Wisconsin and Minnesota, I once believed, held the crown. Thousands of middle aged men proudly covering their 12mpg trucks with bald eagle decals while squeezing into two sizes too small red, white and blue duds. I see them daily.
But I was wrong. I admit (document this now, I rarely say it) SWEET GOODNESS WAS I WRONG!
Since my parents were the type to take my sister and I on educational vacations (yes, I've seen nearly all of Laura Ingalls Wilder's homes as well as attended multiple French Voyager Rendezvous), I've traversed the Dakotas 8 to 10 times...however my mind must have been preoccupied with endless rounds of Travel Guess Who? as well as another game called YOU'RE ON MY SIDE, DANA AND NOW YOU MUST DIE.
But how I didn't remember the horror brimming inside each gas station, gift shop and restaurant is beyond me.
Just incase you haven't driven across the wild west here is a visual. There's a lot of this:
And just when you think you're out far enough to avoid any further dream catcher/eagle/flag blowing in the wind kitschiness...it strikes again. This time when your irritability threshold is particularly susceptible...a 2am gas stop in Podunk, South Dakota:
Now, I wouldn't normally pin Gabe as the type to purposefully irritate me. But, on our all nighter drive back, twice I awoke to the EXACT same Native American chant playing at ungodly volumes on the radio...and Gabe glowing with an unusual look of satisfaction and mischief.
Well, what goes around comes around. When we finally arrived home this morning...it appeared as though somone had thrown a cement brick through Gabe's window. Karma's a what? :)