Today was a spectacular day! Last night, it didn’t look like it was going to turn out that way, but it’s amazing what can happen when you just show up and do the work that the Universe lays at your feet.
The weather forecast looked ominous. Seventy to eighty percent chance of rain in the form of “scattered” thunderstorms. Seven am was supposed to dawn cloudy and wet with predicted precipitation coming in at just under half and inch of rainfall an hour.
We awakened at five, and started scrounging for breakfast. The only thing that seemed marginally appealing was a bagel with cream cheese. Now if I tell the truth, I don’t really like bagels all that much. Their only truly redeeming feature is that they serve as a passable conveyance for cream cheese, which is a tasty delight.
The convenience store up the street came to the rescue with an excellent egg, cheese, and bacon breakfast burrito. After one hundred and twenty four days on the road, I’ve become quite the connoisseur of gas station food. I’m not necessarily proud of that statement, but believe me when I tell you that there is a whole book, if not a television series on the Food Network, that should be dedicated to finding the best regional gas station or convenience store food. I’d be happy to host it because I know a good gas station breakfast burrito when I finally find one.
The clouds were heavy, but the promised rain had not started yet, so Dad parked his truck at an insurance agency and joined me for the first five miles. Once again, we were able to follow the crushed pink granite that formed the foot friendly surface of the “Cowboy Trail.”
Cowboy Trail - Atkinson, Nebraska
Our feet crunched down the trail in unison, and we talked about his time on a farm raising turkeys, fishing, and began to cast about for our question of the day.
About three miles in and adjacent to the “Sandhills Washout” (a place that livestock semis go to wash out their trailers after hauling some hogs), a light drizzle began to spit from the underbelly of the plum colored clouds.
“Do we want to stop and put on our pack covers?” Dad asked.
I tersely replied, “I don’t.” Now I don’t have anything in particular against pack covers. They have their uses like keeping your stuff dry, but they really make things inconvenient. I’d prefer to wait until it is beyond question that the sky is about to split open and deliver a good drenching. This is one area, among more than a handful, where my trail philosophy diverges from Dad’s own way of looking at life on the road.
We paced on, and though the sky continued to threaten, these threats proved a bluff, and we reached Dad’s five mile turnaround point with nothing much wetter than a twelve inch rain. That’s a rain where there are at least twelve inches between every drop that hits the ground.
Dad turned and headed back to the truck, and I continued on toward the west. About two hours later, the sun finally broke through the overcast, and though there were thunderstorms to the north and the south, I was able to watch their cottony tops descend to their fresh bruise colored undersides from the dryness that comes under the sweeping expanse of achingly blue sky.
Eventually the trail ran out, and I had to return to the highway. The traffic was light, and the shoulder was wide, so even this minor inconvenience worked out in the end.
Ranchland - Stuart, Nebraska
My foot felt good and my legs felt strong. A Navy sized dose of Vitamin M kept the soreness at bay, and I walked through the most verdant ranchland that I’d ever seen. Cows followed me along fences hoping for food, and old-school windmills harnessed the light breeze from the south to fill livestock tanks with water pumped up from the ground.
Big Blue Sky - Stuart, Nebraska
I met Dad again toward the end of the day. He’d pulled up the truck to a gas station listed for sale, and we walked the final part of the day’s journey into Newport, Nebraska.
Entering Newport, Nebraska
Having covered a little over seventeen hundred and sixty one miles since leaving Newport, Rhode Island, we wrapped up the day’s efforts in front of the Newport (Nebraska) Pool Hall. The pool hall is a community space serving the ninety-seven residents of this small Nebraska town with a three stool bar, a single pool table, and a handful of snacks. The hall is open without any oversight twenty four hours a day. We signed the guest register and took a few photos before heading back to the truck.
Newport Poll Hall - Newport, Nebraska
Today was an exceptionally good day!
