Morning at Oshkosh

My allergies are acting up. I wipe my nose with a rumpled cotton handkerchief that normally is stuffed in my back pocket. Sue grimaces at this practice, but wisely says nothing. I start the Jetta, trip the wipers, fore and aft, to get the dew off the windscreen, and back out, down the steep driveway from the hotel parking lot, and head for Wisconsin 44 at Ripon's 25 mph. Up the long hill, past the old cookie plant, workers carrying lunch pails, walk into the side entrance, past the sweet corn stand and the Marathon station, bumping twice over the seldom used railroad tracks, to the tight curve...