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.
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| Hoosier Hill looms proud in the distance. |
I crossed a field, passed a farmhouse and a dairy barn, and arrived at the high point.
