Part Two Preview: The Third in a Five Part Trilogy

A wise man once said, don't defecate where you masticate. He certainly overdid it with the high falutin wordplay, but his point is well-taken. So if you think I'm going to spend the third part in our series, a preview of Utah, making fun of Mormons you are incorrect. I plan on living through the harsh desert landscape the place presents and I'll take all the friends I can get. Besides, one of the joys of this trip has been the opportunity to learn about different people I am ignorant about. I've only met one Mormon to date and since he was drunk on most of the occasions we enjoyed one anothers' presence I'm guessing he had lapsed a bit.
Enough about my friend's substance abuse problems, let's talk about our next state. Utah is a wonderland of canyons and unique rock formations which illustrate just what God can do when provided with a new Lego set and several million years of erosion. The feast for the eyes should leave them sated, but unfortunately the rest of my body requires water, which the land there lacks in abundance. Cities are few and far between in the area of Utah the ADT passes through so I can't always count on human kindness. I have a couple of ideas about how to work past the problem, so hopefully these plans germinate and flower before I find myself a dry mass of bones mimicking the nearby rock piles.
The first dry spot comes quickly, west of Grand Junction/Fruita, even before setting foot in the Beehive State. The next one hundred miles to Moab will be a lesson in isolation, the kind of open space I have not dealt with previously. Should I forge through a great reward waits on the other side: the famous Arches National Park. I've heard good things. The picture up top is but one example of what I can expect if you think to doubt the word of these unnamed people. Like Donnie Brasco told Lefty Ruggiero: "Just trust me." Or something to that effect.
After Arches the ADT heads directly south. I am considering an alternative plan for this part of Utah, but since I may yet be swayed to stay on the original route, we won't get into where I am going exactly. Either way, the central part will be the most populated and I will gladly name a host of tiny places you have never heard of if you like. Salt Lake, Provo, Orem, or any other remotely city-like spot in Utah will not be no the agenda.
I am hoping also to revisit Bryce Canyon, which is not too far off my intended trajectory. My family went there when I was only ten and made some good memories. I rode a mule which insisted on walking on the side of the path where the 4,000 foot drop was. Pebbles dislodged by the animal's hooves fell down the interminable drop and I began screaming and wailing, begging to be allowed to dismount. My cries didn't stop until hours later when I either learned bravery and became a man or lost my voice.
I guess it would be cool to end up back there and perhaps acquit myself more honorably. At the very least the staying power of my screams has dimmed with age.
Bookending the western section of Utah is yet another waterless and peopleless section, known as the Wah Wah desert. Before I can escape the claws of dehydration and heat (did I mention I am most likely doing this bit in August?) I will cross the Nevada border. Therefore we'll have to save the excitement of more desert monotony for our next episode, entitled Walking Across the Face of the Sun Gives Me Blisters.

A special thanks to Nicole Overholt for accompanying me on many a practice hike so far!

Rockies and Bullwinkle

Welcome to the second installment in our series previewing the 2012 Wilderness Walk for Wounded Warriors. Today we will discuss the virtues and villainies of the state of Colorado. The main difficult is thickness. None of the other twelve states on my ADT journey is as thick in the middle as Colorado. 776 miles is the stated distance according to the manual, though I will as always deviate from the route when prudent. In the mean time, let's hope the state's insurance plan covers a gastric bypass.
Besides being corpulent, Colorado is also quite tall. The highest point on the entire ADT is Argentine Pass, about fifty miles west of Denver. Climbing to 13,000 plus feet will test my ability to breathe at altitude. I've never been at such a height so my body's reactions to low levels of oxygen are an unknown quantity. The Rocky Mountains continue for hundreds of miles afterward and will likely prove the greatest test of my stamina yet. Let's hope the views are worth the work. Rumor has it they don't suck.
In the midst of all this wilderness lies another danger: big, hairy beasties with a desire to have me dissolve in their digestive tracts. These animals are like teddy bears, but six feet taller and with sharper teeth and claws. I'm reading a book called "Don't Get Eaten" by Dave Smith in order to prepare myself for their territory. I'll let you know how it goes...if I don't get back to you I suggest you quiz Yogi.
On a more positive note, I'll be visiting my friends Ben, Rob, and Kimmy in Denver. Since I have no idea where I am staying most nights this summer, having a couple of days under a roof is a big bonus. If I'm lucky the city's Colorado Rockies will be in town playing the Cubs, so I can finally get to a baseball game. Every other time I've entered an ADT city with a team the hosts have been on the road at the time. Dreadfully inconsiderate, I agree.
Red Rocks amphitheater is another highlight of the ADT. This unique musical venue lies just west of Denver. According to dubious second-hand information I've read on the interwebs, fans and musicians alike seem to concur - Red Rocks is the place you will likely hear the best concert of you life. I'm hoping either At The Drive In or seventies era Led Zeppelin is playing as I pass. Dream big, why not?
I've done a poor job so far of talking about Colorado in an orderly manner. View what you have read so far as you would "Pulp Fiction." Let's elaborate, as I have promised to cut down on unexplained references by 10% this year. In the aforementioned movie acts are not placed in temporal order and the audience is left to piece together what happened when. In this case I'll do the work for you in what we'll call a summation, if it pleases the court.
The first two hundred miles of Colorado consists of rolling hills, never rising above 5,000 feet. The landscape is similar to Nebraska according to eyewitness reports. Once past this section, I'll arrive in Denver, a bustling city of 600,000 according to the last census. The almighty Tim Tebow lives there and I will be required by law to worship his statue for the full six days before passing through the town.
Just west of Denver the north ADT conjoins with the south in a manner best described by consulting page 28 of the "Kama Sutra." Thereon their is only one ADT until Sacramento. From this point the elevation begins to rise drastically, apexing at Argentine Pass. Numerous peaks above 10,000 feet follow for the next few hundred miles. Finally in Grand Junction I will descend from the heavenly heights. I'll be done with the forbidding Rockies, home free, just an easy jaunt to the coast from there...hmmm what's this "desert" thing on the map here?

Next up: A look at Utah in "Part Three of Part Two" or "Why Don't We Just Label These Posts Consistently?"

Thanks to recent contributors:
Sue Donnelly
Paul and Sally Hoover
Justin King
Lesley and Andy Ledford

Part Two: Preview: Part One

I'll be kicking off the second half of my travels across the United States on Friday, April the 13th in Omaha, Nebraska. I left off at the Blumkin Theatre for Performing Arts and so will head out from there with the goal of the Pacific only a few million (maybe billion, I always lose count around 50,00) steps away.
There are several challenges this time around which I have never encountered before so overcoming each will be daunting to say the least. If you are just joining us, please keep in mind, before I walked 1800 miles last year, I had never done anything like this before. As a result I will probably die or be disfigured during the second, more difficult half of the journey, which should prove to be entertaining, so stay tuned for that inevitable development.
Anyway, I figured since we have some time on your hands while we wait for the snow pack to melt in the Rockies maybe a preview was in order. Today we'll politely discuss Nebraska with an informal panel composed of me, myself, and I. I don't have much to say so let's hope the rest of our guests can provide some enlightening information.
Most people I have talked to who have driven in Nebraska use the words dull, boring, or coma-inducing to describe the landscape. The ADT trail directory, which decided to use a picture of a sod hut and irrigation canal for their illustrations, hardly raises my level of enthusiasm. I did hear some of the same negativity about Iowa, however, and could not have disagreed more after seeing the wilderness (yes they have some) and meeting the people there. Walking is obviously quite a different experience than driving in more ways than one.
The American Discovery Trail consists mainly of country roads throughout the state, mostly following along the length of the Platte River. I will follow in the path of the Oregon Trail pioneers, although I do hope to avoid cholera. On the plus side I am unlikely to have an oxen die on me.
The eastern part of Nebraska should prove to be the easier portion, with several small towns giving me an opportunity to enjoy civilization from time-to-time. Two larger cities, Lincoln and Kearney will provide some culture. Lincoln hosts the University of Nebraska, where I should have a chance to query the student body as to the reason for their lack of success against the University of Wisconsin this year. The only hiking trails on Nebraska ADT carry me into and across the town, which is also the fourth state capital the I'll have visited so far.
Kearney possesses a state university as well as one of the forts where I believe I buried Rambo on my reconnaissance mission (I played my old copy of "Oregon Trail" a couple of times to get the lay of the land). I will need to replenish my stores here as the population thins out a mite once I move west. Shooting bears and not squirrels will be key and obscure references to an old video game will cease from now on, I promise.
Upon leaving Kearney the way becomes tougher as I enter a semi-arid region known as the Sand Hills, so called for the dunes there, which rise as high as 330 feet. Part prairie and part desert, finding potable water may prove to be a challenge throughout the last couple hundred miles. The Platte trickles aside my path as well as the Tri-County Canal, so hopefully they will be kind enough to contain some water. Otherwise I will have to hurry between the two lakes and one reservoir I pass by during the last couple of hundred miles before the Colorado border.
I could complain about Nebraska and I probably will later for the pure entertainment value. Not because I will really be miserable, but I need to save up some whining for the much more difficult Colorado Rockies. I am of course not talking about the pitiful baseball team.

Join us next time for dreadful doom when we preview Colorado!

Thanks to Colin McCandless, Bill Patterson, and Jill Wiggins for the first contributions of 2012!

Paris Macabre

The brief interlude from the hike takes me to Paris on a family vacation. Many thanks to mom, without whom my broke ass wasn't going anywhere.

Paris has been described as romantic, arty, fashionable, expensive, and dirty. I will remember my visit the capital of Frogland as macabre. With many centuries of history sitting in the rear view mirror, much of the city is dedicated to burying the millions of corpses who once resided there as animate objects.
Coming as I do from a family of historians, we have little use for live celebrities; we prefer ours stiff and lifeless. They move around less, thus are easy to find, and their biographies are for the most part complete. Our main search was for Jim Morrison, the lead singer of the Doors before an obsession with the afterlife combined with drug addiction to make his dream a reality at the young age of 27.
Sadly, due to my inability to read a guide book and my family’s misplaced trust, we ended up first at two graveyards which did not hold the musician’s grave.
These screw ups gave us the opportunity to see the resting places of other underworld superstars at Montmatre and Montparnasse. Jean Paul Sartre and Marcel Proust argued furiously over some of the most uninteresting philosophical minutiae every discussed by mankind and were unable to even share the same cemetery for fear the other denizens would return to life and walk out when faced with the staggering mass of their post-existential boredom .
Also on view in these extracurricular tomb lands was Alexander Dumas, famous for writing the “Man in the Irony Mask” and “The Three Snickers” and “The Count Chocola of Monte Crisco.” Fellow author Victor Hugo, penner of “Halfback of Notre Dame” and “Less Miserable” also lay in a property not occupied by the much important rock monarch, the Lizard King.
Once we did finally locate Morrison in Pere Lachaise we learned he was in death as probably in life, a rather annoying neighbor. Flowers and other honorifics lined his granite monument and Doors-related graffiti was etched over the sad tree whose fate was to grow up in such an unfortunate location. Other greats like Edith Piaf, Gertrude Stein, and Sarah Bernhardt are all over-shadowed by the crowd of groupies clinging to the hope Morrison will rise and make certain the inevitable zombie apocalypse shall be accompanied by guitar and organs.
We weren’t yet done with the dead in Paris. There was one very small detail to see to, the viewing of the tiny Napoleon. Everyone has met the prototypical short man who is so angered by his lack of height he takes out his despair on those around him in a bullying, tyrannical manner. Their psychological complex is named after this fellow who was so pissed he conquered nearly all of Europe before being defeated by the Duke of Veal Wellington at the battle of Waterloo. The French still have a soft-spot for the loveable midget and Napoleon has a grand tomb beneath a golden dome in Les Invalides, which was once an old folks’ home for soldiers before becoming a museum documenting the French martial tradition.
Alack and alas, we ran out of time to see the underground catacombs where many citizens from early Parisian history were long ago laid to rest. Much of our valuable time was wasted on questionable visits to the Eiffel Tower (who the hell goes there?). This mass of iron built in the late 19th century lights up for a few minutes every hour, with lights flickering like flash bulbs as if the building was taking pictures of us, perhaps a slight bit of vengeance aimed at the thousands of picture takers who have victimized the landmark over the years by including it without permission in their faux romantic drivel.
We also trod the Champs-Elysees, the glitzy main street of Paris which leads inexorably through a cavalcade of stores and Christmas markets to the Arc D’Triomphe, the massive, thick stone monument to just how outrageously tiny Napoleon’s wiener was.
Versailles was also included on the itinerary. Once a palatial estate built by Louis CCXIV (the nation only had like two different names for their kings so the numbers got really high after a time), Versailles is now a tourist extravaganza showing off the uniquely French ability to crowd as many people as possible into a small space. Nearly everything was encrusted in gold, causing me to wonder why there was a world hunger problem when all of this could just be melted down to pay for enough filet mignon topped with lobster and foie gras to serve one billion people for about a century.
There is no doubt Paris is a popular city to visit. The lines at Versailles which we chose to brave, as well as those at the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and the Musee d’Orsee, which we chose to avoid like the plague, were all daunting to say the least. The crowds in the more visited areas were dense and induced a powerful claustrophobia, which caused me to yearn for the relative privacy of my bed, which I only had to share with my brother.
On the flip side, the crowds drew an entertaining group of madmen like moths to a fire. Never have I seen congregated in one place so much insanity congregated outside of an asylum. Fellows ranting about politics, poetry, or some football match from the 1980s (admittedly I had no idea what they were saying since my French vocabulary consists of twenty words) were so common as to induce ennui after a few days. More unique was the main who accompanied us on the train ride back from Versailles, barking and yelping like a dog throughout the thirty minute trip.
My favorite loon was a man who appeared to be in the later stages of alcoholism. His skin was so suffused with blood as to appear nearly purple and the smell of urine emanated powerfully from his soaked trousers. His eyes were closed and a drop of mucus sat poised on the end of his nose, reading to fall if the standing man should ever move. He did not, simply lurking in a frightening fashion just behind my brother’s back like something out of a horror film. In Paris I found you didn’t even have to visit a cemetery to see the macabre.

Why the Wounded Warrior Project Matters

While I sit at home resting and preparing for the second and more difficult portion of the cross country journey, you'll have noticed I haven't written much. In the near future as I print my maps and do my research there will be a preview of the five states I still have to transport my unwilling legs across. For now, though, I'll give you all a little research to do, but don't worry its as on point as can be expected of one as flighty as I am wont to be. More specifically I have three Wounded Warrior Project related bits of news.
First off, check out this recent NPR series of articles relating to a group of Marines fighting in Afghanistan. The regular news may have limited coverage of the action overseas, but guess what, Americans are still dying and being severely injured in our name. The need for the services of the WWP is only going to continue to grow.
For those of you more into visual stimulation, "Who Will Stand" is a recent documentary on those returning from war and their difficulty dealing with their physical injuries and just as importantly, the need for psychological care. Interviews with those who have served underline the stigma and damage to careers which can result when a member of the military seeks help for PTSD or other combat-related disorders.
Finally, please check out my friend Swagman John's site on Facebook. He is organizing an Appalachian trail hike to support the WWP. I met John on the C&O Trail coming out of Washington DC and he gave me assistance and advice which left me better prepared to complete the first leg. He and other thru hikers will be carrying a bear bell shaped like a chicken along the entire route from Georgia to Maine to raise funds for the charity.
Even more finally, check out "Doonesbury" from time to time. The cartoon features two characters who are wounded warriors and their difficulties reintegrating into society after their terrible injuries. B.D., an reservist who lost his leg in Fallujah and Toggle, a young man who sustained a traumatic brain injury, regularly appear in the comic's world.

Thanks to recent donations from:
Rebecca Hartness

The Hiker's Mixtape

Until the death of the I-pod somewhere in Central Iowa, music was a major factor in the maintenance of my sanity over the last few months. Even afterward there were certain songs I would sing to myself for motivation or merely to see what sort of animals would be driven to suicide.
Since I had some time on my hands, I spent many of the hours composing a list of tunes which seemed to fit the traveling theme. Journey somehow does not make the list. I must subconsciously have too much respect for Steven Perry's legacy to attempt to equal his greatness with my own mortal vocal cords. Feel free to chip in with your own suggestions - there is still a mile or two thousand to go yet.

1. "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake - Believe me, as much as I appreciate the eternal greatness of Europe and Great White, I'm not a huge fan of this era of music. That being said, there simply is not a more fitting way to start a day on the trail than with "Here I Go Again," which became my official theme song by the middle of the trek. Coverdale tells a tale of surviving in the face of adversity over and over again each day. I've also been described as a drifter in certain publications, so I can definitely feel where he's coming from here.

2. "Country Roads" by John Denver - Again, John Denver is not an artist whose collection I would regularly raid for inspiration. Geographically though, this song just made sense - I couldn't go more than an hour in West Virginia, especially the rural mountainous areas, without starting to belt out this ballad. Take me home John.

3. "Within a Mile of Home" by Flogging Molly - The Irish rock band Flogging Molly is a more predictable piece of the puzzle. I've seen these fellows perform on several different occasions and have always been impressed by their stage presence and their ability to play as if the current show was their last. Never have I been in the midst of a more amped up crowd than during a Flogging Molly concert. Obviously, the title pretty much explains why "Within.." is relevant, but why don't you give yourself the pleasure of a listen anyway.

4. "The Road Behind" by GWAR - A power ballad from a bunch of men used to playing heavy metal dressed up like human genitalia comes as a bit of a surprise to those who don't properly appreciate the musical versatility GWAR consistently displays every ten years or so. Most artists lack the vision to integrate roadkill into their works, but not GWAR. The complex stanzas also speak of wheels rolling, not a luxury I am allowed, but listen carefully - their's is a metaphorical journey on a bus to rock, do drugs, destroy planets, and vomit. The connection may be fleeting when compared to my trip using a semblance of logic, but if you've followed closely you'll notice a similarity in the weirdness factor that is truly irresistible.

5. "Powerwalking" by Archers of Loaf - A lot of people who think they are funny suggested a comparison between myself and Forest Gump. Besides the fact that they seem to be implying I am semi-retarded, they also displayed a complete ignorance of the fact that a hiking pack weighs forty pounds. If you carefully view the film, you'll notice Mr. Hanks is carrying nothing of the sort, thus his ability to run. On the other hand, I would have considered advice relating to power-walking, which is indeed faster than regular walking. The Archers of Loaf succinctly explain here why such an approach is flawed and I owe them many thanks.

6. "Long Way Home" by Enter the Haggis - You'll be glad to know the lyrics for this track have nothing to do with the insides of a sheep's intestines or the cooking preparation thereof. Instead, these Canadians deliver a softer version of the Celtic thunder pumped out by the Mollies. The theme is the same, a long trip with the end not yet in sight, a feeling I had often and imagine I will have again in the near future.

7. "On the Road Again" by Willie Nelson - I haven't spent enough days in my life smoking the copious amounts of marijuana necessary to properly comprehend the greatness of Willie or else "On the Road Again" would probably have beat out Whitesnake as my official theme song. In addition, on some days saying I just can't wait to get on the road again would have been a bald faced lie. Nevertheless, this testament to the joy found in America's wide open spaces could not be left off the honor roll.

8. "Way Down the Old Plank Road" by Old Crow Medicine Show - I spent a couple days on this very road while traipsing through Illinois, so I would have been remiss if this oft-covered folk song was omitted here. There are, however, elements of the chorus I have to take umbrage with since, in all honesty, I probably will not be participating in the sober future the singer proclaims.

9. "Sec Walkin" by My Morning Jacket - "Left leg, right leg..." I won't ruin the beauty of the band's efforts here by using the kinds of words a writer would splatter on the screen to inspire in the reader a sort of Godlike awe before a chance is given to examine the material. Do your homework and you'll understand why.

10. "Amazing Journey" by the Who - Granted, I'm not deaf, dumb, blind, or even any good at pinball. Regardless, the album "Tommy" has always spoken to me. What about a journey filled with mysterious figures and endless adventures could appeal to me? Um, pretty much everything.

11. "Walk, Don't Run" by the Ventures - See number five.

12. "Adventures in Solitude" by the New Pornographers - This song earned a spot on this list thanks to a magical moment during a hike several years ago, long before I came up with the not completely sensible idea of walking across the country. I had been having a hard time in my personal life and decided to take a trip up to the top of Table Rock to clear my head. Just as I reached the apex, "Adventures..", which I had just downloaded and theretofore never heard, came on my I-pod. The whole of the piece is somber and beautiful in a way the written word can't justify, but there is one line which stood out in my mind. "We thought we'd lost you, welcome back." My mind immediately went to Ken and a couple other friends of mine who had survived near-death experiences. Suddenly all the comparatively minor problems I was going through faded into obscurity. I sat atop Table Rock and wept tears of joy.

Honorable mentions: "Hit the Road, Not Your Woman, Jack" by Ray Charles, "I Would Walk Some Indeterminate Amount of Miles" by the Proclaimers, " Christopher Walken is Really Funny in that Fatboy Slim Video" by Wilco (or "Walken" if you're not into the whole brevity thing).

The Day After

September 23: As always, there is a day after, unless y0u die, then yours is canceled. My flight home wasn't scheduled until five a.m. Saturday morning, so since I was not yet hanging with Kenny (those bastards!) there was the matter of twenty four hours left to kill before departure.
The baking and alcohol dispensing industries both required Dan's services, meaning Meggan was left alone to administer the one day grand tour of Council Bluffs and Omaha. She first took us to Hot Shops, where Dan's brother Chris plies his trade as a metal-worker with serious artistic chops. He is the man responsible for the iron work outside O'Leaver's.
Housed in an old warehouse, Hot Shops is basically a gallery exhibiting an ever-shifting and varied series of pieces from local painters, photographers, sculptors, and other artistic types. There are also work spaces where creators like Chris craft their handiwork.
Following an hour of awestruck wandering amidst the genius of creative minds we picked up Sherman (Dan and Meggan's canine) and headed over to the Hitchcock Nature Center. On the way I saw my first black squirrel. Council Bluffs is famous for the rare coloration. The city protects the squirrel vigorously. It is illegal here to "taunt, maim, kill, annoy or otherwise disturb a black squirrel." You should also not taunt super happy fun ball.
After a short drive we arrived at Hitchcock Nature Center. The preserve houses some of Iowa's largest remaining tracts of prairie and also happens to lie square in the center of the loess hills. We went for a stroll (no rest for the wicked) and I took a long deep breath, grabbing one last glimpse of the Iowa outdoors while Meggan chided Sherman for running off for the seven thousandth time. Towards the end we came upon a sorry sight - a beautiful yellow and turquoise snake trapped alive in the mesh net which coated the ground.
I don't know what the purpose of the mesh was, but I found it bitterly ironic that in a place meant to preserve nature mankind had managed to trap and possibly destroy the very thing we had meant to protect. Without my knife I felt powerless to free the poor beast. We instead traveled back to the park office and informed the woman on duty of the serpent's predicament. I'd like to say there was a happy ending, but the animal's fate is unknown, I can only hope the ranger was able to free him in time.
Our next destination was the Grenville Dodge house. Council Bluffs has a fascinating history dating back to a visit from the Lewis and Clark expedition, who conducted a palaver here in 1804 with the Otoe and Missouria Indians on the site where the town would one day be built. The council part of the city's name derives from this historic meeting between the explorers and the doomed aborigines.
Dodge was one of the earliest settlers to move into the area, making his home here in the 1850s. A previous attempt to settle farther west in Nebraska was rebuffed by hostile Comanche tribesmen who signaled their displeasure with flying arrows and spears. Taking the hint, the young man and his wife moved to the healthier environment of newly formed Council Bluffs.
In his twenties G.D. was already a serious mover and shaker. He set up a banking business with his family and became a player in the railroad game as well. The young man had been involved in surveying since the age of fourteen and had recently received a degree in civil engineering before leaving his birthplace in Massachusetts and heading out to the frontier.
The Civil War presented Dodge with the opportunity of quick advancement. He started the conflict as a colonel. During the next few years he accomplished the rare feat of living while also earning respect and friendship from luminaries in the military establishment such as Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan. As a result Dodge became one of the Union's youngest major generals, helping Sherman to burn and loot all the way to Atlanta before a shot to the head convinced Dodge a job commanding the Department of Missouri might be more his style.
Once the rebels were defeated the general moved back into civilian life, becoming the chief engineer of the Union Pacific. 1866 was an incredibly exciting era to be involved in the company. Union Pacific was in the process of building the Trans-Continental Railroad, which would be the first to connect the Pacific coast with the rest of the country.
After the golden spike was driven to celebrate the completion of the project, Dodge became a globe trotting surveyor for other amazing engineering achievements such as the Trans-Siberian Railroad and a railroad in France which he built despite the participation of the French. He also spent many years as a representative of Iowa in the United States Congress.
When Grenville Dodge died in 1916 he was the last Civil War general to begin the below ground decomposition process. How do we summarize such an amazing career? Some say the general was a bit off his rocker thanks to the head wound he earned in 1864. Others point to his involvement in the Credit Mobilier scandal as a mark against the man. There are even those who speak of his lobbying for the railroads in Washington while he was a lawmaker as a questionable conflict of interest. Although I admit others are entitled to opinions that are wrong, I feel Dodge was a really swell guy.
After signing our non-disclosure agreement, promising not to bash General Dodge in any written form, Meggan and I were allowed into the Dodge residence, which had been turned into a museum. The mansion was purchased in 1869 thanks to proceeds from insider trading which we refer to here as sound investing.
There were many interesting baubles and trinkets inside, including some original wallpaper, which would really have blown your mind if "Better Homes and Garden" is your idea of a magazine. During our tour my interest in home furnishings waned, as my stomach was gnawing upon my lower intestines, bringing the normal attention span of zero to an even lower rating if you believe in those sort of imaginary numbers.
Meggan had said something earlier about dim sum and the reckoning had finally come, steamed Chinese delicacies were our due. The meal did require a trip west into Omaha, however, all the way to Gold Mountain on 730,000th street, which I believe is only twenty miles east of the Colorado border.
The drive proved worth the effort. Squid, roasted duck, spare ribs, and a fantastic turnip cake, the revelation of the meal, all danced on my palate like Sugar Plum fairies enjoying one last prance before the inevitable agonizing drowned doom within my acidic insides. We picked up some to-go items for the poor imprisoned Dan and went to visit him at O'Leaver's.
Soon after the day disappeared into hazy night a last celebration in the far west commenced. Dan escaped his shackles behind the bar and joined us, along with his parents, for a last cocktail or two before saying goodbye.
The moment slipped by all too quickly and before I knew early morning had come. I was whisked away to the Omaha airport and back into the waiting arms of my friends in Greenville. Suddenly the last few months felt like a great long dream. If so, I can't wait until April when I can go back to sleep.

o miles/1796 total miles

Thanks to recent donors:
Peggy Byrd and Harlan Newton
Colin Stewart
Greenville Area Blue Star Mothers
John and Dot Bishop
Ed Kemp
Dan Kemp and Meggan Gibson
Monty and Teresa Hoyle
Mark and Melissa Normington
Paul and Sally Hoover
Josh and Katie Gillespie
Cindy Walsh