BRAN Report: Day Five

Preparing to bug out of Crofton, Jayme (L) and Carl

The weather for BRAN was flip-flopping day to day, or so it would seem. Day Four was a Sunny, breezy day while Day Five kicked things off with rain, overcast skies, and eventually a stiff Northwest wind. Fortunately for BRAN riders this would mostly be a tailwind into Wayne, Nebraska, our most populous overnight town of the trip. 

A bit of a footnote here. The BRAN staffers riding the tour with me were offered a bunk house with Pork Belly Adventures because a roomer had to leave the BRAN ride and the room would be empty otherwise the remainder of the week. 

Jayme and Michael tried to convince me to stay with them in the bunk house but I refused saying to them that my snoring would keep them awake at night and I did not want to put them through that. 

So, a compromise was arranged where Jayme got the first night, and I would get the second in Wayne. Michael would get the third night in Oakland, and this would close out the week. So, at the end of Day Five I would not have to set up a tent! This was getting to be a better day as time went on!

Jayme rolling by a church in Fordyce, Nebraska.

This day marked a turning point in our week of riding. Now we were heading mainly South. We were solidly in Eastern Nebraska now. The wide empty spaces of the Great Plains were giving way to more row crop farming with some cattle grazing going on in lush, green pastures. The gravel was sandier and looser on this day. I rode almost the entire day right on the margin between the grass leading to the ditch and the road as this was where the least washboard was and the firmest gravel was. 

The "grid" of roads was in force here. Now the gravel route ran parallel to the road route in many places, being only a mile off pavement. We traveled in the cardinal directions now - North, South, East, or West, and curved roads were few and far between. 

Row crop farming was broken up by the occasional pasture with beef cattle grazing. 

 

And then it started raining!

Over the past couple of days of BRAN Michael would ask me in the morning if I thought he needed a rain coat. Well, I had told him I thought the rains had passed and on this morning he would not need one. Guess what? It rained. So much for my future as a weather prognosticator! 

The rain did not last long. Maybe 20 minutes. We were in a hilly stretch of the course and I actually liked the light rain. Cool, wet weather does not bother me and my body operates well in it. Maybe I should move to the U.K...... Right... 

 

BRAN Barns For Jason

After a bit of these wet, rolling hills we came into Hartington, Nebraska. This was one of the largest pass through towns on BRAN, if not the largest of all. There were a lot of folks buzzing around in cars and trucks here doing their morning business. The paved ride and gravel ride routes overlapped here, so at the Casey's Convenience Store there were a lot of cyclists going in and out. 

I went in and grabbed a small bite to eat with an eye toward being at Burbach's Dairy in a little while. Michael came out with cookies (BIG surprise) and after hee-hawing with a few riders we were off. Well, until Jayme and Michael saw a local roadside food stand and pulled off again. And guess what? The kind folks there had COOKIES. So you know Michael had to buy more! 

The locals in Hartington snared Michael in with cookies. Not a difficult task, by the way!

 

We had to ride the rolling hills to get to Burbach's Dairy farm. 

We had hill after hill climb to get to Burbach's Dairy farm. There was a nice stretch of minimum maintenance road with dirt so smooth it was better than pavement. But then it was back to shifty, loose pea gravel/sandy gravel roads. Descents were sketchy sometimes due to these road conditions.

Eventually we made the turn-off to Burbach's and saw a few smiling faces riding back toward us. I will admit this was something I was really excited about. I haven't been on a working dairy farm in decades. All my relatives were dairy farmers when I was a kid. Well....almost all of them were. The memories of those days were brought back to the forefront as we turned up the Burbach's driveway. 

The Burbach's use Holsteins and Jersey-Holstein crosses for the herd.

The Burbach's dog, April, wasn't too keen on me taking her picture! 

Inside the dairy we got more samples of milk and a tour of their processing and bottling facility. Outside we were allowed to get up close and personal with the members of the Burbach's herd. The smells of cows, straw, and whatnot were so familiar to me. I really enjoyed this stop, and I think everyone in our group did as well. 

However; we had many miles to cover to get to Wayne. Jacquie Phelan was in a big hurry to get to a massage appointment, (yes- there is a massage therapist on BRAN which you can pay to get a massage), and so she split at the next paved connection to save her time. Meanwhile we had to deal with a passing cold front and heavy Northwest winds which accompanied it. 

Taking a short break after a long climb

The skies started to clear up after the cold front went through and the wind, a quartering tailwind, was helpful as it pushed us along. The gusts were a bother on fast downhills though. At 30+ mph on shifty gravel a little sideways push is very disconcerting! Plus, a good line through the mush was often hard to find. This killed momentum and there were more than a few times I cussed out the roads for sucking the fun out of a fast downhill. 

Entering Coleridge, Nebraska

Time for some grub. I'll have the Special!

We hit up a local bar and grill for some lunch in Coleridge. After resting a bit we had to get up and hit the gravel roads again. It was warming up, the winds were still gusty, and the gravel was still loose. This would be the most difficult gravel to ride for the entire week. 

We had 30 miles yet to cover with one more pass-through town eleven miles up the road. We'd heard from our Berry Fast gravel sag support that we were likely the last BRAN riders which would ride into Wayne for the day. 

Jayme gives a wave to a local farmer working the fields.

We came across a mower doing the ditch edging. 

Not long after Coleridge and Laurel were in our rearview mirrors, the weather turned hot. The winds were still brisk, and it was harder to keep hydrated. Fortunately all of us had enough water to get by on for the remainder of the ride. 

What we did not know was that there was one more surprise for the day and it was a really fun one as well. Jayme and Michael, being the route creators, probably knew about this, but the others had no clue. Oh! I did not mention the others. We had another BRAN volunteer in Matt Steele join us. Matt had done Trans Iowa before and was a great rider. We also had the young man named Carl from Pierce Nebraska still with us also. 

Our group, minus myself, for this Day Five afternoon grave adventure. 

 

This MMR led to a chance encounter I won't soon forget. 

Jayme led us onto a nice double track minimum maintenance road. In the distance, I could pick out a decrepit old iron bridge. Not a big one, but it looked pretty crusty nonetheless. Hovering on a steel pole above the threshold to the bridge was a square rectangular steel sign. Not a County issued warning sign, but a crudely painted warning which had a very simple message. 

Those rebellious gravel riders!

Michael Kolakowski poses and gets one for the album.

The sign simply said "NO". I laughed out loud. I've seen a lot out in the country, but this was a new one on me. The bridge decking was missing in spots, so we had to take care in crossing here. Plus the opposite approach was weed-covered and even worse than the side we entered upon. 

Shortly after our arrival, a small ATV with an older gentleman zoomed up, stopped, and with a smile asked how we were doing. It turned out to be the landowner of the farmland surrounding us. His name is Steve. Steve knew a lot about this bridge and the road leading to and from it. 

Steve showed us on the bridge frame where names had been etched into the old paint with rocks years ago by youngsters with nothing better to do. One of those boys was Steve's father, Paul. Steve figured he was around seven years old when he etched his name into the then fairly new paint of this bridge. 

Steve's father had been born in a farmhouse within sight of the bridge. Steve pointed to a clump of trees about a quarter mile away where a house still stood surrounded by those trees. Steve said he lived about 3/4's of a mile away, just over a hill to the West. The road we were on? The county had to put it in for Steve to be able to access his fields after the bridge was decommissioned. Steve said the condition of the deck was as we saw it due to youths coming by and pulling up the loose planks to throw into Butler Creek below. 

Hooligans! 

You could still see the names etched into the girder after probably 100+ years. 

 

Steve speaking with Jayme on the decommissioned bridge

Time came to say goodbye to Steve and carry on with our trip to Wayne, Nebraska. What a treat that was though! It probably ranks right up there with some of my best experiences on gravel. In fact, come to think of it, this was my favorite day of the BRAN trip, and it was only going to get better! But first, I had to drag myself over more steep rollers and down some nasty, loose descents to get to Wayne. 

That's corn growing up in the middle of this dirt road.

The climbs were long and the gravel was difficult

Along the way, as I was winching myself up yet another steep, long ascent, I heard Carl behind me yelping about something. I did not understand what he was saying as the wind was blowing and his cries were not terribly alarming. He was still moving, so....? I turned and kept working up the hill. 

As we crested the others were waiting. Turns out Carl had a bloody nose. Some of the others had some tissues and they shared them with Carl. He plugged one of his nostrils up and we were back at it again.  I was a little alarmed by this, seeing as Carl is diabetic, so I alerted the Berry Fast sag person, Bridgette, John's wife, to keep an eye on Carl, just in case. 

A meeting of two worlds....

 Later, after another stop to gather us up into the group, Carl was complaining about his drive train not shifting into the granny gear. I asked if I could take a look. I picked up the rear of the bike, shifted it into granny, pedaled. Bam! It went right into place. However; as a mechanic, I understood there was more to this. I asked Carl if I could ride his bike. 

I was easily able to duplicate his problem with the front bake applied and pedaling with pressure. That cheesy Shimano Acera front derailleur wasn't up to the task. They never are, really. This level of componentry is basically for casual bike path usage and anything past this is beyond the scope of what it was designed to do. 

I instructed Carl that he would have to baby the drive train, making sure there was near zero pressure on the pedals, to attain a front down shift. Likely his chain and cassette were shot, making this issue even worse, but it was what it was at the time. 

Anyway, I hopped off the bike and felt my hands were sticky and gooey. Ah! Carl's bloody nose! He had blood all over the grips. 

Great! 

I wiped off as much as I could using gravel dust. Yeeesh! That wasn't very pleasant! 

We ended up in Wayne eventually where my brother from another mother, Matt Gersib, was awaiting me. I grabbed my gear and headed for the bunkhouse. I changed, got cleaned up, and then we hooked up again with Jacquie Phelan. All three of us went to a local Mexican restaurant for the evening meal. 

Matt Gersib and Jacquie Phelan

 

A color-changing fountain in the pond near where I stayed in Wayne, Nebraska. 

Matt dropped me off later and then I did a little bit of writing and hit the hay in my private bunk. It was nice. I slept pretty well. The following day I was able to stand up and get dressed. Yes, that is a big deal after a few days of struggling to dress off your back in a two-person bike packing tent! 

What a day that was! Jam packed with things I won't soon forget. Challenging gravel, rain, cows, old bridge history, and struggles overcome to reach the end of a 59 mile day.  Day Six was upon us now. The second to last day of BRAN. The route was shorter. I was looking forward to it and the next stop in Oakland, Nebraska. 

BRAN Report: Day Four

A rainbow to start Day 4

With it having rained all night long Michael declared straight away that we were not chancing gravel due to the possibilities of bad roads. He was part of the BRAN braintrust that came up with the gravel routes, so I took a lot of stock from his statement. I would have been disappointed, but this meant I would get to ride roads that I had already ridden before. Roads I was on 31 years ago during the "Race Against Death Tour", which you can read all about by clicking the link. (There are two tours documented there.)

So, we ate a breakfast there in town and then headed out slowly, but this time it was just Jayme, Michael, and myself. Residents of Verdigre sent us off with a blessing as they said "we brought the rains" and we were welcome back anytime! Ha! Apparently it had not rained there for quite some time.

The day wouldn't be all that long and at 40 miles, it was only five miles less than the gravel route. 

We started out heading to Niobrara. This was where I met Jo back during my tour in '95 and she worked at a gas station there where we stopped for resupply. Much to my surprise, the building was still there. It was kind of a surreal feeling to look upon that place knowing I had been there once long ago. 

The day was cool-ish, overcast, but a bit breezy. Nothing terrible. We were enjoying the ride as much as possible being stuck out on the road. There was a bit of faffing around in Niobrara looking for a coffee shop but eventually we just rode onward. 

BRAN barns for Jason

The Niobrara River (Yes, the roads are pink here)

The convenience store in Niobrara I had been to 31 years before. 

After Niobrara things were pretty mundane. It was essentially a nice jaunt into Crofton, Nebraska. Michael and Jayme bailed on me and did the last gravel section after all. I did not consider it  because I had the paved route called up on my gps unit and I did not want to suffer issues when trying to shuffle back to the gravel route again. 

So, I rode into Crofton all alone on pavement. It was hilly! Fortunately the wind was not a factor. I was able to bomb the downhills and the Black Mountain Cycles MCD was stable and felt great.  

One of the final hills was a long one, much like the climbs are out this way, and I was able to hit 46.8mph, my fastest recorded speed on the trip. That was fun, actually, and not scary at all. The lack of winds probably attributed to this. 

Crofton was reached and there was an option to go North to Yankton, South Dakota and back to bag a century (100 miles) , but I was not interested especially after the day before and having been so hot. By the way, it wasn't much cooler by this point in the day either. Instead of doing the loop, I stopped at a big convenience store and grabbed something to eat quick before heading into town and to find who knows what. 

A rider munching on a burger and Fritos there told me to make sure I stopped at Crofton's "Welcome Tent" at the bottom of the hill in town and try out the milk. I thought this was a curious welcome to town, and so I checked this out. Turns out this was in the park where we were to camp as well, so this worked out just fine. 

A little something I had in the park at Crofton. This town had a great set up for us!

 The milk, as it turns out, was from Burbach's Dairy, a local farm where dairy products come out of and are distributed to many Eastern Nebraska grocers for resale. The samples in Crofton were excellent. These were regular milk, chocolate milk, orange milk, and cotton candy flavored milk. I had the orange and cotton candy flavors. Highly recommended! I'll have more to say about Burbach's tomorrow. 

I grabbed a brat and Fritos with some macaroni salad at one of the booths set up in the park and ate. Then I saw Jayme and started talking with him about the day and what we were going to do for the evening meal. We were standing by a towering cottonwood tree and the band stand was near by. There was a guitar player singing songs and a large crowd of folks were sitting in the shade enjoying the afternoon. Just then, Jayme jumped around and stifled an outburst, "What the....?"

It was raining ducks in the park at Crofton!

 A tiny duckling fell to the ground with a thud besides two others, I assumed these had also fallen to the ground. We barely had time to vocalize our disbelief when another fell, and another! Someone nearby said these were wood ducks. Where was Momma Duck?! What the heck is going on here! 

Eventually nine ducks were on the ground in two groups. One heading down the hill and the other getting closer to the tree trunk of the tree they jumped ship from. The crowd nearby was aghast and worry grew that these two groups of ducklings would be permanently separated. However; the ducklings were whistling and tweeting which was picked up on by the downhill traveling group which then made a wide arc back to join the other siblings of theirs. 

The last I saw the ducklings were all in one group, Momma Duck was spotted flying anxiously around the park, and a county conservation officer had been called. Hopefully the raining ducks of Crofton were safely reunited with Momma Duck! 

Spaghetti dinner was what was for supper that evening. I also found out we were supposed to visit the dairy farm of the Burbach's the following day. I was excited to see the cows! The tent was set up by a drainage ditch in the park which kind of separated the tent city into two parts. Fortunately no serious rains were forecast for the evening, or I'd have been more wary of the ditch than I was. 

While Crofton had an excellent set up and a wonderful welcome for the riders, there was one thing I found which was rather strange. There was no potable water for the riders in the park at all. Crofton citizens placed water coolers full of plastic water bottles near the park rest rooms for anyone to take. An okay solution, I guess, considering the circumstances, but I'd rather avoid plastic water bottles if at all possible.  Unfortunately, Crofton was not the only place where plastic bottles of water were offered like candy to riders. 

BRAN Report: Day Three

Spencer, Nebraska to Verdgre, Nebraska. Day Three and the plan was to ride the gravel route which was set to be 64.9 miles. 

a quick recap: I had two days straight of riding under my belt at approximately 120 miles total. I hadn't ridden 120 miles in two days since.....

I cannot remember when that would have ever happened. So, it stands to reason this, the restless night's sleep, and extreme heat may have had something to do with my failure to get much more than 30 miles in total for Day Three. 

We had eaten breakfast and I could tell something was off with my body. I just did not feel "right", but not in a sickness way, and this wasn't a good thing. We left town as a threesome on this day with Michael, myself, and Jacquie Phelan, who said she'd ride gravel if someone would shepherd her along. This was supposed to be me. However; it ended up being Michael instead. 

It felt very warm right away. The skies were sort of hazy, like I see in Iowa around late July or early August. It felt humid here. There was wind, but it wasn't bad. Still, the unbridled Sun was increasingly getting hotter. I mentally was feeling as though this was going to be a rough day for me. I don't do well in heat. 

The previous day's overcast skies are more my jam. Colder weather, rain even, but humidity and hot Sun wilt me, generally speaking.  I was willing, but would the body folow? I've had heat exhaustion too many times in my life and I was not looking to "go there" though. 

 

The first gravel section was fun-filled with short climbs and descents. Sweeping turns through lines of trees was a very pleasant surprise because in Iowa we just do not have roads like this. We then popped out on pavement and had to ride several miles on the route for the paved section of this day's ride until we reached the first sag stop in Lynch, Nebraska. 

On the way to Lynch and the sag stop I noted my left Ultegra lever's hood was pushing up off the lever. I knew these hoods were going bad because these were the original levers from my Raleigh Tamland Two. Yes....12 year old hoods! So, no big surprise that they were failing. 

Fortunately when I arrived in lynch our gravel sag support van from Berry Fast Cycles was there.  I asked John if he had anything for my problem. He came up with a near match, but it would require some carving with a sharp knife to get the hoods to stay put on those old levers. He did a fantastic job, and the repair held solid all the rest of the week. 

Seen at the aid/sag station for Day Three. 

John Berry working on my bike at the sag stop. 

This repair took some time, so Michael and Jacquie took off, not wanting to sit around any more. I understood, and I was hoping the rest time in the shade would help revive me. But I think I was fatigued and not rested after two big days on a bike in a row. The Sun was pounding out heat as well, and it was above 90° before noon. 

I rode out after the other two but I turned around pretty quickly. My legs were already going away and I could feel my body slipping into that heat affected mode where I did not want to go. Had this been the last day of BRAN I may have tried to push onward, but I had four more days to ride, (or so I thought), and I wasn't willing to sacrifice up to four days of riding just to finish this one day out. 

So I told John when I cam back I was done for the day. He threw my bike on his van's rack and I rode shotgun with him to Monowi, Nebraska. 

The Monowi Tavern. 

My bike loaded up on the "Meat Wagon" to get me to Verdigre. 

The Monowi Tavern is home to one resident. It is claimed to be the smallest population town in the USA. (Say "min-oh-why", by the way. It's how the locals pronounce the town name) Inside it was dark and cool, and the only lights were from a cooler with sodas and over a ramshackle kitchen sink. I purchased a Coca Cola from the lone resident of Monowi, Elsie Eiler who is 93 years old. 

John then took me to sag stop #2 and dropped me off so BRAN's route sweeper, the "Meat Wagon", could pick me up. I was at sag #2 for about a half an hour before I was collected and off on my way to Verdigre. The van was full, by the way, and the Meat Wagon was busy all afternoon hauling tired, overheated folks into the small village with a Czech heritage. 

Verdigre, Nebraska. Some of its streets are paved. Most were not. It seemed like a throwback village to an earlier era. Most villages like this in Iowa have either modernized or faded into obscurity. The campground was at the local football field. It was over 100° by this time, and the wind was relentless. Good for drying out tents. Not so good for Guitar Ted. 

This team of Percherons was the shuttle to the showers and downtown from our campgrounds. 

 In all the shuttling around after I dropped out of the day's ride I had forgotten to eat. By the time I had dried out my gear and set it up I was deep in the throes of bonking. It was so hot and windy, and my energy was ebbing. I got a shower but it did little to revive me. 

I was in a bit of trouble there for awhile. There was an old wagon there pulled by a team of Percherons outfitted in studded harnesses making this team look like 1980's era Judas Priest heavy metal rockers. These horses belonged to an Amish man on the wagon. His faded blue denim bibs were matched by the color of his eyes peering out from under the brim of a straw hat. I asked him about the team and he said they were two of 26 horses he owned and farmed with. He exclaimed that these two draft horses which were pulling us around were "getting a day off" as this was easy work compared to the field work they were accustomed to. 

The clip-clop pace of the wagon suited my fazed demeanor well, and I actually rode the wagon for about an hour. Afterward I wandered around Verdigre until I came across a Czech bakery. It looked neat and tidy. Inside it was clean and sharp looking. There were traditional Czech baked goods for sale including kolaches with about a dozen fillings you could choose from.

 

Two kolaches and a Coke. 

Those pastries and the Coke revived me and set me aright. Then I was human again. Amazing what eating can do for a person. At any rate, now I was ready to go and search for Michael and Jayme to see what we were going to do about the evening meal. 

Jayme got most of the way in before BRAN matters took him off the course. Michael and Jacquie made it quite a bit further into the gravel course, but ended up sagging in as well. No shame! It was a brutal day out there! 

The Czech Hall in Verdigre was rocking on Day Three of BRAN

 We ended up hitting the prime rib/baked potato dinner at Verdigre's Czech hall for our evening meal. It was packed when Jayme and I arrived and we had to wait in a long line., But it moved fairly quickly and we had plenty to eat. Michael sowed up a little later and I think it was on this evening when I discovered Michael is a bit of a cookie/desert freak. 

While we were finishing up our meals a rumor started to circulate amongst the riders that we would have to evacuate the campground due to an oncoming complex of thunder storms. Confusion over how to handle baggage was part of this, but eventually it all got sorted out. The final call would be the rider's. You could stay and ride it out in your tent or evacuate to one of three buildings in Verdigre. I chose to ride it out. 

In the end, it was just another Mid-Western thunderstorm with lightning and a few heavy downpours. My tent held up nicely, (hooray!), and I eventually got to sleep around midnight when the storms trailed off to our North. 

I was anxious to get back on gravel again, but this rain, and how much fell on our course, might impact what we would do the following day. Check in tomorrow for the Day Four report to see what happened.

BRAN Report: Day Two

Passing by the Berry Fast Cycles van on our way out on Day 2

The weather flip-flopped from the day before. Now we had overcast skies and a tailwind. This was good because this was the longest gravel route for the week at 74 miles. 

The gravel started right from the edge of town. I guess I shouldn't have been shocked by this, but it was noticeable for me. This road and all the rest for the day were mostly sand with little crushed rock to speak of at all. That said, they were not mushy or really loose. Washboard? That is another story. I'll get around to this later in this post. 

We had two breakfasts on this day. A little something in Spingview with pancakes and syrup in the High School there, and further down the road we were looking forward to breakfast burritos again at a rural church. We were a four man group with Michael, Jayme, Carl, the young kid mentioned yesterday, and myself. 

Michael, left, and Carl. Notice the riser stem on Carl's bicycle. 

Carl was riding a bicycle which not only was a hybrid, and an entry level one at that with Acera components, but a bike he was given by his parents in eighth grade. Carl is now 18, and stands about 6'2" tall. Yes, his set up looked goofy, but ya know what? He made that thing go, and go, and go. 

The routes were designed in such a way that riders could access amenities or get off gravel at certain points.

 

The church where we had breakfast burritos.

The route designers for BRAN gravel were Jayme and Michael. They aimed to give riders every chance to access sag stops on the road, and purposefully criss-crossed the paved route to allow riders to jump on gravel or exit gravel so you did not have to get stuck doing gravel all day if that was not your bag. 

Big views. Empty spaces.

These three eventually motored away from me, but I had my Wahoo susssed out, so I was all good. 

The gravel for Day 2 of BRAN 44 was laid out in three sections connected by pavement which the paved riders would be using. We had finished the first section together, but on the second section the other three eventually puled away from me. 

I was fine with this as the Wahoo was doing what it was supposed to be doing after I shut down the Auto Rerouting feature. Auto reroute. Isn't that supposed to be a feature and not a bug? Honestly, I have no use for that feature, especially if it makes the route finding all funky like it does. 

The Keya Paha County maintainer saves the day!

A nice, fresh cut made everything smoother!

We had entered the second section of gravel when we found all sorts of washboarding all the way across the roadway. The sand was looser here as well, which made for more difficult travel. But the we spotted a savior. The County Maintainer!

I noted the operator had the blade taking off about six inches of the roadway as he motored past me which I found really weird. But again, these roads are not anything like Iowa's gravel roads, so I cannot expect them to be maintained the same way. I do know after I passed him I hopped right on over to the freshly cut road bed which was super-smooth.  

I stopped to swap out water bottles and this ranch truck passed me by in a cloud of dust. 

Bagged a cemetery gate.

Nebraska has been in severe or moderate drought conditions for some time now, so it was no surprise to see dust getting kicked up by various "ranch trucks" which passed me by on this day. Now, I call these trucks by that name because I don't know what the local vernacular is for these vehicles. But I have seen the same style truck in New Mexico in the High Plains so I think "ranch truck" fits. 

Typically these are diesel 3/4's ton pickups with standard cabs and a flat bed instead of a box. I imagine they haul hay better this way. At any rate, they are a distinctive working truck style I've only ever seen in cattle grazing and ranching lands. 

 

This is a big, open, desolate area. It is so unlike Iowa. Hardly any crossing roads at all. Hardly any buildings to break up the horizon line. I think the trees were not a part of these lands back a hundred or more years ago, but they are out here all over the place now. I would imagine this would have been all tall grass prairie until the people of European descent arrived. 

The hills are very different than they are here as well. Our Iowa hills give no false impressions, typically. If you can see what looks like the top of a hill, likely it is just that. Not so in Nebraska. Hills are longer. The climbs have false summits. Sometimes up to four in succession. And it was this way everywhere we rode in Nebraska. 

Another cemetery!

And another!

Eventually I climbed all the gravel hills and was back out on pavement for the final run to Spencer, Nebraska where we were to stay for the evening. But first we ran through a tiny village named Butte, Nebraska, very near to the border with South Dakota. This was the very town we rode through on our self-contained cycle tour 31 years before. 

Proof

 You know something? 31 years allows for a LOT of changes to happen. I did not recognize much. And the road to Spencer seemed different, but I know it wasn't. At any rate, it was amazing to lay eyes on the same places I had been in before and note how much I did not pay attention to back then. 

Jacquie gave me this personalized and autographed post card of herself with the late Charlie Cunningham the evening I met her. 

As mentioned in the "Notes From The Tent" for this day I ran into Jacquie Phelan by chance in Spencer. I was floored to see this famous cyclist in Nebraska in a small village no less. But, there she was.  Little did I realize Jacquie would play a large role in my experiences for the remainder of the week. 

Set up camp in a grassy field overlooking a larger field of prairie.I settled in for a very restless night's sleep. This may have been a factor which made the followin day what it was. But we'll have to hold that story for tomorrow......