From 3rd grade through college, I lived in Rock Island, Illinois, across the Mississippi from Davenport, Iowa. It was the big city, where we went for culture: museums, art galleries, bookstores.
And shirtless athletes from St. Ambrose College.
Bettendorf, to the east of Davenport, was the wealthy suburb, where the property values were double those of Rock Island and the high school offered Russian and Mandarin in addition to plain old Spanish and French. We hated the Betten-dorks.
At least the athletes had a state-of-the-art weight room.
Decorah, in the northeast corner of the state, is known for Vikings and Lutherans. I had my first real sexual experience at a music camp at Luther College.
Luther has a state-of-the-art gym, too.
The Vikings in a team-building exercise
Mason City is known for gay artist Grant Wood, who painted that American Gothic thing that everyone in Iowa hates, and for the Spirit of Mercury, a muscular art deco lighting fixture. You can buy souvenir versions.
More Hawkeye Hunks after the break. Warning: explicit
Iowa isn't all flat cornfields. There are hills, ridges, and...um...bulges.
We always stop in Iowa Falls on the way to visit my relatives in Rock Island. It has a restored 1920's era diner -- cash only -- and some antique shops.
Who doesn't get naked to do yardwork
I'm running out of space. Iowa City, 40 miles west of Davenport, is the home of the University of Iowa. On a class fieldtrip in high school, I bought a copy of Os Lusiades, the Portuguese epic poem, which inspired me to major in Modern Languages in college. Augustana didn't offer Portuguese, though.
Hawkeye hunk.
Spanish major from Muscatine. That's 11, but who's complaining?
See also: I go to the first Gay Rights March in the State of Iowa
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