Play it Again Samaritans

As with ever night storms were never far off, but this time I was spared a visit.  For once I escaped from my cocoon around dawn and made for Loma, covering the five miles by 9:30.  Although only three or four people seem to live in Loma, the town is famous for "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar," the And You Will Know Them By the Trail of Dead of cinematic titling long-windedness.
The film stars Patrick Swayze and Wesley Snipes as drag queens who travel cross country in an automobile before breaking down in a small town in middle America.  Needless to say we are talking cult classic  amongst the Friends of Dorothy.

Entering Brainard I was expecting to be reminded of another movie, "Fargo," part of which takes place in a city of the same name in Minnesota. Instead I felt like a visitor to the town from "the Children of the Corn," which actually does take place in Nebraska.  In that horror flick the kids take over a town, possessed by some demon force within the fields.  In Brainard I witnessed an over-abundance of parks and playgrounds, then was overwhelmed by a troop of thirty high school aged boys and girls when attempting to enter the Brainard Cafe.
On the way out to Highway 92 I did meet an actual adult (fleeing?) who offered me a ride.  I told him I could not accept but if he saw me off trail on 15 going towards David City to feel free to ask me again. 
Shortly after I hit 92 I had my first meeting with Nebraska law enforcement.  Per usual my license was run for warrants.  Thank God I chose not to traffic heroin in the off-season.  The polite officer also offered a lift.
Only half an hour later a firetruck pulled over.  I wondered if now their department had to run my beleaguered ID. Instead gentleman number three asked me if I'd like a ride to the closest town.
By the time I turned onto 15 the day had turned into a ninety degree scorcher and I was beat.  Now I was hitch legit and begged the hiking Gods my luck with Samaritans would hold.  As I sat on the shoulder finishing a bag of M&Ms the man from Brainard reappeared, along with his wife and two daughters.  They rode me up to David City Park where I collapsed, exhausted.

18 miles/1927 total miles

Mexican Moth Mayhem

5/4

The sky made due on the threats of yesterday, as shortly before midnight the light show recommenced , this time with plentiful waterworks.  The fierce storm kept me up much of the night and when I did finally sleep my near coma lasted until eight, much later than the preferred start time.
Barely awake, I stumbled to the john where I opened the door and was nearly knocked over by a swarm of moths seeking shelter within.  They were even inside the toilet paper rolls and the wave of insects emerging would have surely caused me to void my bowels had I not so recently done so. 
As it turns out these were no local insect, but foreign invaders swept up from Mexico inside the massive storm which caused such devastation only a couple weeks ago.  Known as black cutworm moths, they are a potential menace to Nebraska farmers as well as the American insects whose jobs they are taking.  Is our border truly safe if these pests can ignore our walls, guards, and sensors with such brazen impunity?
I arrived back at the trail an hour after leaving Branched Oak and resumed the northward trek along 79.  I was pleased to see Valparaiso, Spanish for vale of paradise, shortly after one.  The first settlers named the town after the fertile soil and ample rains.  Today Val is known for growing pecans or pee cans as we call them in the South.
Paradise for me was the opportunity to exit the busy highway and actually head west for once.  A delicious hamburger at Val's Tavern was a further bonus, especially when comped by Linda, who has a son in the army who has served in Iraq.  She was very excited to hear about the walk and sympathetic to what Ken's family went through when he was hurt.
After lollygagging at Val's and at the library the pack dragged me back into the woods on the Oak Creek Trail, where I completed a couple of more miles before finding a pleasant spot to camp.  Hopefully moth free....

11 miles/1909 total miles

Branching Out

Branched Oak Lake

Midnight brought a light show and high winds to my home behind the Cultural Center.  The entire sky shifted between  illumination and darkness like a flickering bulb not quite willing to give up the fight.  My fear of vicious weather never materialized, however, and the whole show ended within an hour.  I woke at seven and met the morning crew, Charlie and Otto, who fixed me up with beverages and some snacks for the road.  Bobby arrived and gave the grand tour, featuring paintings and prints by Native American artist Daniel Soldier, who is currently working on a mural for this summer's big pow wow.
I headed out of Lincoln to the northwest, past the airport on 34 and turned north on 79, which I will follow to the Oak Creek Trail in Valparaiso, by which point I will wonder if I am walking to California or Canada.
By mid-afternoon I reached State Spur 55J and a dilemma.  I could go three miles off trail and camp at Branched Oak Lake Recreation Area or visit Raymond where there was no guarantee of a place to set up the Half Dome (my tent, not something from "Mad Max").
Contrary to what NBC would have you believe, I don't love Raymond so I vowed to head towards the park.  At the general store I met a couple of students from a community college in Lincoln who invited me to join their group at the lake. I accepted and quickly was wrapped in a world of depravity I would know nothing of if I'd not decided to conduct one or two hundred experiments with partying during my late teens and early twenties.  All for the good of science of course.
A week into the resumption of the hike and my emotions have already run the gamut.  I can't even imagine what the coming months will bring. 

15 miles/1898 total miles

Thanks to recent donations from:
Steve Wilson

Boss Hog

The Plains Indian Cultural Center in Lincoln

May 1

Languid was the word of the day Tuesday, which was spent entirely within the confines of Lincoln, Nebraska's capital city.  Lincoln was originally known as Lancaster, but the name was changed to Lincoln in honor of the executed president in 1867.  At the same time the Nebraska territory gained statehood, the capital was moved to Lincoln in a bid to gain favor with those in the south of the state who were considering a bid to become annexed into Kansas. 
 After the longest hike so far I was ready to chill - and the need to do some computer work as well as laundry provided the excuse.  I also communicated with mom, as I had discovered the absence of extra contacts amongst my possessions.  Its pretty much a requirement of my personality that I must forget something of dire importance.
The problem was solved thanks to mom and my optometrist, Dr. Kent Anderson, who donated a six pack to the cause.  My new eye balls are set to met me in Stromsburg on Saturday.
My tasks complete I entered the city center via the Rock Island Trail, the end of which promises to be a shining example of urban renewal.  Once essentially an ugly rain culvert, the creek which runs through downtown is being turned into a lovely park with a small amphitheater as the centerpiece.
Next I turned onto the campus of Nebraska University, where I was kind enough not to mention their terrible record last year against my parents alma mater, Wisconsin, or the blowout bowl loss to South Carolina last January.  I did have ulterior motives, because who wants to become just another statistic of urban violence, the dreaded scourge of our nation.
Ready for lunch, I stopped at the Southwest Pit, a small BBQ joint adjacent to campus.  There were two tables inside and the cooker was out back.  The odds of deliciousness appeared high.  The Pit has a sandwich called the Big Hog, with pulled pork, bacon, cheese, and hot sauce.  A sloppy mess - and I mean that as a sincere compliment - the tower of tasty nearly required me to beg for a fork and knife, but I persevered.  Inducing multiple mouthgasms, the Big Hog is easily the best BBQ I've had outside of Twelve Bones in Asheville.

Sated, I did more languid strolling past Memorial Stadium, home turf of several national champion Husker football squads, and into the North Bottoms section of Lincoln.  Named for the surrounding swamp rather than its resemblance to asses, the area was settled by a group of German refugees who had previously lived in Russia.  The Deutchlanders had moved there when promised free land, no military conscription, and political autonomy.  When the czar opted out of the deal in 1871, Neil Diamond's "Coming to America" popped into their heads and so they did.  They arrived at North Bottoms and carved out a community of their own.
From the American dream I moved on to the American nightmare when I reached the Plains Indian Cultural Center.  Clyde, Bobby, Allen, Frank, and Cody were all amused when I asked if they had a museum, then intrigued when I told them of my mission.  In short order they offered to let me stay on the property.  The beauty of the human spirit never ceases to amaze me on this trip.  After all the natives of our land have endured you would think they would have trust issues by now.  But they let me, a white man, spend the night - and I didn't even have to promise not to steal their land*.
*In all seriousness the Plains Cultural is a non-profit organization dedicated to providing job training, youth programs, housing, family planning, and food services to Native American people in need throughout Nebraska. Contact the center at 402-438-5231 and learn how you can help. 

Special thanks to Dr. Amy McCandless aka Mom and Dr. Kent Anderson's office.
10 miles/1883 total miles

A Fever Only Cow Bell Can Cure

April 30

I rose early and devoured road like strips of bacon along the Mo-Pac, reaching Eagle by eleven.  I spent two hours there immersed in conversation with a group of farmers, including veterans of the Korean and Vietnam "conflicts."  They warned me of the dreaded Sand Hills and regaled me with the sights of Nebraska I could see if I had more transportational flexibility or didn't want to enter Colorado until sometime in the far off year of 2014.
I finally moved out towards Walton at one, arriving there by four.  My original plan was to stop and ask for accommodations at the Lutheran Church.  Instead, feeling frisky, I continued on, finishing the Mo-Pac and entering the outskirts of Lincoln around six.
I had noted on the turn-by-turn the presence of a hotel on 70th street, but when I arrived at the indicated location all I spotted was a Taco Inn.  Since I can not sleep inside a burrito, though the lord knows I want to,  I soldiered onward in the direction of Holmes Lake.  Being a macho man I refused to ask anyone for directions to lodgings or help of any kind, passing through miles of hotel-free Lincoln.

Holmes Lake in Lincoln

By eight thirty as the light faded my inner little boy gained the ascendancy and I asked a couple out playing with their children if there was a place to stay nearby.  Kevin and Tasha used their fancy Smart Phone,  found a Hampton Inn a few miles to the south, and Kevin offered to drive me there.  I could easily walk up 56th the next day and rejoin the trail at tonight's stopping point so I gave his suggestion a hell yes.  Kevin even took me by a Runza so I could pick up dinner - I had forgotten to eat for hours in my overwhelming lust for a place to stay.
There is one more event to report.  After showering I retired to bed where I was immediately wracked by fever and chills.  I shivered uncontrollably if I left the safety of the covers.  When underneath I felt like I was in the midst of an inferno.  A sudden epiphany led me to the culprit: the heating/cooling unit.  I turned the system off and was well within minutes.

20 miles/1873 total miles

Blame it on the Rain or Milli Vanilli was framed

Shelter on the Mo Pac trail

April 29

A misty morning in bucolic Nebraska brought my first pheasant sighting, the fowl staring back at me across a recently tilled field before flying off into the distance.  Soon after I spotted a species of woodpecker I had never seen before.  Surely, I thought, this would be another good day. Me being wrong is a thematic skein you will see threaded throughout this walk.
By eleven the mist had turned to a sprinkle and then became a steady shower.  The weather report had called for a gorgeous day, so I was unprepared, with only my poncho in reach.  My rain jacket and pants were better options, and I turned to them when there was finally a break in the weather. 
The damage was done, however, as I had allowed my clothing to get too wet, meaning I was cold and miserable for most of the day.  Once I regained the Mo-Pac, which will take me all the way to Lincoln, the showers started again with even more ferocity than before.
Five miles later I limped sadly into Elmwood and my first chance of shelter.  There was little open on a Sunday so I was fortunate to pass a mechanic's shop where I met Chad and Blake, who invited me inside the garage for a bit.  We chatted while enjoying a couple of adult beverages until Jimmy showed up to provide the entertainment.
A Vietnam veteran, Jimmy had quite a few experiences in the jungles of Southeast Asia.  Topics included a fatal tank hit-and-run, heroin, and prostitutes.  These stories are available in all their glory on my adult site Thoughts XXXkew. 
At seven the group dispersed and I made my way along the trail until I found a pleasant spot to set up the tent.  As I settled down to sleep, I thought, you have to take the good with the bad.  I'm just hoping the bad is in somewhat limited supply further down the trail.   

17 miles/ 1853 total miles

Under Cover With the Dutch Oven Gang

The Dutch Oven Gang in attack formation

April 28

I said goodbye all too soon as Gretchen and her youngest son Chris dropped me back on the trail at Wehrspann Lake.  The morning was crisp and cool and I made good time along the placid lake. Occasional shouts from a bull horn alerted me to an Autism Puzzle Race in progress far across the park. 
After an hour I left Chalco Hills, rejoining the highway for a short span before noticing a stretch of trail parallel to Highway 50.  I'd reached a section of the Mo-Pac, a rail trail which will eventually link Omaha and Lincoln.  I followed the dirt path into Springfield, where I encountered some new Nebraska cuisine.
The runza is a minced meat pie with melted cheese and other toppings.  The sandwich, said to have originated in Lincoln, is structured similarly to Hot Pockets, which formed about 50% of my diet during the college years and a few beyond.  All part of my elaborate plan to become the unhealthiest eater ever to walk across the country.
Five more miles on the Mo-Pac brought me to the Platte River, which I will be following for much of this state's girth.  The trail abruptly ends here so I hopped onto Highway 50 once more and completed the last mile into Louisville (pronounced Lewis-ville) Recreation Area where I would camp for the night.
Shortly after reaching my campsite, while pondering the possibility of one day erecting my tent, a young couple approached.  Ryan and Christy had overheard me speaking to the park ranger about my trip and wanted to invite me to their Dutch Oven supper club.   Despite being leery of rituals involving baked beans and sleeping bags I immediately accepted.
When I arrived at their RV I was mobbed by a group of a dozen people, including their children Ryan Jr. and Victoria.  I don't have the cognitive capacity to remember every member of the group, but I won't forget Bob Furr, who gave me a pedometer, or his wife Lucy Furr, currently the clubhouse leader for best name of the trip. 
We settled down to a bonanza of food all cooked in Dutch Ovens.  Though beans were absent most everything else was not.  Pineapple rice with spam, taco casserole, bacon meatloaf, tender pork with sauerkraut, tequila lime chicken wings, and peach cobbler were among the mouth-watering options. The fellowship was equally delightful.  These are the days that raise your spirit, the memories you cling to when the road grows tedious and lonely - and wet. 

15 miles/1836 total miles.