I thought about it, but I missed commenting on it. Yesterday was Nebraska Day.
In 2004 I went solo on a road trip with my car that had 4,000 miles on it, up to Chicago, Minnesota, The Dakotas, Rushmore, the Black Hills, thru Nebraska and Kansas, visited the Truman Library and grave of my namesake, down thru the Ozarks to Memphis and one loooong drive back into the eastern time zone.
On September 1st I awoke in a cavernous motel room older tan myself in Valentine, Nebraska, and drove east on Rt. 20 to the town of Bassett, where I turned south on Rt. 183. And I Drove. And Drove, And Drove.
Rt. 183 is a two lane road, and I averaged 55-60 miles per hour and seldom ever saw another vehicle. What I did see were the sand hills, and arid almost desert covered with sunflowers and humans feeble attempts to crow corn. Up and over the rolling hills, due south, the radio from Omaha keeping me company, all day.
The first little place I reached was the community of Rose, which was a wide spot in the road, looked like an extended family compound. Another hour south of there the road took me off in a SE direction. This took me near a state park, a human made lake, and a lush corridor of grass along the creek bank. Bird swooping and diving for bugs. And the bugs were everywhere. Locust, splattering the windshield and headlights. The night before I took a wash rag from the motel to the car was to try to scrub them off, but the sticky goo of their exploded bodies was baked on by the dry heat of Nebraska. When one hit the windshield you had 2 seconds to get the washer going or you would be dealing with it until the next stop.
The next stop was to buy gas, at an old gas station in the town of Taylor. The first real town I had been in in 2 hours. I wondered how people could live out in the country like that dealt with having to keep gas in their tanks an hour from the pump. They probably kept a tank where they lived, if they could afford it. I pulled up to the pump and this real country sounding fella come out and pumps the gas for me. He said it was a state law, seeing my Virginia tags and asking me where I am headed. They don't get many tourists.
I loved that little town, I rode around it and saw its big old high school and football field. Their season opener was going to be that Friday. It had a motel with 4 rooms, some big old houses and not a lot of people in the middle of the day.
On further south, Thur sunflowers of every description, stopping to eat lunch at a little county park with an outhouse and an sign explaining the sand hills. A walking trail lead over a hill to a small grave that was brightly decorated with the name Elliott. A sign there said the countryside was littered with graves of homesteaders, mostly children, long forgotten. Locals said that this was the grave of someone who had died on a rail road, which itself is long gone.
South of there was the town of Sergent, a bit bigger and a little less dry. I crossed a bridge above the Platte river and there south it began to get greener, at least the native weeds did. The corn stood dead in the fields mostly. A lady in a convenience store told me about her recent visit with her sister in Raleigh, North Carolina, and how it rained every day. "I wish we would get some of that here." she said.
By this time it was the afternoon and I wondered would I ever reach the state line. Except for Holdridge and finally Alma, there was nothing much but sunflowers and birds and locus. The sound of tires on asphalt and the smell of dust, chafe and sunshine. I rolled down my windows and let my fingers trail over the breeze, and thought about turning back, going back to Taylor and getting one of them 4 motel rooms and staying Thur the weekend. Go to the football game on Friday night and listen to the conversations of the people in the crowds. The high bridge over the Harland County lake made me want to stop there, find a little cabin somewhere and hold up for a while.
Would be nice, I thought, if I could just let myself. Just forget the itinerary and live in the moment. Maybe I will get back there one day. Strange little thing to hope for.
Topic: Shakesthegrounds Rumblings (Read 2579242 times)