I just couldn’t not do it

Kimball, Nebraska to Pine Bluffs, Wyoming Thursday, August 12, 2021.

I ended my last post with a Homer Simpsonesque “D’oh!” Here I had just talked myself into resignation, skipping the Nebraska highpoint because I couldn’t get an escort through the buffalo range. I spun it as a life growth event, learning to gracefully accept reality and bending on my rigid goals. Anne posted a lovely comment lauding my choice. Then, just as I was closing the entry, Brandon the deputy offers to escort me after all. I graciously decline, my mind is made up. He says I can call tomorrow if I change my mind.

I slept fitfully that night. The smart thing to do was nothing, just go ahead with what I had decided, and head for Denver. But whatever sickness it is that compels me to do these highpoints in the first place kept gnawing at me. I had to give up on Wounded Knee because it just wasn’t possible. In this case, Brandon had made it possible, and if I bypassed it, it would be because I didn’t want to. It would be my choice, not circumstances beyond my control. And I just couldn’t say no.

At the cross roads, I called the landowner, Jean Klawonn. She was so nice about it, said it was the insurance company that told her to forbid pedestrians and cyclists at the highpoint. She mentioned that the buffalo were in rutting season, and that it would definitely be dangerous to be around them. However in the heat, they commonly lie down and are usually less of a problem. She was quite happy with the idea of my having a deputy escort. Even enthusiastic, since she welcomed anything that would bring law-enforcement out to her property, being so out of the way, they don’t get out there much.

I checked again with Brandon, and he confirmed that he was happy to help me out. He suggested I approach from Wyoming, which would keep me on pavement for as long as possible. Crossing the border was funny. I got a chance to look back and capture that ironic Nebraska welcome sign

But Wyoming made no such fanfare. This rundown shack was the only sign I could find that I had even entered the state.

Fanfare or no, I was in Wyoming! Yes!! This is truly the west. As if on cue, a tumbleweed rolled by, I wasn’t quick enough to get a picture. Instead, I grabbed a quick lunch, dropped my heavy bags at the motel, and was off to meet Brandon.

It was a 16 mile detour, with 6 of those miles on dicey dirt roads. The sign at the entrance to the Klawonn property confirmed that bicyclists and pedestrians were not welcome.

Brandon arrived in due course and drove slowly behind me as I crossed the cattle guard and bounced down the rough track for the final mile and a half to the highpoint. There were no bison in sight, after all that.

I thought I had gotten a photo of Brandon and his big pickup, but I can’t find it. He offered me a ride back to the hotel, and even though some could argue that wasn’t kosher, I took him up on it, it would’ve been a headwind all the way. Plus, I wanted to get a chance to talk to him. He told me of the expanded duties of the sheriffs office in rural Nebraska, and that he plans to run for sheriff next year, with an excellent chance of winning. He also has a cattle and crop farm that has been in the family for 100 years, and I was amazed to hear how much work that is. I heard about the details of those irrigation booms, how they work, how much they cost, and that this part of Nebraska has only seen a half an inch of rain in the last three months, when they usually have 5 times that. With the two jobs, 110-hour work weeks are common. It just made me realize how thoughtful he was to come out and help me. He wouldn’t let me buy him a beer or dinner, it was just in the line of work. This kind of generosity is the norm here in the great plains, but it amazes me every time.

So for better or worse, I maintained my “streak”, but the whole thing held me up enough that I will have to bust my hump to make it to Denver in time. Hopefully the wind will cooperate.

Distance 42 miles, 5,205 total. Time 6 hours with stops. Elevation gain 1,224 feet

©️ 2021 Scott Luria