Nine miles from the finish line was the final “pass through” town:  West Point.  Known for sweet corn and five — count ’em! — five bars on main street.  I’m not making this up.  That’s what their signs had been telling us for nearly 40 miles.  It was a point of pride for them!

I didn’t ask them one single question about maps

I stopped because I needed a break.  Plus, I needed one more walking taco before I left Iowa.

I’ve never liked hard rock music.  It all sounds the same to me.  I’m sure the rockers all make the same counter-claim at the music I do like.  Each to his own, of course.  In the middle of the little town square, they had a trailer set up with a couple of huge speakers, blaring some of the hardest rock I’ve ever tried to ignore.  It was so loud you couldn’t hear someone standing two feet from you.  West Point thus became the only place I was really anxious to leave because of the music.

I talked to the two young ladies in the picture above.  (Difficult to do because of the damned music.)  Asked them if they were the “Sweet Corn Queens.”  They proudly told me they were candidates for the job.  I didn’t ask how much it paid, but I did ask what they had to do to win.

The one in the green shirt just smiled and tilted her head.  The dark shirt girl was the chatty one.  “We have to go through an interview.  Then the public will get to ask us questions.”  I asked if they were up to date on world politics and the price of sweet corn on the open market.  They both just smiled and tilted their heads.