On the way home

I will cover my trip to Red Cloud, Nebraska in the next post.

Some travel data:

Total miles covered on this trip since June 29: 5025

Total number of states I have driven through (excluding CA): 12 (after tomorrow, 13)

Most expensive gas thus far: $3.39/gallon in Sidney, Nebraska. If only I had waited until I crossed over into Wyoming!

Oddity of the Day: Ole's Big Game Steakhouse and Lounge, Paxton, Nebraska.

Last night, a friend launched into a story about his visit to this hole-in-the-wall many years ago and breezing west on the I-80, when I spotted the highway sign for Paxton, I remembered this was the town. How hard could it be to find a strange restaurant, the name of which escaped me? Barely a mile north of the I-80 and just west of the mountain-central time zone line, is Paxton, a one-intersection town, complete with three restaurants, a post office, and a public library. Finding Ole's was not a problem as it seemed to be on, well, Main Street (I actually don't know if that's the name of the street, but it might as well be). You know it's a tourist must-see--like the largest ball of twine--when upon entering you find t-shirts and caps for sale. Believe it or not, I saw these first not the glass-encased stuffed polar bear greeting everyone at the entrance. For anyone who has not had the pleasure of driving through Paxton, I will try to summarize what attracts folks in the know to this place: up on the walls (indeed as my friend last night faithfully described!) are heads (ok, sometimes full bodies) of stuffed animals, supposedly from every continent, hunted down, picked off, and brought back home by the founder of Ole's, which began as a hunter's tavern back in 1933. Everywhere you look, animals. Mounted snarling, growling, or bambi-eyed. For those who succumb easily to their predatory instincts: home sweet home. Then there are the hundreds of photographs with handwritten descriptions of where, when, and what. Near my booth: horse dragging a dead moose in the snow, 1950. So I ordered a BLT and while I waited for my lunch, I walked around the restaurant (they invite you to do that). Hemingway would have LOVED this guy! Elephant, bear, elk--all the standard--but giraffe? Yep. Giraffe. With most of its neck projecting from the wall. I sat back down in my booth and looked directly above me, and to my consternation was Bullwinkle. Looming over me, the, ahem, fur of his throat within a raised hand's distance--a bull moose, to be precise, bagged in Alaska and stuffed in 1959. This is when the word "nightmare" came to mind. Sure enough, the feeling I had entered a Stephen King novel was supported by a three year old little boy who buried his face in the corner of the booth behind me, sniffling, and telling Daddy he didn't want to go look at the animals. I'm with ya kid. If this ain't all freaky enough, there's the keno (also part of my friend's story)--and at the bottom of the keno pad conveniently provided at your table is a toll free number for a compulsive gambling helpline. Have fun and know that we care! I've never played keno, and while the menu cheerfully invited me to "soak up the atomosphere" for at least two hours, my lungs had already soaked up enough second-hand smoke; therefore, it looked like I'd never have the chance to figure out how to play keno. So I paid my bill (the BLT was fine) and stepped out into the bright sunlight. Oh, and of course I signed the guest book.