Before we scaled the heights of the Dells we drove through the heart of the state, en route from Minneapolis, and spent the night in lovely Wausau, where the barbecue and the AirBnB and the boutique espresso all exceeded expectations. The apartment we rented is memorable for its futon for Clem, a purple fainting chaise, and a Japanese-style bidet toilet that made all subsequent facilities seem medieval by comparison. Bicycles hung from the rafters of the Redeye Brewing Company, where we ate dinner.

The morning’s first coffee required a short walk to Tucknee’s, a highlight of any caffeine fiend’s stay in the Badger State. Superb lattes (and latte art) and vined companions hanging from the ceiling were enjoyed.

Reaching the park wherein lies the highpoint was not difficult, nor was climbing up the small ridge—only 300 yards, Clem laughed—to the tower. I was surprised at how remote the site was, sitting amid a broad, open boreal plain. Bluebird skies accompanied us all day. We ate lunch at a Subway sandwich shop nestled within a live-bait store. The trash recepticle had two slots, one for trash and one for recycling, but only one bin beneath them. We parked at the trailhead beside a yellow mustang painted with the Tasmanian Devil on its side. The drive to the Upper Peninsula would be long and tedious, but we were still ignorant of what was to come in those relaxed, coffee-soaked hours.

Viewed through the lens of our itinerary, the narrative of our visits to each of the Upper Midwest states is asynchronous. We wove in and out of each to and from the highpoints, so our trip through Wisconsin wasn’t actually over until we had finished with Michigan and its route-finding antics. On our last day in Wisconsin we stopped by the Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame in Hayward for a shameless photo op with its resident monsters of the deep.