And it would have been, if it hadn’t been told with such earnestness.
I peeled off the interstate at Richmond, IN, and headed north. The town soon gave way to lightly rolling farmlands, still bare in mid-May. A few turns, the last one marked with an “<-- Indiana’s Highest Point” sign, brought me to the single-lane road to the highpoint.
|Hoosier Hill looms proud in the distance.|
I crossed a field, passed a farmhouse and a dairy barn, and arrived at the high point.
Like Louisiana’s Driskill Mountain, Hoosier Hill is entirely on private property; its owners similarly welcome visitors and keep the high point well-preserved. All the usual pieces were there: the elevation marker,
the Highpointers’ Club bench, the summit register…
…all except, you know, any actual change in elevation. I’d be surprised if the top of Hoosier Hill was ten feet higher than the road. Still, you have to appreciate the effort these Indianans put into making lemonade from their topographic lemon of a state.
I took a short stroll through the woods—the trail quickly looped back around to the “summit” area—then headed back to my car.
Good job, Hoosier Hill.