Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska

MAKING GOOD miles, good miles… averaging around 550 a day. I’m not sure about today yet but the plan is to find out somewhere in Wyoming after dark. The state line’s not far, maybe an hour west of here.

“Here” is Chadron, Nebraska, on U.S. 20. After a blisteringly hot ride across most of Nebraska this morning and afternoon I’m taking a break from the heat in the Chadron Public Library. Will take this time to scribble a quick road report before I get underway again on the cooled-off piggy.

Man, these 70mph summertime runs across the plains are tough tough tough on an air-cooled motor. Not to mention an air-cooled rider.

Here’s the camp I left out of this morning, in Meadow Grove, Nebraska.

But first we flash back to yesterday, when the moon was still up and the sun hadn’t clocked in yet. Iron piggy’s headlights led the way west out of Illinois through a cold, patchy fog. I had my jacket vents open and the short gloves on so the air would jet up my sleeves. My teeth weren’t chattering but a few degrees colder might have done it. As long as my hands can still work the controls I’ll ride cold, it sharpens the senses.

What a great start to the day!—Bracing! I thought, Soak up the cold now, Moe, Iowa’s gonna be hot. Indeed it was.

So we cross the Mississippi and pull over in Bettencourt, Iowa, make cowboy coffee and a pot of oatmeal and get going again fast, try to beat the worst of it. Ride all day and late in the afternoon we cross the Missouri River on U.S. 30, the old Lincoln Highway, turn north in Blaine, Nebraska and ride the back roads through the golden hour, always moving north and west. Glorious riding.

Often I end up hunting around in the dark for a place to sleep, but yesterday I happened to find one with about a half hour of light left. Nice little town, Meadow Grove, Nebraska, population 301. With me, figure on 302.

I saw a little pocket park on Main Avenue, a memorial to the town’s veterans. I wouldn’t set up a tent in a place like that but I’m not above rolling out my sleeping bag and snoozing on the grass. On the corner I saw three men talking outside a bar.

This bar…

Two guys are on the bench, one guy has pulled up to the curb in his pickup. So I walk over and ask how likely I am to be moved along by the local law dog in the wee hours. The guy in the truck says I’d be welcome to camp at a different park in town, camping there is fine, it’s free, it’s two streets away.

Here’s the guy… Marty. He works for the town, mows the grass in the parks, in fact, so he’s the guy who knows the policy on hobos, drifters, my people.

I happened to run into him again this morning, after breaking camp, loading up the bike, then hanging around a bit to snap a few pics. It was just getting light out. I had crawled into my sleeping bag at 11:30 and was wide awake & raring to go at 4:30.

It’s so common in the west to find these little towns that are happy to provide for strangers passing through. They don’t care if you camp on public property. Usually someone in town will point you to the athletic field. The public restrooms are unlocked overnight, they’re clean more often than not, there’s soap, sometimes a shower, almost always an electrical outlet where you can charge your phone.

All this and it’s often free. Some towns charge a few bucks. I’ve paid $7… $10… usually on the honor system.

Made my cowboy coffee first thing this morning, as usual…

Put coffee grounds and water in the bean pot, heat to just shy of a boil, dribble a little cold water off your fingers to chase the grounds to the bottom, drink the coffee off the top. You won’t ever get service like this from those pretend coffee people at Starbucks.

There was a heavy dew this morning, so I hung the rain fly on the fence and turned the tent bottom-side-up, figured on letting the sun dry them out a bit before I packed them up.

And I waited and waited for the sun, then got tired of waiting and packed up wet.

When you pack up wet gear and bake it in the sun all day, you discover the answer to the question first posed by Steve Martin, to wit: How’d you get so funky, funky Tut?

Only a select few of us moto-savages know this lore, so… protect your source on this one.

Finally peeking up over the horizon… Too late, lazy bones.

I should get rolling again, go find a free piece of ground to snooze on in Wyoming. I’m not sure where CCjon and Nestor are. They were planning to be in Denver yesterday. Dunno if they made it. Some days ago CCjon was talking about our lines crossing in Laramie, Wyoming.

Yesterday evening I received this text: Take ur time, whoever arrives first in Laramie finds the camping area and waits.

I reply with: I won’t see you in Laramie, amigo. That’s a detour South for me. I’m coming across U.S. 20. Will wait for you in central or northern Wyoming.

And then around 10 last night, he says: OK, we might try to make Casper tomorrow.

Casper’s on U.S. 20, I’m headed right at it, I’m maybe three hours to the east, but I told him tomorrow’s as good as today: If you want to hold up in Laramie, do so.

We’ll figure it out…

Gonna point piggy into the sun now, and ride on.

Tony DePaul, August 2, 2018, Chadron, Nebraska, USA