehicle was a retired cop car, replete with blackened rims and spotlight. Ben and I both shrieked, "Sweet." From the airport, farm number one was a short 15-minute drive.
The Platteville-Dyersville flight was nothing short of phenomenal. We cruised over the Mississippi River and blew past Dubuque at 120 miles per hour. The bluffs, the sandbars, locks, and barges made for awesome scenery from 4,500 feet. Another 30 minutes in the air and we touched down on the nice grass runway at Dyersville.
I did feel a touch sorry for Dyersville - it seems as though not much besides an ethanol plant has happened there since Kevin Costner filmed a mediocre movie about baseball in 1989. On the other hand, I found the quiet, small-town atmosphere quite endearing. Dyersville Airport did not have a courtesy car. As is not a terribly uncommon occurrence at small grass-based airports, the friendly airport manager happily exclaimed, "Not a problem - you can just use mine." Having never met the man, Ben and I borrowed the keys and set off for farm number two. Classic Americana, alive and well, brought to you by private aviation.
Oh, and one more thing about small-town America. Ben and I grabbed lunch at a café in Dyersville. We ate heartily, left a tip, and for the two of us, still got change back from a $20.
There is no direct automotive route from Dyersville to Decorah. To drive would have required more than two hours. As the big metal crow flies, it took Ben and I less than 45 minutes. Another retired cop car, another farm to visit. My vacillation about spending a day visiting dairy farms had long vanished; I was having fun, making new friends and remembering faces from childhood trips to various cattle conventions. Besides, what better way to tour the countryside than with a birds-eye view?
Farm number four: Decorah, Iowa to just outside of Whitewater, Wisconsin. We made the flight in an hour and a half, despite a headwind. There was big money at this farm, state of the art genetics and world-class dairy cattle from around the world. Four farms in one day; four completely different approaches to genetic breeding, yet four phenomenal herds, if you're in to that sort of thing. For Ben and I, it was well worth the price of admission.
Final flight: Whitewater to Monroe. The sun had long since gone down. As we gained altitude we witnessed one of the most truly beautiful sights on earth. The stars were out, the sky clear. Spread out in front was a carpet of light. We could see Madison, Janesville, Beloit, and all of the intermingling small towns. Rural yard lights ensured that hardly a patch of ground remained dark.
On that final leg of a long day I felt a little ashamed of myself. In my haste I had almost overlooked introducing my friend to the very thing that keeps me in the American Midwest: the beauty of the Mississippi region, the productivity of the farms that dot the countryside.
The trip was certainly off to a good start. Next stop, Washington, DC.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net
In an email exchange I asked if there was anything specifically that he wanted to do. Anything in particular that he considered a priority? In my head I anticipated a number of responses: Grand Canyon, Las Vegas, New Orleans, New York City. What would I insist upon seeing, if I were a tourist visiting America? Thus, it came as something as a shock when he matter-of-factly replied that he wished to visit several dairy farms in the Midwest.
Don't get me wrong - I clearly have no problem with dairy farming, as it is my chosen profession. But, as I emailed Ben, why not skip the cows and just have some fun? I mused, "If you're after a tax write-off I have plenty of cows; we'll spend five minutes checking out my herd and then cut loose."
Ben was adamant. He listed four farms he wanted to visit: one in southwest Wisconsin, two in eastern Iowa, and one near Madison. Platteville, Dyersville, Decorah, and Whitewater. To drive the distance, including stops, would realistically consume two days. Then again, who said anything about driving?
It was a glorious November morning. The sun had not yet risen, there was not a whisper of wind, and a light frost sparkled the pavement as I watched the runway sink away beneath the wheels of the Cessna. We took off from Monroe heading west, the shadow of the airplane, oblong and distorted, leading the way.
The flight from Monroe to Platteville took 30 minutes; half what driving would have required. I had pre-arranged at each airport to have a courtesy car. This is the beauty of private aviation; say you want to tour some dairy farms in the region. Even a small airplane will cut the commute in half. Don't consider yourself stuck at the destination airport; even small municipal airports typically have a courtesy car specifically for the use of transient pilots. All they ask is that you put a few bucks' worth of gas into the tank. General aviation is a beautiful thing; sadly, one of life's best kept secrets.
The Platteville Airport courtesy vehicle was a retired cop car, replete with blackened rims and spotlight. Ben and I both shrieked, "Sweet." From the airport, farm number one was a short 15-minute drive.
The Platteville-Dyersville flight was nothing short of phenomenal. We cruised over the Mississippi River and blew past Dubuque at 120 miles per hour. The bluffs, the sandbars, locks, and barges made for awesome scenery from 4,500 feet. Another 30 minutes in the air and we touched down on the nice grass runway at Dyersville.
I did feel a touch sorry for Dyersville - it seems as though not much besides an ethanol plant has happened there since Kevin Costner filmed a mediocre movie about baseball in 1989. On the other hand, I found the quiet, small-town atmosphere quite endearing. Dyersville Airport did not have a courtesy car. As is not a terribly uncommon occurrence at small grass-based airports, the friendly airport manager happily exclaimed, "Not a problem - you can just use mine." Having never met the man, Ben and I borrowed the keys and set off for farm number two. Classic Americana, alive and well, brought to you by private aviation.
Oh, and one more thing about small-town America. Ben and I grabbed lunch at a café in Dyersville. We ate heartily, left a tip, and for the two of us, still got change back from a $20.
There is no direct automotive route from Dyersville to Decorah. To drive would have required more than two hours. As the big metal crow flies, it took Ben and I less than 45 minutes. Another retired cop car, another farm to visit. My vacillation about spending a day visiting dairy farms had long vanished; I was having fun, making new friends and remembering faces from childhood trips to various cattle conventions. Besides, what better way to tour the countryside than with a birds-eye view?
Farm number four: Decorah, Iowa to just outside of Whitewater, Wisconsin. We made the flight in an hour and a half, despite a headwind. There was big money at this farm, state of the art genetics and world-class dairy cattle from around the world. Four farms in one day; four completely different approaches to genetic breeding, yet four phenomenal herds, if you're in to that sort of thing. For Ben and I, it was well worth the price of admission.
Final flight: Whitewater to Monroe. The sun had long since gone down. As we gained altitude we witnessed one of the most truly beautiful sights on earth. The stars were out, the sky clear. Spread out in front was a carpet of light. We could see Madison, Janesville, Beloit, and all of the intermingling small towns. Rural yard lights ensured that hardly a patch of ground remained dark.
On that final leg of a long day I felt a little ashamed of myself. In my haste I had almost overlooked introducing my friend to the very thing that keeps me in the American Midwest: the beauty of the Mississippi region, the productivity of the farms that dot the countryside.
The trip was certainly off to a good start. Next stop, Washington, DC.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net
