Sometimes it took two days to get there, but we camped on the way. Ugh.
The highlight of each trip was driving into town for supplies (and hopefully comic books) and driving to the nearest town with a Nazarene church on Sunday morning. Anything to overcome the boredom and discomfort.
But once, during the ten or so camping trips I remember, my parents came through. Accidentally or on purpose, they signed on for a cabin in a lake near Alexandria, Minnesota, home of the Kensington Runestone.
Discovered in 1898 by Swedish immigrant Olof Ohlman, the runestone purports to tell the story of Vikings who made it all the way to Minnesota in the year 1362.
Later studies have determined the stone to be a hoax, but who cares? Vikings, pre-Columbian voyages to America, ancient runes! It sure beat paddling around in boats!
I bought a replica of the Kensington Runestone, which I still have. It's paste, so very fragile. My most treasured possession, a memory of how my parents tried, that one time, to find a campsite that would appeal to their bookworm son.
Alexandria pushes its runestone to the hilt. There's a runestone museum in town now, and a gigantic statue of a Viking named Big Ole. There are a dozen businesses named Viking, including a bank, a pawn shop, an office supply company, and a bookstore.
Strangely, the local high school sports team is the Cardinals, not the Vikings.
Even more strangely, they don't wear red.
Even more strangely, they seem a little young for high school