Day 43, Monday, June 2

Gordon, Nebraska to Crawford, Nebraska

For the first time since the day we left Omaha, we had a great day of cycling. Our primary goal was Chadron, 47 miles away, but we really hoped to ride 70+ miles to Crawford.

Being in a hotel made the departure easy because we didn't have to break down our tents, pack sleeping bags, and so on. We just had to throw a few things in our bags, have a quick bite and some coffee in the lobby, and take off. We were on the road by 6:30 AM.

The weather forecast was favorable. If we rode past 3:00 PM we could get some rain, but otherwise the day promised blue skies. Wind would be from the north or northeast all day, which was good for us.

It was cool when we started, probably in the high 50s. There was no wind at all. We made great time even though we were on a slight climb most of the morning. 

Fifteen miles along we had great hopes for Rushville, but the only place for coffee was a convenience store. Still, coffee and a donut after 15 good miles hits the spot. Outside a woman chatted with us. She talked about how great Crawford is, but her casual racism came through loud and clear when she warned us away from Pine Ridge. "It's like a Third World," she said. 

Another 12 miles brought us to Hay Springs and another local coffee shop. After so many dying small towns in Indiana and Illinois, it was good to see some towns surviving, even prospering. We saw a good number of locals come through the shop while we were there. 

A couple of miles outside Hay Springs we began a gentle, 20 mile descent to Chadron. Somewhere along the way we came across a couple of rather enigmatic signs.

I have no idea what they mean, but I am certain the people that made them call themselves Christian. 

The descent to Chadron was fabulous. I doubt it was ever more than a two or three percent grade, but for the past few days even the descents have been struggles into the wind. It was joy to ride downhill with the wind at our backs.

We reached Chadron at noon, after 47 miles. We had such a good morning there was no way we were stopping there. After lunch at yet another bar and grill we checked the weather again and nothing had changed. There was a good chance of rain in the late afternoon, but Crawford was only 24 miles away. We should get there well before the weather set in. 

Despite staying at a hotel the previous night, for no good reason other than the desire not to set up camp again, we thought it prudent to spend another night in a hotel to avoid the heavy rain. John called the Hilltop Motel to ensure we would have a place to sit out the storm. The owner told him it was $100 exactly, cash only. 

We have become accustomed to needing cash in some places. There are still coin operated laundries, of course, and we have found numerous restaurants and a few campgrounds that operate on a cash only basis. But a motel? When we later met the owner this was not surprising at all. 

Before we met him, we still had some riding to do. It was mostly gently rolling hills, with some overall rise in elevation, but with the wind behind us it was still good riding. Clouds were also beginning to cover the sun, keeping us cool.

Just a few miles outside Chadron we met a long line of Indigenous People on horseback riding in the right of way beside the highway. There were a number of other people in cars, many with horse trailers, driving slowly along with them. I rode over to that side of the road and asked one of the riders, a young girl, what was going on and she told me it was the Crazy Horse Ride.

I vaguely remembered hearing about this somewhere so I looked it up later. It is an annual ride that begins at Fort Robinson, where Crazy Horse, the Lakota Sioux leader who defeated Custer, surrendered and was murdered. It goes 90 miles to Pine Ridge, South Dakota. It is held to honor Crazy Horse and Native veterans. Many veterans ride, as well as younger generations, connecting them to their horse culture.

I did not want to be disrespectful, but I asked another rider if I could take a picture. He said it was fine, so I took a single, bad photo and got out of their way. I felt fortunate to be able to see this.

We pedalled on and soon we were in Crawford. We found the Hilltop Motel where we finally met the owner, who calls himself Crazy Carl. And he really is about half crazy. 

He's in his late 40s, I would say, and runs the hotel with his wife. He went on and on, telling us personal details about himself. For instance, his 19-year-old pregnant daughter is living with some local loser a few blocks from the motel and will no longer talk to him. When she first moved in with the guy, Carl went to find her. The guy came out and punched Crazy Carl while his daughter called the cops. They arrested Carl, but a neighbor had video so the cops later apologized and asked Carl if he wanted to press charges. Carl said no.  He hates "the law" because the law doesn't work. 

This went on for a while and we waited patiently, hoping at some point he would realize we just wanted to go to our room. He did tell us the drive-in just down the street would be the best place for dinner. "It's probably the cleanest." It had become clear to us in the course of his diatribe that Crazy Carl had a low opinion of his fellow Crawford citizens. 

Finally he took John's $100, stuffed it in a wallet that appeared to have more money than the $1400 John found way back in Illinois. There was no registration, and he never asked our names. I have a feeling Crazy Carl doesn't pay all his taxes. 

By this time there was a severe thunderstorm alert for the region. We hurried down to the drive-in without showering so we could beat the weather: the storm clouds were definitely brewing to the west. After that we showered and just hung out at the hotel, contemplating one of our best days of riding, filled with experiences that highlight the contradictory feelings I have for this country and my fellow citizens.