Sometime after leaving Ogallala I went from the Mountain to Central time zones. There were no signs or anything and I only clicked when I saw the third clock that was out by one hour. Thus, even though my watch said I woke up at 7 a.m. it was actually 8 a.m. A bit of a trick for young players these time zone changes … I packed up my gear and headed back into town where I planned on grabbing breakfast before heading east on Highway 30.

Just past the Interstate highway was the ‘Sod House Museum’ which I stopped at. I had for some time thought that there was a need for a museum like this since sod houses were such an integral component to the history of the west, There were two components to the museum. The main area was a barn which had lots of photos and artefacts. Out back there was a replica sod house which was built exactly as the first settlers had built them.

The photographs were fascinating and they showed the full range of types of sod houses that had been constructed. There was even a two story house built by a rich Belgian settler! They showed the evolution of the sod houses over the years—they really didn’t change that much—and even had one of the last know houses; it was lived in until the late 1960s.

In addition to the sod house photographs there was a lot of paraphernalia on Indians and buffalo hunting, including two buffalo skin jackets. They looked very warm but so heavy I wondered how comfortable they would have been to wear. The displays chronicled how around 1850 there was estimate to be 100-150 million buffalo. By the time the buffalo hunters were through with them by 1880 they were on the brink of extinction. One estimate put the entire population at 4000 in 1910. It told how over 1 million buffalo skins were shipped to St. Louis in just one year, and a good buffalo hunter would kill an average of 100 per day. That would keep his team of 4 skinners busy full time. They used to set up their heavy rifle in a ‘tripod’ made from two pieces of wood in an ‘X’ pattern and start firing. It was only after about 30-50 animals had been dropped that the herd would realise something was going on and begin to scatter. Not too bright these buffalo. One claim at the museum, the credence of which I don’t know, was that the U.S. government tacitly approved of the extermination of the buffalo as a way of subjugating the Indians. It worked. With their entire economy and lifestyle associated with following the destruction of the buffalo herds signalled an end to their way of life.

As a memorial to the buffalo they had a life size model of one out back of the museum. What was particularly unusual about it was that it was made from 4.5 miles of old barbed wire. It was only when you were close up that you realised how it was made. Personally, I can think of easier ways to build such a model—the barbed wire was of a very heavy gauge and must have been difficult to work with—but they breed them tough in this part of the world.

The replica sod house was very interesting. The only wood used was for the door, windows and in the roof: with no trees in Nebraska wood had to be brought in by train and was expensive. The sod was cut in blocks about 36" x 18" x 6" and laid the same day to make the house. With the walls 36" thick it was great insulation, keeping the house cool in summer and warm in winter. The outside was left natural while the inside was sealed with a mixture of clay and sand which was given 4-5 coats of lime whitewash. This served to keep the bugs out, although snakes had a bad habit of burrowing up through the floor which was levelled with sand. Muslin was hung for the ceiling as this kept the dirt from falling on the occupants. It was very small inside and yet photos showed that up to 9 lived in these one room buildings. Must have made for some interesting family dynamics.

From the museum I went and had my breakfast staple of pancakes. For a change they had raspberry syrup instead of maple syrup. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked it. After breakfast I went to the local market and bought some supplies. Not a very extensive selection of fruits so I was disappointed. As I was packing my bicycle two old ladies chatted to me about my trip. For them a trip to the next state was a major undertaking, let alone across the country by bicycle.

As I cycled down Highway 30 I was presented with, you guessed it, another headwind. It was about 15 km/h and so made the going hard. However, I adopted the usual position (head down, teeth gritted) and peddled on to the next major town Cozad. This was a special place in two ways. Firstly, in 1866 the railway tracks reached this point and it was celebrated with the first passenger train west of the Missouri river. The reason they chose Cozad and not somewhere else was because the 100^th meridian of longitude passes through the town. Thus, it represented a psychological milestone to have got that far west.

There was a plaque marking the meridian, and the event, as well as a railway caboose. I got a photo of the latter which I will scan when I get it back from the developers. There was also an interesting scientific observation about the 100^th meridian. It seems that east of the 100^th meridian the rainfall is influenced by climatic conditions in the Gulf of Mexico, and thus the Mississippi river. By contrast, west of the 100^th meridian it is the Pacific ocean which is the dominant influence. Due to the distance from the Pacific and the Rocky mountains there is insufficient moisture which leads to the desert conditions I had observed. At first I thought this was hogwash but sure enough after Cozad the hills became greener and there was a great deal of evidence of moister air. Fancy that. Perhaps I’ve been too hard on these western Nebraskans for their lack of trees? No. Poplars would have grown quite comfortably along the road so they really don’t have an excuse.

From Cozad the intermediate towns were more prosperous without the air of desolation I had seen in western Nebraska an eastern Colorado. They were also more frequent and larger as well. I had lunch in Lexington which had a plaque commemorating an Indian raid on the railway. After derailing the train and killing its crew they looted the goods and were seen riding off with calico tied to the tails of their ponies. There were a number of incidents like this in the area as this was the main route west for settlers. Until the Indians were completely subjugated the settlers suffered regular attacks. Regular way stations were placed along the way and many of these were marked by plaques commemorating the original settlers.

After lunch in Lexington I called N.Z. and then battled on towards Kearney. Just as I was approaching Kearney there was a plaque commemorating ‘1733 Farm’. It was so named because it was 1733 miles to Boston and 1733 miles to San Francisco. This warranted a photo since I was technically at my half-way point (if one ignores my side trip to Canada). The plaque told how they tested a wide range of crops in the area, effectively running an experimental farm.

Kearney was a pleasant town. There is a branch of the University of Nebraska in town and I cycled past the buildings—very impressive. I had dinner at a Mexican restaurant and there were two high school girls discussing loudly boy problems. Things haven’t changed in 25 years! A fellow came by and asked me about my travels. He took my photo with a Polaroid camera, he said he was an artist. Given that I looked like something the cat had dragged home I shudder to think what the picture turned out like.

Even though it was 19:00, I had only done 100 km so decided to continue. For the first time in days I had a (minor) tailwind and this allowed me to motor along at 28 km/h. The historical markers became much more common, particularly those pertaining to the Mormon exodus. The town of Sheldon was a major stop for the Mormons and many of the founders were involved with supplying and supporting their fellow church member’s journeys.

I reached the town of Wood River at dark and decided that this was a suitable place to stop. There was a park on the edge of town with the police station right next to it. I asked the Sheriff if it was OK for me to camp there. He said he couldn’t see why not as "it is a friendly town". I said that given that he would be the one coming to arrest me for camping I’d take that as getting permission and he promised to tell his deputies not to bother me.