26 June - Day 28: Ogallala NE to Gothenburg NE - 154.2 km @ 21.0 km/h

I had a quiet start to the morning working on my journal while watching the History Channel on TV. They had a most interesting documentary on the life of General Custer who was killed at Little Big Horn. Given that he had roamed in this area, I have come across his name a number of times. It was very well done and they even interviewed the descendants of the victorious Indians to get a better overall picture. TV can be so informative, it is just unfortunate that most of it is mind-numbing rubbish.

My food stores were low so I cycled into town and found a large supermarket. I’m definitely in a meat eating paradise and their idea of a health food section was an area with energy bars and rice cakes. Fortunately they had a good fruit and vegetable section and I bought some delightful cherries and apricots.

As I exited and was loading my bicycle a woman in her late 50’s came by and chatted. She was considering a cycle trip to Holland and wondered if I had any experience there. Did I ever! Her concern was that there may be strong winds and I said that was well founded. I recounted Lis’ and my experience a few years ago where we had winds, quite strong in places, wherever we went. I suspect that it is a characteristic of any flat country, like Nebraska or Holland. There is just not enough shelter to attenuate the wind.

For breakfast I found a café. It was my usual pancakes but it was quite expensive compared to other places I have been. I still enjoyed it. As I left an artist came up with a sketch book and asked if I would be interested in a portrait. I declined as it is difficult to carry when on a bike and he accepted gracefully. He went into the restaurant but soon returned with no takers and drove off. I reflected how demoralising it must be to an artist not to have their work appreciated—or even any interest in it. I regretted not getting one.

I headed out of town towards the East and, for a change, I had a headwind. Curses. Fortunately, it wasn’t head on, otherwise I would have been heading back into Colorado, and the terrain was flat which made it a bit bearable. There were farms along the road which followed the Platt River, but within a few hundred metres of the road you could see the parched hills indicating desert area. Indeed, this was to be typical of the next hundred plus kilometres.

To the right of the road there was the railway line and there were regular trains. However, they soon stopped which was perplexing. However, I eventually came upon line after line of parked trains and later upon a track maintenance crew which was the cause of the delays. As I passed one train there was a fellow sitting between the trains who called out and asked if I could spare a cigarette. Obviously getting a free ride.

The towns East of Ogallala were run down and had an air of death about them; lots of abandoned cars and empty buildings. This was surprising to a degree since all the land was heavily farmed with corn and the occasional wheat. There were even a few cattle farms, although these looked to be more holding pens for animals which must be run in the desert areas away from the road.

I stopped in a small town and had lunch at the baseball diamond. It was a very well kept park and obviously the locals take their baseball very seriously. I was surprised not to see a football field, but I am sure that it exists. The locals are also passionate about that, particularly since Nebraska has such a famous and successful college football team.

The next stop was in North Platte and as I entered the town there was a large sign to the ‘Buffalo Bill Ranch’ which I duly followed. On the north of the town it was a large show ground where they obviously held rodeos and the like. Being mid-week it was deserted but across from it was the local museum which I stopped and visited.

Compared to the others that I have visited it was huge with an abundance of artefacts. Many were similar to the other museums, just more extensive. The curators were retired woman, two of home had been on a visit to N.Z., which they loved. A portion of the museum was dedicated to the ‘North Platte Canteen’ and one of them kindly explained the story to me.

Due to its location, North Platte is a major crossing point for trains travelling across America. During World War II these were often troop trains travelling to the coast from whence the men were shipped overseas. One Christmas the locals expected that the Nebraska troops would be passing through the town so the parents, friends and relatives of the young soldiers made them food and brought them presents. However, they found that the Army in its wisdom had routed the Kansas men through Nebraska and the Nebraska men through Kansas. The locals decided to give the food and presents to the men anyway and it was so well received that they decided to form the Canteen.

From 1942-46 a canteen was set up staffed entirely by local volunteers. Each community agreed that they would serve on a particular day and the people made food—at their own expense—which they gave to the soldiers in the passing trains. Birthday cakes were baked for those who were travelling on their birthday. It was very famous and they still get visitors passing through who tell how much it meant to them to have this food during their travels. There was one photo of a group of soldiers running from the canteen to make their train and the curator said that the first fellow in the photo came in a few years ago and told how most of the others in the photo had been killed in battle. Another came in and sheepishly confessed that he had got a birthday cake when it wasn’t his birthday. The curator said him and several hundred others. I think it is a delightful testimony to the spirit of the locals that they did such a service for so many strangers.

After touring the outer buildings of the museum I cycled into town. It was a bit run down, although there was a very nice train in a park. They had connected the headlamp to electricity so as the sun was setting it was lit up. The park was immaculate, a contrast with a number of the buildings I saw in town.

From North Platte I cycled to Gothenburg which, not surprisingly given the name, was settled in the last century by Swedes. There were many trains, hauling coal to the East and empty hoppers to the west, and I passed my time counting cars. The record of 121 from Colorado was not broken. However, there seemed to be a correlation between the number of cars and the number of locomotives: about 30 cars to the locomotive. I raised this later with an ex-railway engineer and he was confused. He said that the GE locomotive has 5,000 HP and two of them are capable of towing 100 fully loaded coal cars through Wyoming and Nebraska. Once they hit Iowa, where the terrain is more rolling, they add a third locomotive. He postulated that they must have been using older GM locomotives which only (!) have 3,500 HP. Either way I think it is very impressive what these machines can do. But them I’m an engineer … and a gadget guy as Lis would say.

I arrived slightly after dark in Gothenburg and was wondering whether I should camp by the road when I saw a sign that there was a campground in town. There were no signs directing me to where it was so I did a very un-male thing: I asked for directions. I was pointed down over the Interstate where I found a KOA campground which, even though it was 22:00, still had the office open. After paying my fee I headed towards the camp area and a lady from Ohio chatted with me on the way. She was complaining how cold it was there compared to Ohio, although it was better than Wyoming where they had recently had snow. Glad I didn’t go that far north. As I pitched my tent my neighbour loaned me their Coleman Lantern—I wish I understood the principle by which they work—which made it a lot easier.

After having a shower I chatted with Barry McDermott who was the campground owner and had just finished stocking the soft drink machine. From Manchester, he had moved to the U.S.A. five years ago and bought the campground. He loved life in the U.S.A. and wouldn’t go back for anything. They had almost gone to Canada but that was more difficult for them from an immigration perspective so Nebraska it turned out to be.

He was quite a character and we compared notes on Americans. I commented on his Scottish heritage and he told the story how many Americans are more up on their Scottish backgrounds than the true Scotts are. They even have ‘Clan Gatherings’ where they get together and wear kilts etc. As a McDermott they don’t understand why he isn’t interested, but he says that when you grow up a few hours from Scotland it is not such a big deal. He recounted the story how he used to be a track and field runner and ran a race in Edinburgh. As he came around for home leading his heat and the announcer said that Barry McDermott was leading the crowd roared with support. Since he is English he found it quite ironic …

One of his most poignant observations was on the work ethic of the locals, or to be more precise, the lack thereof. America has this tradition of the ‘Protestant Work Ethic’ wherein people work hard. However, he observed that these days they consider sitting around having cups of coffee to be the same as working and they have had a real problem finding people willing to actually work. I told him that the solution was to hire new immigrants as they are always keen to prove themselves—at least that has been my experience.

We could have continued for hours but by then it was approaching midnight so I called it an evening and went back to the campsite. After banging my shin on a strategically placed tent site number post I stumbled (literally) into my tent for a well earned rest.

On to the Next Day

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