An unexpected surprised greeted us in the morning at hotel the next
morning. The supplied breakfast consisted of much more than the
heartbreaking "continental" variety. A wealth of eggs, sausage, biscuits and
gravy, and waffles joined in the fray and in no time, with a fully belly,
we bid farewell to our neighbor King Kong.
Rocketing down the ramp at Little Salt Creek, the interstate rolled out across
the Platte River valley under blue skies and temperatures that would reach in
the low 30s Celsius. In as much time as it took to take a breath, it was
clogged with high-speed traffic. Everyone seemingly raced for the same
destination, hoping to arrive first. Construction threatened to foul the
pace for all involved. It certainly made for a more intense experience,
if nothing else. Side-by-side with unrelenting truck traffic at 120 kph
can be quite daunting. Collapsing all of that into one lane, between concrete
barriers can be disheartening. One forgets about everything beyond
self-preservation.
Ogallala offered two lanes and substantial relief, aiming straight for
Mccconaughy Lake, as if this were the path of choice with many before.
It enabled a more windows down and music environment, skirting along the
southern-most extent of the Nebraska Sand Hills without missing a beat The
oppression and monotony of the interstate quickly faded from memory.
A miscalculation caused us to miss a return visit to Scottsbluff. Plans to
take a quick tour to the top and break there for lunch went down in a fiery
crash when a missed left turn found us on the north side of town. While
the view felt every bit worth taking the time to diverge, something told us to
press on.
Wyoming arrived shortly thereafter, unassuming and unannounced. We
hardly realized its presence until we were already well into the
argument. Fort Laramie, and our proximity to having join with the
interstate again, turned the conversation towards taking a break. It
went flying by, though our maps indicated were barreling fast towards other
points of interest noted during the planning process.
Over last two hundred years or so, everyone passing through took some time to
register themselves upon the nearby soft and chalky limestone formations that
rise above the North Platte River Valley. We arrived at Register Cliff State Historic Site to ensure we were properly registered but found no place left to make
our mark. Prior trappers and pioneers had consumed nearly every square
inch of space available, leaving only enough room for folks through to the
1980's. There had been a lot of traffic.
Lucindy Rollins might have been able to explain the situation, except that she passed on earlier than anticipated on these bluffs. Her name is forever immortalized upon an obelisk dedicated to her memory here. She never made it her appointment
or to whatever it was that coerced her into making the long trek across the
forbidding outback of the United States at that time.
Intent on making our appointment to arrive in Casper prior to dusk, we turned our full attention to that task. I-25 assisted in that process, as well
as a speed limit suitable to crossing distances in a short amount of
time. They should post these signs everywhere!
We were successful in our goal. Our camp host greeted us under a quickly darkening sky, and by the time we
arrived at the recommended J's Pub & Grill, darkness had consumed what
was left of it. We survived a mediocre meal there and returned to
collapse into bed without further incident. Tomorrow would be a bit less harried, undoubtedly.
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