The mountain whose foot is bathed by water.

Trempealeau Mountain (in Wisconsin's Perrot Park, on the Mississippi River). I can't find this information through Google, but according to the signs that I should have photographed, the Indians believed this mountain had been moved from the shore out to this place. See how oddly carved off it looks? It is a unique geological feature on the Mississippi River, used as a landmark in navigation, I think, because it's an island that is taller than the surrounding bluffs. I couldn't get a better picture, because, though we were on a high bluff — Brady Bluff — there was vegetation blocking part of the water that rings the mountain, and it was also pretty hazy. Anyway, it's a mountain whose foot is bathed by water and whose grandeur is not conveyed by my photograph.

At the Sunset Café...

... you can speak with subtlety....



... or intensity....



(2 stages of the same sunset, viewed from a jetty on the Mississippi River, in Pepin, Wisconsin — which is where the Little House on the Prairie was.)

At the Mississippi Sunset...

Last night, somewhere south of La Crosse.

At the Overlook Café...

... you don't have to pay attention to anything you don't want.



(Pictures taken yesterday in Wyalusing State Park, in Wisconsin, from cliffs above the Mississippi River. That's Iowa on the other side.)

At the Nightfall-on-the-Mississippi Café...

... keep it rolling.

Sunset on the Mississippi.

... in in Rock Island, Illinois, tonight.

Do you think we can drive straight through from Denver to Madison?

If you don't start until 1 p.m.... which is 2 p.m. in Madison?

It's about 1000 miles. Oh, how can we stop at some motel in Nebraska or Iowa when we've got 2 drivers and we can take turns snoozing in the passenger seat? Even with the vision-blurring lightning storm between Des Moines and Dubuque, we're going to keep going. Crossing the Mississippi, we're almost home. It's familiar territory. Familiar names — Mineral Point, Mount Horeb, Verona — make the final hour serene. Add to that the dawn...



... and we rolled into town at 6 a.m. — a good time for a long nap, in our own bed, in our own house, for the first time as husband and wife.