Minnesota

When we crossed the border into Minnesota, it felt momentous to be back. Eleven months. 24,000 miles. That's a long time we'd been away, and a long, long road we'd traveled.

We started noticing familiar sights and sounds — cardinals singing in the trees, Canada geese honking overhead, mosquitoes, metered on-ramps, tornado warning sirens, and all the familiar stores where we used to shop. Tulips were blooming, the grass was green, trees were beginning to leaf out, and all the snow had melted. Springtime is a beautiful season in Minnesota.

We stayed overnight in a campground in a far suburb, far enough out in the sticks that it abutted a woods. I unhooked Menominee's leash and let her roam a little way into the woods. When she became very still, I looked where she was looking and saw a chipmunk frolicking around, unaware of her presence, and a little naive about the dangers of the woods. Menominee saw her chance, pounced, missed, and chased it. The chipmunk dashed helter-skelter with Menominee right behind her — it was like watching a Tom & Jerry cartoon! Then Menominee caught the chipmunk, brought it out of the woods in her mouth, set it down and played with it. The chipmunk kept trying to run away and Menominee kept knocking it down with her paw. Finally, the chipmunk became desperate and began attacking Menominee! It bared its tiny teeth and lunged at her! Menominee was momentarily taken aback, giving the chipmunk just the opportunity to dash over to a tree and up it to safety. The chipmunk's survival strategy had worked, and the Great Hunter had learned another lesson.

Casting about for a place to stay, we found RV parks neither conveniently located nor affordable, and we ended up in the driveway at a friend's house in a near suburb. It turned out to be convenient and friendly. Ideally, we wanted to park the RV there and get around by some other means. Such as a motor scooter.

So we shopped for a Yamaha Vino 125, the scooter we had tried to buy last June, when we couldn't find a salesman to buy it from. This time, shopping at a different dealer, we found a friendly, middle-aged salesman who walked over to us and struck up a conversation — a salesman who liked scooters, enjoyed selling them, and wanted to sell me one. So I bought it from him! My dream of owning a motor scooter had come true! The blue Vino 125 was mine!