As the miles roll on across the Southern Wisconsin countryside, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that agriculture is big around here. This fact is certainly not lost on my wife Kathy, occupying pillion. Each time the large fields of stock change, she announces it through the Air Rider communicator. To the tune of the Monty Python "Spam" song, she chants, "Corn, corn, corn..." or "Cows, cows, cows..."
Our little singsong tribute to "America's Dairyland" has been going on for the entire tour. Oddly enough, it hasn't gotten old, nor has the scenery. Kathy sings about corn or cows, and I rock my head back and forth in unison. We surely look strange to passing motorists, but who cares? We're having a blast. The singing is as endless as is the prairie's stock of - well, you know.
Every year, Kathy and I load up the trusty Bandit and hit the road for two weeks. We choose a location, roll the dice on the weather, and hit the road. That's our idea of vacation. Those friends and family members who are not insanely jealous think we're crazy. Maybe they're right, but we always have a good time. When Christian mentioned he had a tour idea for Wisconsin, I volunteered to do it with Kathy; after all, we were going to be right there. He was reluctant to have me work on our vacation, but I convinced him that everything would be fine. Work? Give me a break. Plus, I wanted Kathy to see first hand just what it is I'm doing all those times I ride away for days on end.