I’m not ashamed to say it – but I feel like I’m in heaven, when three pieces of Casey’s Famous Pizza are on the table in front of me.
I took the lad’s advice, the one I met in Laramie, about stopping here in Cozad, NB. Heck…I just had to see what a town called Cozad looked like.
It may be less apparent than in Europe, but we have a fair share of diversity as well. In less then the last five hundred miles I’ve traveled, the terrain, the people, even the air, have become completely different.
This is cattle country – and it’s not difficult to come to that conclusion. All the cattle pens along side the road are a good indication and…
Who-wee, are those gladiolas I smell?
The way out of Wyoming, along the I-80, is a bleak place.
It includes climbing a mountain range, two thousand feet higher than Laramie, where things went from cold to colder. The wind whips across a wrinkled, barren, landscape, where even the snow huddles down in the rifts for protection.
Then a long gradual decent into Nebraska, where, at the state line, as though ordered by the Chamber of Commerce, the roadside turns as green as a scene used on idealized postcard: “Welcome to Nebraska……the good life”.
I told Dean what I was doing and he thought that was great. Before long, he was on his cellphone talking to his brother who lived in the northern part of the state. And he arranged for me to meet him at 10:00 the next morning at a place called Uncle Buck’s Tavern in Brewster – the town where they both grew up.
Brewster is a hundred miles straight up, in an region known as the Sandhills.
“It’s a little early” he said, “but in another week those dunes will bloom and become some of the best grazing grounds in the country.”
Dean also promised I’d see some interesting farmsteads along the way.
I’m looking forward to that! I’m a little concerned that I’ve come this far and still feel no ambition to paint.