From South Dakota, we headed into western Nebraska, which is largely known for its involvement in the western migration that occurred in the 1800s. It also has ample opportunity to look at grass.
At this point, we found ourselves having a major road lag moment, so we found a cheap room for the night in Scotts Bluff or Scottsbluff or possibly Scott's Bluff, Nebraska. I have seen it printed all three ways in various locations. We had a lovely dinner of take out from The Wonderful House, because I thought the name was adorable. Luckily enough, the food was rather wonderful.
While in the hotel, I pounded out the blog entries for Idaho, Wyoming, and South Dakota. There has to be a perfect storm in order for me to bang one of these out: I need some form of wifi, I need my Chrome book charged, and I need Ryan to be paying attention so I can ask him things like "what was the name of that Saison? The one in Montana? Where the guy told us about that trail?" Right now, for example, we are in a remote camping area in Iowa, which has enough cell service that I can use my phone as a hotspot, and the laptop juice is on full. It is also daylight, and we have enough bug juice that I can have the doors open while I type. I am getting slightly gassed on this herbal bug juice, though.
So right. Back to Nebraska. When we awoke, we charged off to see Chimney Rock. Chimney Rock is a very fragile geological feature that has been slowly succumbing to the torturous conditions of wind and water erosion, so average humans aren't allowed anywhere near it. There is a telescope set up in the Visitor Center so you can get an up-close view.
As we walked in, Ryan joked that Chimney Rock looked "like a big rock wang," and sure enough, it's original name to the Native Americans was Elk's Penis. Other than that, it's largely only famous as a trail marker on the Oregon Trail, and thus, the museum was largely dedicated to the chronicles of westward movement, with a heavy white-washing of what happened to the indigenous peoples.
As legend has it, when a group of would-be settlers got to the point where they could no longer tolerate the harsh conditions of travel, they had "seen the elephant." Before long, I told Ryan I had seen the elephant, and we headed out.
One of my very close friends is from Nebraska, and she recommended I try Runza, if I had the chance. That chance occurred right between Chimney Rock and Scotts Bluff. And yes, if you have the chance, you should try Runza. Mine was a bread pocket of seasoned meat, swiss, and sauteed mushrooms that burnt a hole through the wrapper and my leg, but it was good. Everything about it was right- the seasoning, the salt, the grease factor - everything.
I was still wrapping up my Runza as we pulled into Scotts Bluff, so when the ranger explained there was a good mile-plus trail to the top, my stomach gurgled a very sincere protest. Instead, Ryan and I drove to the top and wandered around a bit, enjoying the elevated view of western Nebraska.
Scotts Bluff was so named for a settler who was injured in the course of his travels. A few variations on his sad tale exist, but essentially, his wounds were too great for him to continue, so he was left at the bluff, where he eventually passed away. There is a marker in Mr. Scott's dedication at the top of the bluff, which has been decorated by the living.
Anyway. A little more wandering, and we hit the road again.
As we hopped in the car, Ryan suddenly had a quest for knowledge. "What year did Lewis and Clark set out? Was it during the Civil War? What years were the Civil War? When was the Oregon Trail? Where did it start? Was that the same as the Louisiana Purchase?" Now, I am all for learning, but it is really difficult to shout fifth grade history lessons over a driving prairie wind, so I made him pull over, and I drove while he used his phone to educate himself.
Rather than drive across Nebraska and double-back, we decided to head south into Colorado. As such, there will be a Nebraska Part 2, but first, Colorado!
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