Bad Ideas Often Lead to Good Times

(Final leg of a recent cross-country trip.)  I was out of Iowa in no time and into Nebraska, April 17th.  This was, indeed, the same route I'd taken with BC back in 2016; and where we were caught in a hellatious hail storm which cracked my front windshield.

When I travel I don't bother with GPS, Google Maps or anything else which might alert me of possible danger, except the FM radio.   So when I heard on the radio, "Strong thunderstorms with hail possibly the size of golf balls," I pressed the pedal to the metal to get the hell through the state. This map is fuzzy, but I was right in the middle of the orange area.  

So I raced across Nebraska to North Platt, where I chose an $80 motel not far from the Interstate.  It looked nicer than the others from the outside, but I was jaded.

Lo and behold, I was pleasantly surprised the room was clean and had sheets.  I mentioned the approaching storm to the woman at the desk but she'd heard nothing; so I figured I'd gone far enough to prevent the possibility of my rental being pummeled by ice.

She pointed me towards a great steakhouse - the North 40 Chophouse.  I'd decided to splurge, but sorry - I just can't see spending $50 and more...for a steak?  In the middle of cattle country?  Can't you buy a cow for that?  I don't mean that as a bad review - I can't spend that much for a steak ANYWHERE, that just seems silly.

The Chophouse has a brick facade and looks much fancier than its surroundings, with sparkling chandeliers and lots of gleaming woodwork inside. It was too early (4 pm) for the restaurant opening (at 5) so I sat in this beautiful bar and throughly enjoyed my udderly scrumptious Steak Tips for a fraction of the price.  My bill, with Caesar Salad and a drink, was comparable to eating out at home.

The next morning, the news showed the damage inflicted to the eastern part of the state by hail the size of softballs, top photo.  One hotel had its side pummeled to the extent that the siding was completely gone and you could see the insulation.  Videos from guests (filming from hallways) showed the massive ice balls smashing through their room's windows, imagine.

I thanked my lucky stars, and decided to treat myself to breakfast at a cute shop which also sold touristy-things AND happened to be open at 6:30 am.  I added a metal plant stand (l) to my pile of belongings in the back of my van. It's my only trip-souvenir, and now holds a strange plant I picked up last year.  (It's going crazy, and when the red spikey-things suddenly shot out overnight, it reminded me of the dog in John Carpenter's The Thing.)

Too late I noticed the words of my title on the reverse side of the Longhorn sign (next to the breakfast shop), but I made note in my travel journal.

As I spoke with the owner, I mentioned how I prefer driving the back roads and she said, "Unless it's snowing."

"Is it expected?!"

She said No, but shortly down the road, pumping gas in Ogallala, I saw white stuff floating in the air.  Ash from a fire somewhere?  Can't be snow- it's just a little cloudy.

As I continued down Rt 30, I watched the outside temperature gauge drop.  No one was on the road except me and the few snow plows travelling in the opposite direction.  I imagined them looking at me strangly as they passed.

Is that black ice on the road, I couldn't tell for sure; but as I continued, more and more of the road looked shiny.  I dropped my speed even more and concentrated on not making any sudden moves with the steering wheel.

One of the things I like about the Lincoln Highway is that it's pretty easy to jump over to I-80, which is what I finally did.  I figured the Interstate's road would be better and it was; but again I didn't go too far before the blinking sign said, "No Further" and I pulled off with the rest at Cheyenne, Wyoming, stopping at the first Motel I saw.  It was 10 am, and the snow was really coming down by then.

The room was better than some, not as good as the night before, but the desk clerk made me feel very welcome and fixed my TV when she brought me a portable heater.  I picked up a big box of KFC and spent the day pigging and vegging.  It was a forced delay which my body needed after days of straight driving, and I can't remember if I slept under the sheets or not.

The next morning I hit the road by 5:30 and continued to follow the Interstate.  I'd intended to remain on the Lincoln Highway but my (paper) map showed it winding through more wilderness and there was snow on the ground.

It was pretty to see snow on the mountains - like you'd expect.  The temp outside kept dropping down to 16 degrees at the one gas station getting over the top.  

I crossed the Continental Divide and passed the Lincoln monument marking the Lincoln Highway.  (Note: I discovered this spot during that 2016 trip with BC.)

There are portions of Rt 30 which are one-and-the-same as I-80 (reminder:  the Lincoln Highway was the first transcontinental automobile road, running 3500 miles from New York to San Francisco. Originally a private enterprise, the government stepped in with matching funds in 1916; and the old network of trails and roads became Highway 30 and later Interstate 80.)

You should try it some time, and you don't need a cross-country venture.  There are community groups across the nation tasked with maintaining their own little piece of the highway.  Additionally, there are many turnoffs along the way for drivers to follow the original-original dirt roads.  They're short and bumpy, but you should try at least one. 

As I said, I continued along the Interstate, which dipped down into Utah for a bit until picking up I-84, skirting Salt Lake City and heading up into Idaho.  I was surprised I'd gone so far in 6 days, but I'd not only been fleeing bad weather but crappy motel stays.  The worst was over, I hoped.

I spied a billboard for a Budget Motor Lodge 50 miles away in Heyburn, just east of Twin Falls; something to shoot for since traffic was beginning to pick up.  The sign looked old so I hoped it was still in existence, and lo-and-behold, IT WAS.  It was next to a high-rise Best Western, with a Perkins Pancake House in-between.  The gal at the desk gave me a coupon for Perkins, since the motor lodge owners owned that, too.  "That's nice," I said politely.  They also own the Best Western, and Amy blurted out,

"We call that a Slumlord where I come from." I immediately apologized, but the clerk had a broad smile.

Another nice room.  My luck definitely improved since Indiana. It was Easter morning, and following breakfast at Perkins and the chariot race from Ben-Hur  I hit the road for what was to be the final day.

I left I-80/Rt 30 at the border towns of Ontario and Payette and picked up Rt 20, which crosses Oregon to the Pacific.  Back on a lonely road, but even on the Interstates I didn't encounter much traffic, as my photos throughout the trip have shown.  Two highways, primarily, for 3,000 miles.  If I can follow that by myself...

I didn't expect to get home that day, but as I passed through Burns, then Bend, I could almost taste the salty air of home.  Speaking of taste, I picked up the biggest breakfast burrito I've ever seen (with the best homemade tortilla), at a one-pump station; where the Mrs. came out and asked if I was hungry - they just finished cooking breakfast, and she waved her arm.  I couldn't say no.  That was the hook.

Her shop was filled with beautiful turquoise, coral and other jewelry she buys from Native American artists in the Southwest, along with local artist's work.  I'd have bought something for sure in the day but I settled for the burrito and a full tank.  Weather was closing in, and I wanted to be out of the Cascades before it arrived.  Not too far up the coast and home just past 6 pm.

Oddly enough, at about that time my Manager, who hadn't heard from me since Nebraska, texted,

"Where are you now?"

When I responded HOME she was shocked.  Me, too; also because I recognized the alert on my phone.

Only thing left was to unload my treasures.  That's ok; after 9 years, I've finally gotten rid of this Sword of Damocles (retrieving stuff from storage in 'Jersey).  Now I'm busy posting things on my Etsy shop to supplement my Social Security.  Thank goodness Mom was a pack rat, too.

Fin

From the beginning:  Cross-Country Without Google Maps