Oshkosh Pilgrimage Contains Constants

Early Sunday morning I negotiated my way around the southern part of the Twin Cities to avoid the orange barrels, cones, and hulking construction equipment. Traffic was light.

I crossed the river at Hudson and settled the Jetta into cruising mode for Mauston. From there, it was on to Ripon. The Wisconsin sky was noticeably bluer and the landscape greener. Smoke seemed absent.

After checking in at the old hotel in Ripon, I headed for Highway 44. Through the stoplight, heading northeast toward Picket, and I was going home. Year 36.

Much of what we do in life is based on ritual. For those of us w...