Remember how I said I like to have a firm plan when sliding behind the steering wheel while Tara is more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants gal? Saturday was a great example of that.
Our only plan for the weekend involved running errands. We grabbed breakfast in town, then zipped down to Janesville to hit Menards and Woodman’s. I thought that would be the only excitement that day, but then out of the blue Tara asked, “Want to go for a drive?”
“Where to?”
“Yellowstone.”
“That’s a little far, babe.”
“Not that Yellowstone. The state park I found on the map a few weeks ago. Yellowstone Lake in Blanchardville.”
I had no idea where Blanchardville was, but I’d been craving an adventure. Even though this one was spontaneous, I was down. So, we dropped off our groceries and headed west.
A long way west, it turns out. “About how much further?” I asked 15 minutes into the drive, assuming we were nearly there. Spoiler alert: we were not nearly there. Yellowstone Lake State Park is a good 90 minutes from home, but the sun was shining and we had nothing else going on, so why not?
(Random aside: ever since moving to the Midwest, I’ve found I measure distance in time rather than miles. Huh. Do you do that?)
Even without geysers and bison, Yellowstone Lake is quite a nice park, it turns out.
The lake is massive and would be great for kayaking. It was much too cold to do anything like that on Saturday, but this was more of a scouting mission. We hiked to the campground (still closed for the season) to check that out, too. And were impressed. There are tons of sites and they look to offer decent shade and privacy, so I went ahead and booked us a spot for the last weekend in May. Around here, that seems to be the sweet spot: it’s not too hot or humid yet and shouldn’t be cold either. Can’t do anything about the mosquitoes, but we’ll pack plenty of DEET.
Maybe this time we’ll actually go camping instead of cancelling our reservation at the last minute. Our brand new tent is almost three years old and has never been removed from its box. I hope it doesn’t have a hole in it, and if it does, I hope we don’t discover the hole when we’re setting up camp, and if we do, I hope it doesn’t rain, and if it does, I hope there’s a motel nearby.
Note to self: take tent out of box and inspect it before the last weekend in May.
On the way home, we stopped in Blanchardville. Which, in true MarTar fashion, means we grabbed a drink and a bite to eat at a local dive bar. I really liked the vibe there; the ceiling tiles featured historic photos of the Hotel Blanchard, located immediately above Rachel & Ray’s Pub & Grill. And my chicken wings were super tasty. The Old Fashioned, well, that goes without saying.
I could’ve done without the Packers theme, but green and gold is ubiquitous everywhere you go ’round here.
Blanchardville (population: 822) is like every single small town in Wisconsin. Historic main street, hardware store, antique store, corner market, and 3-4 bars in a two-block radius. This place had the added bonus of a blacksmith shop, so you get an idea of just how rural Iowa County is.
We stopped into the antique store because it had the same name as one we found in Hot Springs, South Dakota – Junk & Disorderly. Which is very clever and also, I’m pretty sure, very common. Bought a few geegaws, as one does.
(I just wanted an excuse to use a word I never have before.)
We returned to the truck with our geegaws (used it twice!) and retraced our route home. Finished the evening with cribbage, tequila, tacos, and ’80s records.
Sunday it rained all afternoon, but that just gave me an excuse to work on my novel.
Mark My Words 
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