I like corn

As we were planning this trip, we found out that there is a Lawler, Iowa and a Britt, Iowa. They are only an hour from eachother, and they were basically on the general route we were going to take. Done deal.

After our cursed trip through Chicago, we were eager to get off the highway and do some backroading. I called Angie's boyfriend, Matt, and asked if there was anything worth seeing on the backroads of Iowa. He said no, and laughed at us.

corncorncorncorncorncowcowcornwindmillcorn

 We took the next exit possible and began winding our way through cornfield after cornfield after cow pasture after...yeah, you get the picture. It was pretty in the beginning, but, you know, corn. First person to say "I told you so!" gets shot.

"I spy with my little eye something white." "That car?" "No." "That door?" "No." "Ummm...crap. That pole!" "...seriously?" "ohhh...the clouds."

 The only problem with these backroads is that they're too poor or cheap or like to screw with outsiders too much to put speed limit signs up, so I had to resort to ripping out two pieces of notebook paper, scribbling "SPEED LIMIT?!" on one and "PLEASE PASS" on the other and crawling in the back seat to show them to the drivers behind us. They were too busy looking at the thrilling corn fields to notice, but whatever. We tried.

We could by expensive camera filters. Or we could just use $3 sunglasses.

We passed many little towns, and they sported signs such as, "Troy Grove: 250" and had to assume it was the population of the town. We got closer to Lawler, and saw a similar sign for 400ish. We figured it would be a little hole in the wall with a single cornfield and some farmer's many children. (I'm an awful person. sue me.)

Look! Holy Crap! MORE. CORN.

Wrong. We roll into town, and it is pristine. There is a little war memorial, there were perfectly manictured lawns, not a single piece of discarded trash, a nice little playground, and a general store. We loved it. Ok, loved is a strong word, but we were thoroughly impressed at the lack of sucking.

You know, I don't really know what I'm thumbs-upping. Me? Lawler? Iowa? Ehhh, it was probably my squid hat. (whose name is Sir Calamar Shiskebabbi Rex, for the record.)

Then we realized...where the hell are the people? Then the town got creepier and creepier as we realized that there was nobody in it, and not a single sign of life. It was total Stepford Wives.

Next up was Britt. Again, I thought this would be a crappy hole in the wall, and I was right. But it was awesome, because this happened:

Yuup. Britt, Iowa is the home of the National Hobo Convention.

There is a hobo festival every year in Britt. You can be the queen of Britt. Or queen of hobos, I don't really know. There's a museum and everything.

As this was being taken, a trucker honked and waved and looked confused. It's okay, I was too. I wasn't sure if I should shade my own eye or my squid eye

I don't really have anything else to say about Iowa. Our map just has "I LIKE CORN" written across the entire page for the state.