Breaking Bow

The interstate drive from Omaha to Denver, which goes through the southern part of Nebraska, takes about eight hours.  Not that I would know that first hand, however, because I took the scenic route.

North of I-80 is a geological phenomenon known as the Sandhills.  Yes, kids, these are hills made of sand and dirt and grass.  If you've ever heard of pioneers living in soddies, this is where it happened.  You can graze the land, and if you're the kind of person who cannot acquiesce in the face of continued failure and who doesn't need a lot to eat, you can try to farm it.  And if you're driving west from Omaha with no particular agenda, you can take Highway 2 northwest out of Grand Island through the Sandhills which adds considerable interest and, as it turns out, about four hours, to the trip.

[This has nothing to do with the Sandhills but I do not remember Omaha ever having the fog that it has had this past week.  Monday morning was "Maumee River/Old Highway 24 to Toledo/Highway of Death" fog, and it lasted for probably 15 miles, not clearing until I hit the Platte River.  Very weird.]

Anywho, Highway 2 follows a rail line pretty much the entire way to Alliance - originally the Burlington & Missouri River Railroad, now the BNSF.  You drive by places like Hazard (population 66) and Litchfield (population 257), and they look like this:

Just about every little town in western Nebraska has a Post Office, compliments of Virginia Smith, the longtime Congresswoman from Nebraska's 3rd District, who was notable primarily for getting a Post Office into just about every little town in western Nebraska.  Because of the responsibility I feel toward you, my dedicated reader, I did spot checks in several towns and yes, they nearly all had a Post Office although by 4:30 p.m. on a Monday some of them didn't look open.  (See also:  "Business Model Problems of the U.S. Postal Service.")

When I lived in Nebraska, back in the Dark Ages, we referred to everyplace west of Lincoln and north of Omaha as "outstate."  I never thought of this as pejorative - it was like "southpaw" or something that is a nickname but you don't mean anything bad by it.  However, two years ago when I was back visiting and used the phrase, I was quickly admonished by my family that this was not the type of language that civilized people used anymore in polite conversation, since it apparently implies (at least to the people outstate) that some Nebraskans are more "in" than others.  The preferred term is now "Greater Nebraska."  Honestly.  Look, I'm all in favor of calling people what they want to be called, so I will humor the folks from Greater Nebraska if that's the name they want.  But it's still outstate to me.

Before I forget, here's what the Sandhills look like:

Sometimes they're bumpier.  This picture really doesn't do them justice.

A woman I know in Fort Wayne lived in Broken Bow whose population of 2,500 makes it the biggest town along Highway 2, and therefore something of a destination.  She told me to have lunch at the Arrow Hotel, and I'm glad she did.  The hotel was built in 1928 "with local capital," according to their brochure, and people seem very proud of that fact (which they should be - along with the fact that it is a very nice place that is still in business and has a terrific hamburger).  If you are ever in Broken Bow, you should definitely stop in.  Then, to prove what a ridiculously small world it is, she told me to go to the Eberle Boot and Saddle shop down the street and tell Bud Eberle "hello" so I did. 

Broken Bow is the county seat of Custer County (their courthouse is celebrating its centennial this year) and home to their county museum.  There are some interesting stories here, along with volunteers who want to do nothing more than tell you about them.  For instance, the oldest white community in the county is Westock.  Problem was when the railroad came through it was run a mile away (as the crow flies, three miles by road) and on the other side of the river from Westock, so the town fathers and mothers literally picked the town up and moved it to what is now called Comstock.  They did this while the river was frozen and moved buildings by rolling them on logs.  (Where they got the logs for this little undertaking is a good question but one I forgot to ask until after I had left Broken Bow.)  Another interesting thing about the museum is that they have a great collection of photographs by Solomon Butcher, an early photographer who documented 19th century sod houses; the museum worked with the Smithsonian on a study of the types of fencing used by settlers in Greater Nebraska.

West of Broken Bow is the Nebraska National Forest.  Yes, you read that correctly.  It is either the largest or only hand-planted national forest, depending on one's source of information.  It's not very big, but it's nice that Nebraska has its own national forest.

One thing you can say about the Sandhills:  there are a lot of them, and it takes a while to drive past them all.  My plan had been to see Carhenge, in Alliance.  (I will not tell you what Carhenge is so that you have to click on the link to see the picture.)  Around 4 p.m., when the sun was starting to wane and I was still two hours from Alliance (did I mention there are a lot of sandhills?), I realized that I was not going to make Alliance before sunset.  Still, I pressed on - partly because once I begin executing a plan very little can stop it, partly because by the time I came to that realization it looked like the best road south was out of Alliance, and partly because I really did want to see Carhenge since I was in the general vicinity.  It took me a couple of drives by the place to actually find it (thank goodness for my trusty Android and Google Maps) but I did, and luckily the parking lot was near the road and the monument was near the parking lot so I could see it in my headlights.  However, you will understand why I didn't get a picture!

It was a little discouraging to learn that I was still four hours from Denver, having already spent ten hours travelling (probably eight of that was driving).  Surprisingly, the last four hours went pretty fast, however, and I made it to my friend, Tom's, in the foothills of the Rockies safe and sound, thanks to the magic of mobile technology.