Day 22: I-o-l-a, Iola

Tonight we find ourselves at the aptly named Iola Pines campground in piney Iola, Wisconsin. I always thought Iola was something you put on fancy sandwiches, but it turns out also to be the name of a town about 65 miles away from Grandma's house (I've been waiting all day to type that one). Today we left early and had breakfast at Luna, West De Pere's artsiest coffee shop (and its only coffee shop, so far as we could tell). We made such great time with unexpected tailwinds that we both dillied and later dallied in New London at lunchtime.
While Bonesy shopped for lunch in a Festival supermarket, I solemnly perused our moderately-helpful large scale map of Wisconsin roads. I chatted with a few people about the bikes, as typically happens on afternoon guard detail, and then this guy in a polo shirt with a nametag that said "Mike" asked where we were going. "No shit!" he said when I told him; "no sir," I replied, "no shit." Turns out Mike is the gregarious manager of New London's Festival Food Store (this is actually an assumption based on his corner office's commanding view of the sales floor): he practically insisted that I store the bikes in the attached liquor store and ascend to the parenthetically aforementioned office to google nearby campgrounds. Mike and his wife (Pam? Excuse me if I've misremembered) seem to be avid outdoorspeople, and he was excited to help us plan out the second half of day 22. So thanks, Mike.
Then we ate lunch at Taft Park (est. 1915) on the Wolf River -- jury's still out on whether the park's name is at all related to President Wm. Howard -- and napped for about a half hour. Getting an early start seems to allow for more leisure time. Weird, right?
OK then quickly- we ate at the Municipal golf course here: $5.25 all-you-can-eat baked potato buffet! It's like a dream. Also when we stopped at a convenience store in town the cashier told us about a solo cycle tourist going Maine to Seattle who had just passed through last week. We had heard about just such a rider from an excitable cruise director aboard the S.S. Badger... So it's a little mysterious and kind of reminds me obliquely of a Cormac McCarthy novel, which I'm going to try not to think about as I go to sleep. Ride on.